The tall tower, surrounded by dense thorns.
It should have been as lonely as an island, as majestic as an ancient castle. Those thorny vines were like loyal guards, protecting the tower's base year after year, so much so that even birds dared not easily land on the sharp stones at its peak.
But at this very moment, from high above, faint sounds of people laughing could be heard, like a string of silver bells tinkling in the wind, shattering the tower's perennial silence.
In the clearing below the tower, two gray donkeys were loosely tied with thick ropes to a nearby tree, the ropes long enough for them to move freely.
They clearly weren't concerned with the commotion in the tower, simply lowering their heads, slowly chewing the fresh green grass at their feet, not caring even when bits of grass clung to the corners of their mouths.
Occasionally, they would flick their tails, lift their heads to look at the tower's cloud-piercing peak, and let out a soft "huff" from their throats, looking quite content, as if the laughter from the tower and the rustling of leaves in the wind were merely the most ordinary background sounds.
Just like the laughter from the top of the tower, lighthearted and without a trace of gloom.
In the house on the tall tower, a small wooden table had appeared at some point, and several people were sitting around it.
The table was piled high with all sorts of strange snacks, things Lettuce had never seen in her eighteen years—cream cakes topped with white frosting, with a few bright red strawberries clinging to the edges;
Colorful spicy strips were heaped on a plate, emitting a fragrant and spicy aroma;
Round, bulging potato chip bags, some already torn open, revealing golden, crispy fragments;
There were also colorful fruit juice drinks and dark brown cola, with patterns she couldn't understand printed on the bottles, and clear straws inserted into the openings.
Little Bottle's mouth was wide open, his cheeks stuffed like a plump Squirrel's, filled with cream cake. White cream clung to the corners of his mouth and the tip of his nose, but he didn't bother to wipe it, his eyes narrowed into slits, his whole being showing a look of rapture as he mumbled indistinctly,
"Delicious... what kind of days were those before..."
Ben, sitting next to him, held a can of cola and was tilting his head back, drinking it with loud gulps.
The soda gurgled down his throat, making a fizzing sound, the icy liquid with its bubbles rushing into his stomach. That stimulating pleasure struck him directly, making him shiver involuntarily, then burst into laughter.
"This stuff is more potent than Ale!"
Various sounds intermingled in the air—the "crunch" of potato chip bags being torn open, the "slurp" of straws sucking drinks, and a chorus of laughter and chatter.
The clearest among them was the girl's laughter, like a clear mountain spring hitting pebbles, crisp and lively, mixing with Little Bottle's chewing and the fizzing of soda, weaving into a lively little tune.
Where did the girl's laughter come from?
Naturally, from Lia and Lettuce.
Lia's nose was stained with a bit of cake cream, like a tiny white sesame seed. She was gesticulating as she spoke, her eyes sparkling.
And Lettuce, a bit of cream had also smudged her cheek, like a pink flower accidentally touched by snow, but this slight mess couldn't hide the smile on her face.
That smile overflowed from her heart, like a newly bloomed flower, with a hint of shyness and an irrepressible joy.
Actually, most of the time, it was Lettuce who was laughing, her laughter like a stream just thawed, clear and a little shy, while Lia talked incessantly beside her, her eyes bright as if filled with stars.
"The outside world is so wonderful!"
Lia picked up a spicy strip, its red oil glistening in the sunlight. She carefully took a small bite, and the spiciness instantly shot to her tongue, making her stick out her tongue involuntarily, tears welling in the corners of her eyes, yet she still leaned forward excitedly, her voice a little hoarse from the spice.
"In the city square, there are so many beautiful, beautiful statues! All carved from stone!
Some are holding shiny swords, and the patterns on their armor are clearly visible. I heard they are heroes who drove away Evil Dragons;
Some are riding stone horses, with their front hooves raised high, as if about to leap out of the stone. Those are generals who defended the country.
At night, when the moonlight shines on them, the stones look as if they're plated with silver, so magnificent!"
Lettuce's eyes were wide, her fingers unconsciously clutching a potato chip. The crisp edge of the chip pressed into her palm, but she forgot to put it in her mouth, simply parting her lips slightly.
"Really? Can people made of stone be as powerful as real ones? And... and talking birds?"
"Of course!"
Lia clapped her hands, making the potato chip crumbs jump.
"I've seen Parrots, they're so clever!
If you say 'Hello there,' it'll tilt its head and repeat it, its voice high-pitched, more convincing than a Child's.
And the pigs at the market, white and plump, led by their owners with ropes, their bellies round like big clay pots, grunting every two steps, very cute.
Not to mention sheep, their wool like freshly fluffed cotton, soft to the touch. A flock huddled together looks like white clouds fallen from the sky, and when the wind blows, their wool gently sways!"
