Alice in the Land of Steam

Chapter 1351 Waiting and Hope?

"That's enough, Medine."

Outside the doors of the Heavenly Heart Church, Sister Livia stopped and said to the pink-haired girl behind her, "After I finish my prayers, I'll tidy up the church and then go to sleep. You should get some rest too, don't overwork yourself, okay?"

"Ah."

The pink-haired girl nodded gently. A night breeze blew by, lifting a few soft strands of pink hair at her temples, making them appear exceptionally light in the hazy night. Her tone remained as quiet and obedient as ever, but she seemed somewhat absent-minded, her eyelids slightly lowered, lost in thought. Sister Livia knew she wasn't acting this way intentionally; she simply hadn't yet recovered from the events of that incident. Such immense grief was difficult for others to alleviate; it could only rely on the individual's own resolve. Therefore, the sister offered no words of comfort. Besides, she believed that Medine was no ordinary girl; even such unbearable sorrow couldn't crush her.

The Holy Spirit of the Goddess will redeem the world and save all people from sorrow.

To this day, Sister Livia remains so convinced, or rather, this belief has become an integral part of her life, as clear and natural as her morning prayers or nightly prayers.

Although there were occasional moments of confusion and unease, the nun would always hear a voice telling her: "No need to rush, Livia, stick to what you believe in."

One day, you will become her strength.

Before saying goodbye, Sister Livia reached out and gently smoothed the wrinkles at the pink-haired girl's collar, then lightly brushed the dust off her shoulders. Both her expression and actions conveyed a deep emotion—was it expectation or encouragement? She didn't say it explicitly. After doing these things, she turned and walked towards the Heavenly Heart Church. In the night, the church doors were open, but the inside was pitch black. The tall portico cast heavy shadows, and the stone walls gleamed with a cold, ancient gray-white luster under the moonlight, like the gaping maw of a whale. The nun's back was like a tiny sardine, resolutely heading towards the future she had chosen.

Unlike the others who stayed at the Fairy Sleep Hotel, the nun preferred to reside in the Heavenly Heart Church. This was a habit she had developed while living in Renweting City; she would pray every morning upon waking and every night before going to sleep to achieve peace of mind for the day and for her sleep. However, not wanting to inconvenience others with her personal habits, she volunteered to remain in the church to guard the statue of the goddess.

Medion once asked her if she didn't feel lonely living alone. The nun replied that if she were afraid of loneliness, she wouldn't have chosen to embark on this path of faith in the first place.

So, must believers be fearless of loneliness?

Medine wasn't quite sure, but she admired the nun's detachment and transcendent mindset, just as she had admired Sister Xia's gentleness and elegance, Sister Ovira's nobility and erudition, Sister Rorona's composure and wit, and even Leticia's freedom and willfulness...

During this journey, she learned from many people, but unfortunately, she still hasn't grasped the essence of it.

Before long, the church was lit up with orange lights. The old oil lamps or candles swayed with the sound of the wind or the footsteps of people. Although they were not very bright, they were warm and cozy. They cast huge and warm shadows on the church’s high dome and walls, and also reflected through the windows, illuminating the girl’s bright green eyes, which were like jewels.

Medine stood quietly for a while, her slender figure stretching and shrinking, swaying slightly in the shadows of the church's outer wall. Only when the night wind brought a chill did she turn and leave. Instead of returning to the Fairy Sleep Inn, she bypassed the Heavenly Heart Church and went alone to the small cemetery behind it. Her footsteps lightly trod across the damp grass beside the church, dewdrops on the tips of the grass wetting the toes of her shoes and leaving faint imprints.

The night wind, carrying the lingering warmth of the day and the approaching coolness of night, silently swept across the small cemetery. The moonlight, not very bright, filtered through a thin layer of clouds, cast a hazy and cold glow, barely outlining the silent tombstones, which were blank, bearing no one's name. The mixed scent of earth, grass, and stone filled the air, carrying a unique silence and solemnity befitting a place of rest.

Stepping into this place is like being stared at by countless spirits of the dead, surrounded by their loneliness.

But in reality, this might just be the girl's illusion, because these graves are all empty. Perhaps the souls buried here, after experiencing a reversal of fate, are now living peaceful and warm lives in some corner of this land? But if death has escaped, and the names on the tombstones are no longer proof of loss and forgetting, then what is it that still lingers here? Or is it that even a cemetery that has never been used for burial is naturally connected to something sacred and inviolable simply by existing?
The oak saplings planted by the boys and girls who dug the grave and buried the ashes with Medion still sway gently in the wind, rustling softly. But in the past three days, Medion occasionally recalled their faces and was surprised to find that, apart from Mitch and Cardora, her memories of the others were somewhat unfamiliar. After the surprise came fear, because she couldn't determine whether this forgetting was an inevitable part of growing up, or a consequence of having her fate altered.
If it's the latter, will she forget even more people and even more things? Things she wants to forget, things she doesn't want to forget, things she can forget, things she absolutely cannot forget...

Memory is unidirectional; once lost, it will never return, and mortals have no choice in the matter.

The girl slowly knelt down, her knees touching the cold, hard ground. Grass blades and small pebbles pricked her skin, and the soil transmitted a chill through her thin dress, but she seemed oblivious. Her fingertips carefully brushed across the blank surface of the monument, tracing the rough marks, her movements carrying an almost pious gentleness, as if afraid of disturbing anyone.

