Alice in the Land of Steam

Chapter 1345 Is Waiting the First Step?

A quiet night.

Looking down upon the world from ten thousand meters above, everything seems so insignificant. The chill of the thin air silently envelops the view. In the far distance, beneath the wings of the cloud whale, the vast land is submerged in thick ink, with only scattered rural lights faintly punctuating the boundless darkness. The rivers that once roared and surged on the ground, the crisscrossing mountain ranges, are now nothing more than clusters of flickering fireflies, easily enveloped and swallowed by the boundless silence.

In the forest, most of the birds and beasts that were active during the day had fallen asleep, either leaning against branches or curled up in their nests. Only the soft, even breathing of this vast and unparalleled living entity could be heard. The birds and beasts slept peacefully under the protection of the forest, while the forest awoke to the sound of their breathing. If someone were to experience this moment firsthand, they might utter similar sentiments.

But this furry little creature doesn't.

Although it had witnessed the elderly sorcerer Moria writing his thoughts on life and humanity into prophetic poems, although its master always liked to spout incomprehensible words like fate and cause and effect, and although it was never short of philosophers or poets around it, none of this had anything to do with it.

It was born with a quality that made it less susceptible to external influences, seemingly shaped by its unique childhood experiences and the sights and sounds of its journey. When its original owner predicted it wouldn't survive lactation due to a congenital physical defect, yet it was bought by a second owner for the price of ten apples, it already realized that the world didn't need it to change, or rather, it couldn't change. You will remain the same as you were.

Later, after its master searched the mortal world for a long time, he finally found a young man who could help him fulfill his long-cherished wish. It didn't particularly like the man; it wouldn't say it disliked him, just felt some dissatisfaction, because the young man's attitude towards its master was very cold, and he had even initially doubted and slandered its master's intentions, which was intolerable to it. However, later, the young man seemed to realize his mistake and slightly corrected his attitude, so it reluctantly forgave him.

The owner loved chatting with that creature—though she actually preferred chatting with herself, recounting her travels and the little things it hadn't noticed. At these times, her fingers would gently stroke its curly fur, bringing a drowsy comfort. However, since she couldn't speak, she could only occasionally bleat in response, unlike the creature, who always liked to use sweet words to deceive her, which is why it would take advantage of her vulnerability. But that didn't matter. What mattered was that once, during their conversation, the young man, upon learning that the owner and it had wandered the world for nine hundred years, looked at it in surprise and asked, "It's one thing for you to be a young princess, but this little lamb is just an ordinary lamb, how could it have lived so long?"

At that time, the owner held it in his arms and said to the young man very seriously, "This lamb is not an ordinary lamb."

"It is my friend."

That's right!

It was its master's friend, his best friend. On this long journey, it accompanied its master across countless mountains and rivers, through bustling cities and desolate wilderness, exploring all the incredible things and the emotions that came with them. Through the changing times, it remained unchanged, just as it had when it first embarked on the journey; only the world itself had changed.

In the original world, an ordinary sheep could not possibly live for nine hundred years; but if the world is changed, everything seems to make perfect sense.

The young and innocent lamb resists and isolates itself from all the changes in the world, stubbornly remaining in one place, simply to accompany its master on this seemingly endless journey. It is her best friend; without it by her side, even that girl who can see through fate and the vicissitudes of life would feel lonely. In this sense, perhaps an endless journey is a good thing, because as she keeps moving forward, she can stay by her side forever, even if she knows this assumption is unrealistic. Life is fleeting, short and pure; even if it's just a dream, isn't it worth lingering over?
That's fine.

It will keep waiting, waiting for its owner to return to its side, gently take the leash, and lead it on its next journey.

This night belongs not to thoughtful philosophers, nor to sentimental poets, but only to the night itself.

A night of waiting.

……

Footsteps sounded softly, lightly crunching on fallen leaves. The newcomer seemed afraid of disturbing something, but the little lamb remained unmoved, stubbornly gazing at the distant night sky, where clouds gathered into a sea, wind whipped up waves, and the enormous moon peeked in from the depths of the tide, its light creating a rustling echo. Its gaze pierced through the sea of ​​clouds, fixated on the direction its master had gone, as if by simply watching, that blue figure would, as always, emerge smiling from the clouds, carrying the faint scent of apple blossoms.

He slowly stopped, his figure pausing in the shadows of the trees at the edge of the forest, his outline somewhat blurred by the moonlight.

"Little lamb." A soft voice called from outside the shade of the trees, "Let's go back, it's time for dinner."

But because the voice calling wasn't the familiar, gentle, rhythmic tone, lacking that unique melody that calmed its heart and made its ears perk up, the lamb remained motionless, not even its ears twitching. It simply stared more intently, its small body taut in the moonlight like a block of ice that refused to melt. That disdainful yet proud demeanor hadn't changed at all. The young man wanted to laugh, but he was also saddened, unable to laugh, because he didn't know whether, after what had happened, it was better to change or not to remain the same.

Does the former necessarily mean recovery and acceptance? Does the latter necessarily mean strength and courage? Questions like these have no answers, because the emotions of life are undefinable, even if the other person is just a simple little lamb.