She paused, as if recalling an even more beautiful scene, her voice softening. "And flowers! The flowers city girls wear in their hair are ten times prettier than these purple flowers on the tower top!
There are red roses, their petals like satin;
Pink climbing roses, in clusters;
And yellow sunflowers, their heads big enough to be small hats, always turning towards the sun, as if the sun is their good friend.
In spring, wild flowers bloom everywhere by the roadside, yellow, blue, purple. Walking on the path feels like stepping on a rainbow."
Lettuce's breath grew light, her fingertips trembling slightly. She imagined the blooming flowers everywhere, imagined the talking Parrots, and her heart felt like a small drum beating, thumping.
"And angels!"
Lia added, her eyes sparkling with longing, as if two stars had fallen into them.
"The church in town is so beautiful, its windows are made of colorful glass, red like agate, blue like the sky, yellow like sunlight.
When the sun shines in, it casts many colored light spots on the ground, shimmering and moving, like scattered jewels."
She leaned closer, a hint of mystery in her voice.
"Angels are painted on the glass, their wings pure white, like freshly washed swan feathers, soft and fluffy, as if they could fly down with a single flap.
They hold flower wreaths, with dew still clinging to the petals, and they're all smiling, their eyes curved like crescent moons. I heard they specifically protect good people, and if anyone encounters difficulties and sincerely makes a wish to them, they might just have good luck."
"Angels?"
Lettuce exclaimed, her eyes wide and round, her long eyelashes trembling slightly with surprise.
"Are... are they like in the stories, with wings? Do they... do they really help people?"
In eighteen years, the only "help" she had known was the bread and water provided by "Mother." She had never imagined such gentle beings.
"Indeed..."
Lia was interrupted before she could finish by a voice from beside her.
Little Bottle's mouth was full of cake, cream glistening at the corners of his lips, like a cat that had secretly drunk milk.
He let out an indistinct "hmph," disdainful yet quietly muttering, "What about angels..."
His voice wasn't loud, like a small pebble dropped into calm water, creating a subtle ripple, but it was just enough for the two of them to hear.
Lia laughed and reached out to pat him, making his shoulder sway and almost causing him to spit out the cake in his mouth.
"What do you know? Angels are symbols of kindness! Like... like..."
She paused, her peripheral vision stealing a glance at Gwof sitting beside them—he was quietly looking out the window, as if listening to the wind.
Lia's cheeks flushed slightly, and she quickly changed the subject, "Anyway, angels are always willing to help anyone in need, they have good hearts!"
She turned to Lettuce, her eyes curved into crescent moons, as if filled with starlight.
"When we go down, I'll take you to the city.
I'll take you to see the hero statues in the square and listen to the old folks tell their stories;
Then I'll take you to the church to see the stained glass, I guarantee you won't be able to take your eyes off it!"
Lettuce watched Lia's animated expression, listening to the new things she had never heard before, and her heart felt filled with something warm and swollen, like holding a freshly baked oatcake.
She lowered her head, looking at the slightly softened potato chip in her palm, her fingertips unconsciously rubbing it.
Sometimes she thought of the stained glass and flying angels Lia spoke of, and sometimes the Pseudo-humans and darkness her "Mother" mentioned flashed through her mind. The two thoughts gently collided in her heart.
She hesitated for a long time, then finally asked cautiously, her voice as thin as a thread,
"Then... aren't there any bad places outside?"
Lia paused, the smile on her face fading slightly, as if struck by the question.
She lowered her head and picked at the cream on the cake, a bit of white clinging to her fingertips.
However, she immediately looked up again, smiling even more brightly: "There aren't any bad places."
Seeing some doubt still in Lettuce's eyes, she added,
"Perhaps there will be hardships, just like snow falls in winter and crops can't grow in the fields.
But suffering won't last forever. When the snow melts, spring will come, seeds will sprout, and life will always get better little by little."
Lia picked up a spicy strip, its oily red surface glinting in the sunlight. She held it high, like a small battle flag, her tone full of conviction.
"Evil Dragons do exist in this world. They will open their bloody mouths, snatch princesses from castles, and breathe fire, destroying peaceful villages and leaving children homeless.
But don't forget, there will always be brave heroes who stand up!
They will carry sharp swords, ride the fastest horses, and even if their bodies are scarred by dragon fire, even if they are bleeding, they will grit their teeth and charge forward, driving away the Evil Dragons and bringing light back to everyone.
Just like... just like..."
Her voice suddenly stopped, as if gently pinched by something.
The hand holding the spicy strip also froze mid-air, her gaze somewhat unfocused, a faint blush secretly rising on her cheeks.
Lettuce's heart was thumping along with her words, and seeing her suddenly stop, she looked over cautiously, a hint of confusion in her eyes.
