Alice in the Land of Steam

It didn't know how many times it had silently charged and been bounced back, falling to the ground, its soft white fur covered in crumpled grass clippings, like a layer of cool frost. Perhaps exhausted from all its strength, or perhaps gradually realizing that such behavior was essentially just displaced anger, serving no purpose other than venting its emotions, this time, the lamb didn't stand up. Instead, it buried its head in the grass, letting the swaying evening primroses surround it. Its shoulders trembled slightly, its fluffy body shaking, the moonlight lingering on its hair like the gentlest caress.

"Are you crying, little lamb?" the young man suddenly asked, his voice unusually clear in the quiet night, startling the dewdrops clinging to the blades of grass.

As if provoked by those words, the young lamb buried its face in the grass and rubbed itself against it. The soft yet somewhat sharp blades of grass rubbed against its sensitive nose and cheeks, trying to erase some non-existent mark. Then, it stubbornly raised its head, its neck taut, looking at the young man before it with pride and disdain. Its eyes were red-rimmed, and its wet eyelashes, like dew-covered butterfly wings in the moonlight, did not shed a single tear.

Being sad is wrong, because it's equivalent to admitting reality. If the owner is only leaving temporarily and will come back soon, what is there to shed tears for?

Lin Ge watched it quietly, his gaze falling on its slightly trembling back and its stubborn, almost burning eyes. After a moment, he chuckled softly. He reached out, his fingertips hesitantly hovering above the soft white fur, feeling its body stiffen for a moment, before gently lowering his hand with a cautious, tentative touch: "Indeed, you are very strong."

This time, the lamb did not resist.

The young man's fingertips gently brushed through the soft ends of its hair, his movements as light as combing feathers, finally settling on the collar around its neck. It was a collar his owner had placed on it when it was very, very small. When it was born, it was so thin and frail, making one worry that a gust of wind could blow it far, far away, to a place no one could find. But after the nursing period, it grew increasingly mischievous with age, its small body seemingly containing inexhaustible energy. It loved to run wild in the fields and woodlands, chasing the shadows of birds and butterflies; or to search along the river's flow, racing the fish in the water to see who was faster.

If it doesn't fully release the energy within its body, then the pain and helplessness it endured in its earliest memories of life will be meaningless. Is this out of a sense of revenge? Or is it self-compensation? Even its closest owner sometimes can't understand what it's thinking, and can only watch it run tirelessly with a doting yet helpless smile, while deeply worrying that one day it will lose its way and not be able to find its way back, or encounter some danger. So, in the first human village it stopped in on its journey, it bought this collar from a shepherd. It was made of brand-new leather, carrying the scent of pasture and sunshine. At that time, the shepherd kindly reminded its owner that the lamb was too small to wear a collar, and it would be best to wait until it was a year old.

But he didn't know that time had long lost its meaning for this seemingly ordinary little lamb, so his well-intentioned reminder was never heeded. The lamb grew up healthy and happy, wearing the collar, running freely wherever it went—unfamiliar, dangerous, sad, or places it wanted to escape—without fear, because the other end of the rope was tied to its owner's hand, and sooner or later it would find itself again along that rope.

Now, that rope has been pulled by someone else.

"Let's go, little lamb, it's time to go back to the inn." He stood up, holding the rope in one hand and brushing the dust and bits of grass off his trousers with the other, and said calmly to it, "Everyone is waiting for you."

Surely the girl with blue hair wasn't included in the "everyone" he was referring to?

The lamb looked back, its gaze piercing through the hazy night, hesitant, and its hooves nervously pawed at the soft soil.

The moonlight still lingered in the sea of ​​clouds, occasionally outlining the image of the girl. It was reluctant to leave, and even more afraid that once it left, it would never be able to return.

“It’s alright,” the young man said, his gaze following the lamb’s as it looked at the vast sea of ​​clouds. His voice softened even more, as if afraid of disturbing the sleeping moonlight: “You can come tomorrow too.”

"If you're waiting for her, I can wait with you."

……

Ovira paced anxiously outside the hotel entrance, her heels tapping monotonously on the wooden steps. The aroma of food wafted from the restaurant, but she paid it no heed. She frequently looked up towards the end of the street, as if hoping to see someone, but to her disappointment, only the dim streetlights cast long, swaying shadows on the cobblestones. She waited from dusk till nightfall, watching the moonlight replace the setting sun, only to be replaced by the streetlights, but he never returned.

She dared not return to the hotel, fearing the disappointed looks from everyone. Although she knew those looks were not for her, she still felt uneasy, like walking on thin ice in winter, constantly on edge, afraid that a single misstep would plunge her into the abyss from which she could not escape.

Thinking about it this way, perhaps she left the hotel not to wait, but to escape?

Only this excuse could allow her to escape that oppressive vortex with a clear conscience.

Realizing her own weakness, and overwhelmed by a heavier, more complex emotion, Princess Beman felt a sudden pang of sadness. Just then, the inn door behind her creaked open, and a pink-haired girl in a nun's habit stepped out. She moved silently, almost like a shadow, making no sound at all. When Ovira turned around, she was startled: "Mei...Meidine!?"

"Yes, it's me, Sister Ovira."

The pink-haired girl nodded calmly, standing under the hotel sign just like Ovira. Her gaze followed the direction of the streetlights, and she asked softly, "Has Ling still not returned?"