Ling Ge was silent for a moment, the stillness of the night seeming to weigh heavily on his shoulders. He didn't try to persuade him again, but took two steps forward, finally stopping at a distance that wasn't too close or too far, and then slowly sat down on the grass. The bent blades of grass, carrying the coolness of the night dew, were transmitted even through his thick clothes. This distance reminded the young man of the past; when he chatted with that girl, he always seemed to maintain this distance, polite yet subtly distant. Back then, the lambs nestled happily beside their owners, seemingly unaware of the sorrows of the world.

Later, after many events and adventures, the distance between him and Saint Charlotte finally narrowed. They no longer needed to deliberately keep their distance when chatting, and sometimes they were as intimate as lovers, until finally they really became lovers. Lin Ge thought this state would continue until the end of the journey, but he should have realized long ago that when mortals start thinking about "the future," it means they lack confidence in "the present."

The young man's gaze fell on the lamb's soft, cloud-like wool. In his memory, Saint Charles always loved to stroke it like this, her fingertips running through the warm down, a gentle touch that could soothe any restlessness. As if possessed, Ling raised his hand, his movements somewhat awkward and hesitant, reaching towards the lamb's back. He didn't know what he wanted to do; perhaps he simply wanted to offer a silent comfort, or perhaps he just wanted to mimic that familiar gesture, searching for a fleeting connection in this cold loss.

However, just as his fingertips were about to touch the soft white down, the lamb's body tensed up with remarkable sensitivity, almost instinctively. Then, without turning around or bleating, it simply moved slightly to the side with a stubborn gesture.

The movement was small and brief, yet it acted like an invisible chasm, clearly isolating Ling's outstretched hand. It didn't even glance back at him, its gaze fixed on the distant night sky, as if the earlier evasion was merely an insignificant interlude, not worth interrupting the more important task at hand. Ling's hand remained frozen in mid-air.

The moonlight shone on his stiff knuckles, giving them a powerless pale hue. He silently watched the lamb's back as it regained its frozen posture, every hair on its body etched with rejection, every movement revealing its stubbornness. A profound sense of powerlessness and the coldness of being rejected left him suddenly at a loss.

It was only then that the young man realized, in a daze, that apart from Saint Charlotte, the lamb had never been willingly petted by anyone else, not even its best friend Shemi, the landlady who often fed it, or even Medien who often played with it. None of them seemed to have the right to do so.

He pursed his lips slightly, no longer trying to pet the lamb, but instead reaching his fingers into the grass to gently pluck a fresh evening primrose and hold it to the lamb's mouth. He remembered this as the lamb's favorite food; of course, it wasn't a picky eater, enjoying anything from broken grass stems to buried tree roots, from the landlady's homemade delicacies to unknown roadside insects.

Petting is the owner's privilege, but feeding is not. Many people on Cloud Whale Sky Island, including Shemi, the landlady, and Medien, have fed this greedy little guy, so Ling felt that he shouldn't be refused.

He hoped he wouldn't be rejected.

But reality often contradicts our wishes.

The lamb turned its head away, ignoring the food offered to its mouth. Ling Ge refused to give up and offered it to it from a different angle, so the lamb turned its head to the other side. It seemed as if the man and the lamb were engaged in a silent struggle, which was repeated several times until the young man finally gave in.

“I understand how you feel, Little Lamb,” he said helplessly. “Even if you don’t want to come back to the hotel with me, that’s fine, but you should at least eat something. If you keep going hungry…”

The young man paused, unsure whether to say what he was going to say next. His actions spoke faster than his thoughts, or perhaps he felt that only this sentence could convince the lamb. So, while his mind was still hesitant, his mouth had already uttered: "If Xia sees this, she'll be very sad too..."

The lamb finally responded.

It raised its head, not to eat the grass Ling Ge offered, but to fix its stubborn and unwilling gaze firmly on the young man.

It heard a familiar name.

Countless times, it was called by that person, living carefree under her love and care, so happy it almost melted away; even sometimes, when she was so busy that she temporarily forgot about it and had no time to accompany it, just hearing that name would make it very happy, as happy as if it had forgotten who it was, as long as it was with her, that was enough.

but.

It's just not at this time, not here, and not from this person's mouth!

Driven by a complex emotion he couldn't quite explain, the lamb silently rose from the grass, its head facing Ling Ge, then silently lowered. The young man was slightly taken aback; before he could react, the little lamb bumped into him, silently pressing its head against his knee. It must have exerted a lot of force, as if it had finally found a way, a way even a weak lamb could do, to vent its dissatisfaction and grievances. But Ling Ge was, after all, an adult, while the lamb, apart from being older, was otherwise just an ordinary lamb, even much thinner than other lambs due to its congenital constitution. Therefore, he was pushed and stumbled back two small steps, almost falling to the ground.

It didn't give up. After barely managing to stand firm, it continued to push forward, once, twice, three times... If the first time was an impulsive outburst, and the second time was an accusation after being unable to vent, then the third time, and countless times afterward, could perhaps only be considered mechanical, numb repetition?

After all, it couldn't think of anything else it could do.

Should we keep waiting? It's pointless.

Is it pointless to be sad? It's meaningless.

Or should we... admit the truth? Absolutely not.

It won't admit it.

It will never be admitted.

I am my master's best friend, born to keep her from feeling lonely; the fact that I am still here means that my master is not lonely; since my master is not lonely, it means that she must still be in this world, because... once she leaves this world, there will be no one to accompany her.

Give me some cats