“Teacher, in this tumultuous world…
Have you thought about your will?”^[1]

It was just a joke,
But the scholar still at the Grove,
Answered with extreme caution.

He has much to say about his posthumous affairs,
Exhausting all, fearing the smallest omission.

“Teacher… could it be that… you FEAR death?”^[2]
The assistant asks in concern.
It was a question needed,
Yet he gave no direct reply.

“Philosophy is the inquiry into death,
And I have always considered myself a philosopher.”

The assistant recounts all of the scholar's final wishes.
Each mighty as a mountain, asking what seemed impossible.

“The tombstone must be made of my treasured rare stones,
Carved with dromas patterns.”

But that stone is a miracle of alchemy,
Tough beyond measure, no chisel could have shaken.

“That's also his plan…”^[3]
The assistant softly reveals the hidden plot.
“He hopes that instead of shedding tears over his death,
we will find it in us to smile, even in a moment of sorrow.”

It's rumored that in the depths of the Grove,
The scholar left a teaching ingenium,
Imitating himself to the utmost detail.

“Go back. The living have not exhausted their thoughts.”
“Go back. The dead have no desire to teach their words.”
The ingenium's words are cold and detached,
Like the deceased man himself.

“But if you have no one to talk to…
Fine. You can sit and converse.”

Now the Grove is no longer bustling,
And the scholar has returned to dust.
Thus, few in this world now know,
How he was also troubled by solitude in life.

Someone once suggested —
“Perhaps your ambition…
Should also find its place among your final wishes.”^[4]

“Pointless notion.”
He dismissed in derision.

“Unveiling the countenance of the gods is a task for the living.”
Perhaps that is his haughty position.

Such a melancholy topic,
Yet he insists on feigning a twist, avoiding it altogether.