Not far away, the faint sound of Sister Livia's murmured prayer drifted over, a deep, steady voice, like water flowing over pebbles, passing through the thick stone walls of the church and the silent night sky, floating intermittently with a soothing rhythm. She was kneeling before the icon of the goddess, reciting a commandment from the Canon, and had just reached that particular line—

Do not be afraid, just go your own way, for I am watching over you on earth. Medine also desperately wanted to be like the goddess's expectations, fearless and loyal only to her beliefs. But quite the opposite, she was terrified now, not by the empty tombstone before her, nor by the fading emotions, but because…

At the moment when the witch Carabosse, who wields darkness, and Saint Charlia, the girl who observes fate, died almost simultaneously.

She sensed something deep within her soul, something that couldn't be described in words...

It seems to have become more complete.

……

Many people couldn't sleep that night.

The chirping of insects in the flower field was intermittent. Ietta tossed and turned in bed, the long night filling her with loneliness, and the news of her impending departure added to her melancholy and confusion. Once, saying goodbye to old friends and embarking on a new journey was an incredibly exciting thing for the angel, like a whale migrating along the coastline, yearning for distant landscapes and unknown encounters. But today, Ietta couldn't say whether the impulse to leave was still based on that feeling, or simply an instinctive escape from some reality.

The cool moonlight streamed through the clean glass window, casting a square of silvery light on the floor. Leticia stood by the window, arms crossed, her small face tense. The moonlight outlined the slightly childish profile of her face, revealing a rare seriousness and contemplation. The question she was pondering was not one that everyone could understand, just as not everyone possessed the ability to return from the brink of death. Perhaps only her grandmother, with whom she had shared so many days, could comprehend this feeling? But the Countess did not disturb the little bat's thoughts. Instead, she sat quietly in the corner, gazing intently at the small figure. After a long while, she picked up the steaming white porcelain cup on the table and took a small sip.

In Rorona's alchemy workshop, the pervasive aroma of medicine and a dazzling array of alchemical tools occupied most of the space. A pile of hastily crafted trinkets lay abandoned on the workbench, untouched. Princess Haixi, the workshop's owner, was meticulously examining the medicines and reagents stored in the cabinets by moonlight. Her long, steady fingers traced each labeled bottle, occasionally picking one up to observe the clarity of the liquid or the form of the sediment under the moonlight. Her meticulous manner was as if she were reviewing her own hard work and toil over the past decade. But only she knew that all these efforts would ultimately flow into the sea like a river, instantly dissolved, leaving no trace. The efforts of the successful are truly arduous, while the efforts of the unsuccessful are merely futile, she couldn't help but think.

Inside Gloria and Bai Ye's room, a silent argument had been raging for hours. Two girls with diametrically opposed personalities, sharing the same body, were expressing their respective opinions, yet unable to reach a consensus. Her expression shifted between worry and doubt, and cold indifference; sometimes she argued vehemently, trying to persuade the other, and sometimes a contemptuous sneer graced her face—like a flawless actor in a one-woman show. A grey falcon flew past the window, dropping a few soft feathers; knowing this was inappropriate for the room, it hastily fled.

The three fairy sisters, travelers, lived together on the third floor until they grew up and started sleeping separately. In the landlady Siesta's room, she silently recalled her first meeting with the girl, suddenly realizing that only on this night could she possibly sleep peacefully with a smile. In the next room, Sheria gently closed her reference book on bartending and choosing liquors; the heavy pages making a dull thud as they closed. She couldn't help but think that inspiration, sometimes fleeting, sometimes elusive, was truly unbearable. Perhaps it would have been better if it had never existed in the first place. As for Shemi, who seemed so carefree during the day, as if unaffected by the incident, it wasn't until a cool breeze touched her cheeks and the salty taste of sea salt on her tongue that she suddenly realized in her sleep that she was weeping—for a sorrow exactly like that in the ancient story.

Princess Beman stared silently at the blank paper on the desk, the ink on her pen wetting and drying repeatedly, unable to decide which sentence to use to end the old story, or which to use to begin the new one; the genius gamer repeatedly inserted and removed the blank eighth cartridge from the game console, trying to find the hidden secret within, but he could not hear the familiar game start-up sound, only the monotonous hum of the machine repeating in the room; Hino rode her beloved horse Brandy, circling the Cloud Whale Sky Island again and again, showing no sign of stopping. The slightly hurried breathing seemed to resonate with the sound of the wind that night; Medine stayed in the cemetery for a long time, until Sister Livia's prayers in the Church of Heaven ceased and the lights were extinguished one by one, before she finally had the courage to leave, but she didn't know if she would have the courage to come back; while on a small hill covered with evening primroses, Ling and her lamb waited and waited, from the moon high in the sky until it disappeared, from the sparse stars until the sky gradually brightened, and finally they only saw a huge, dazzling fireball slowly rising from the other side of the horizon, awakening this sleeping earth.

"It seems we won't be able to wait until today."

"Let's go back, little lamb," said Ling, who hadn't slept all night but showed no signs of fatigue, his tone still calm.

The lamb got up from the grass, shook off the dew and grass clippings, its soft down shimmering gently in the rising sun. It wasn't disappointed; instead, it glanced back at him and bleated softly, as if asking: "If you can't come today, will you come again tomorrow?"

"Yes." The young man nodded.

Not tomorrow, but every day of the future.

As long as you haven't given up, you can keep waiting.

For some reason, a sentence suddenly popped into his mind. It must have been a quote from a classic world-famous novel that he had read when he was in college. He had almost forgotten the plot, but this sentence remained vivid in his memory.

All of human wisdom is contained in these four words: "wait" and "hope".

Give me some cats