Ovira hesitated for a moment, trying to organize her thoughts on comforting words, but she realized she couldn't think of anything moving. All the touching lines she usually read in novels and plays seemed to have vanished from her memory. Besides, to be honest, Medine seemed calmer than she was, not at all like someone who needed comforting. So she honestly admitted, "No, I don't know when he'll be back. If you're hungry, go back and eat, Medine. And tell everyone... don't wait for me."

Medion understood her unspoken meaning: "Is Sister Ovira going to see Ling?"

“Well, we can’t leave everything to Linger,” Princess Beman said, then casually added with a joke, “Maybe the lamb is too heavy for him to carry alone, and he needs my help.” Medien didn’t say a word, just stared at her quietly.

"Uh." The princess's lips twitched slightly. "Isn't it...funny?"

The pink-haired girl nodded, then shook her head: "It's generally funny... right?"

“Your attempts to comfort me only make me feel worse.” Ovira sighed deeply. “Sure enough, the humor I learned from books is all fake. It’s all about talent; there are no tricks to it.”

"Has Sister Ovira read many books on this topic?"

"Ah, sort of. I only watched it these past two days. As for why I watched it... you probably know. Unfortunately, my first attempt failed." At this point, Princess Beman muttered to herself, "Sure enough, I'm not Alice. I don't have a talent for comedy; I can't learn this kind of thing..."

“It’s not Ovira’s fault,” Medine said, trying to comfort her.

“That’s it!” Ovira’s eyes lit up, as if she had found a kindred spirit. “It really isn’t my fault; it’s all your fault. You’re all so stubborn, bearing all your sorrows alone, refusing to share them with everyone. Even that little lamb is so stubborn that it’s hard to know what to say. It hasn’t slept or eaten for three whole days and nights, waiting in the same place every day. Doesn’t it get… tired?”

Such words are less of an accusation and more of a veiled complaint.

Sister Ovira certainly has the right to complain.

Three days have passed since that incident, but no one seems to have accepted the fact. An extremely oppressive atmosphere hangs over the entire Cloud Whale Sky Island. Although everyone's lives continue as usual, most are just numbing themselves by doing the same things: Alice locks herself in her room, staring blankly at the game console's startup screen every day, constantly wavering between "start game" and "exit game"; Miss Siesta still prepares delicious food for everyone every day, but after cooking, she no longer calls everyone downstairs to eat in a gentle voice, but sits alone by the window, silently gazing at the scenery outside; Miss Sheria is still studying bartending techniques behind the bar, but she always pours out a glass after mixing it, seemingly not satisfied with her new creations...

Despite this, Sister Ovira maintained her high spirits and abundant energy. She even changed her bad habit of staying up late and sleeping in, urging everyone to go back to their rooms to sleep on time. Every morning, she would loudly wake them up. Not only that, she also forcibly dragged out Ieta, who was hiding in her room in a daze or curled up in bed in self-isolation, and made her clumsily help the landlady in the kitchen, urging Sheria and Shemi not to neglect the care of the herb garden... Her vitality seemed inexhaustible, completely unaffected by the outside world, which was enviable.

Even though everyone knows she's just pretending.

Or rather, I'm forcing myself.

Perhaps indulging in grief would be easier, but grief is a contagious emotion. If everyone did this, the end result would only be everyone wallowing in the past, offering no benefit to the future. Princess Bémang was able to recognize this thanks to her own experience. She had a wonderful teacher who taught her the most profound yet most important lesson in life through his own death. From this, she learned courage, resilience, and a heart that would never succumb to the sorrows of the world.

Medine admired her greatly.

Because she too had experienced the death of a loved one—at her father's funeral, facing the cold coffin—that was the first emotion she felt, but rather than sadness, it was more of a bewilderment. As a young girl, she didn't grasp the implications; she simply listened blankly to the pastor's lamentations and confessions, hand in hand with her brother. Years later, she finally understood the true meaning of "death" and "separation." She thought that facing death a second time, her experience would make her more mature and composed, but it was far more intense than before. A heart-wrenching pain followed by a long blank in her mind. When she came to her senses, she found herself tightly held in her brother's arms, the tears in her eyes seeming to flow into his as well.

Therefore, death is not something that you can deal with more calmly just by experiencing it more or having more experience. It is like any violent natural disaster in the world. Even if you have experienced it once, when you face it again, you will still feel afraid, you can only scream, run away, and then lose your way, praying for one in ten thousand chances to survive its violent onslaught.

In the stories passed down from ancient times, those who could face natural disasters were called warriors.

“Sister Ovira,” she said sincerely, “you are very strong and amazing.”

Princess Beman's cheeks flushed instantly. She waved her hands awkwardly and denied it repeatedly: "I, I'm not as amazing as you say. I just think, uh, I just think that I have things I can do... Ah, look, aren't they back?"

She suddenly pointed in the direction of the street and exclaimed in surprise. Although she knew that her sister Ovira was probably just trying to change the subject, Medine still obediently looked away and followed the princess's finger. Coincidentally, she saw two figures, one big and one small, slowly walking from the end of the street, stepping through the lights and darkness. The shadow of the one leading the lamb seemed familiar, making the two of them feel a little dazed for a moment.

Has she returned? Or...?

The footsteps gradually stopped, and the young man, leading the lamb, walked up to Ovira and her sister, nodding to them: "I'm back." (End of Chapter)