Following Lia's gaze—
It turned out Lia was looking at the "Magician" who had first appeared, the little boy who called himself Gwof.
He was currently sitting on a wooden chair by the window, leaning against the outermost stone wall, his hat brim slightly raised, revealing a small part of his face.
Sunlight streamed through the gaps in the vines onto his face, making the shadow of his eyelashes gently sway beneath his eyes.
He didn't participate in their conversation, nor did he devour food like Little Bottle. He just sat quietly, holding a half-finished bottle of juice, his gaze fixed on the distant forest outside the window. He appeared exceptionally calm, as if the liveliness of the tower had nothing to do with him, yet also as if everything was within his watchful eye.
Lia's gaze lingered on Gwof's face for only a moment before she hastily averted it as if burned, a faint blush creeping up her ears.
She subconsciously pursed her lips, her fingers gripping the spicy strip tighter, as if finding an excuse to conceal her panic, or perhaps feeling a little embarrassed at having her thoughts seen through.
...Just like brave people always appear when needed.
She stuffed the spicy strip into her mouth, her voice muffled as if she had a preserved plum in it, the end of her words trembling slightly.
Lettuce sat beside her, observing this subtle scene clearly.
She looked at Lia's slightly flushed profile, then turned to Gwof—he was still sitting there calmly.
Somehow, the slight fear she had of the "Evil Dragon" dissipated quietly, like thin mist brushed away by the wind.
She suddenly felt that this little boy, perhaps truly was a hero who could drive away the "Evil Dragon," just as Lia hadn't explicitly said.
The wind slipped in through the open window, carrying the fresh scent of forest plants, gently stirring Gwof's fringe, revealing his smooth forehead and clear eyes;
It also ruffled the strands of hair near Lia's cheeks, a few wisps clinging to her reddened earlobes, like the wings of a butterfly at rest.
Lettuce watched this scene unfold—Lia frantically smoothing her wind-blown hair, the blush on her ears like a sunset glow—a faint smile unconsciously appeared on her lips, like holding a melted piece of candy, sweetness slowly spreading from her heart, flowing through her veins to her fingertips, even the fingers holding the potato chips softened.
In a trance, Lettuce's thoughts drifted back to a night long ago.
The wind at the top of the tower was gentler then, carrying the faint scent of wisteria, and the moonlight, like shattered silver foil, filtered through the gaps in the vines, creating scattered patches of light on the bluish-gray stone ground.
"Mother" sat on the stone stool, polished bright by time, holding the peach wood comb she had used for many years, a few strands of fallen golden hair tangled in its teeth, combing her hair with steady strokes.
The wooden comb glided through her thick hair, making a soft rustling sound, like autumn wind blowing through a golden wheat field, or stream water flowing over pebbles, carrying a rhythm that brought peace of mind.
She was still small then, her height just reaching "Mother's" waist, wearing a little nightgown adorned with lace, its hem sweeping over the moss in the stone cracks.
She didn't understand what a Pseudo-human was, nor did she comprehend the sharpness hidden in the words "danger." She only felt that "Mother's" embrace was the warmest place in the world—even if those hands were covered in calluses, even if "Mother" always said there were man-eating monsters outside, she was never afraid.
She hugged her knees, tilted her small face upwards, her flowing golden hair like melted moonlight cascading over her shoulders, brushing against "Mother's" rough sleeve.
Looking at "Mother's" profile, somewhat blurred by the moonlight—it was truly not beautiful.
Her nose bridge was long and curved, like a withered branch twisted by a fierce wind, but the tip of her nose hooked abruptly downwards, almost touching her lips;
Her cheeks were covered in dark brown spots, like mold scattered on the ground, and crisscrossing wrinkles spread from the corners of her eyes to her jaw, deep enough to fit half a finger;
Her lips were very thin and purplish-blue. When pressed tightly, they pulled at the wrinkles around her mouth, like a crumpled piece of old tree bark.
Yet, in Lettuce's eyes, this face was the kindest in the world.
She never found this face ugly.
In her eighteen years of life, this face was all of "Mother," the hand that brought her bread, the voice that stroked her hair and said "don't be afraid," the only reliance in this lonely tower top.
Even later, after hearing many descriptions of how hideous Pseudo-humans were from "Mother," she never projected those terrifying images onto this face—because this face would pat her back with rough hands when she had nightmares, and would bandage her knee with herbs when she fell and got injured.
"Mother, will I grow up to be like you too?"
She tilted her head curiously, her fingers twirling a strand of hair that fell to her chest, her eyes full of innocent longing.
"Mother's" combing motion paused, the wooden comb stuck in her hair. After a long while, she shook her head, her voice as light as a sigh.
"No, you won't."
She put down the comb and gently touched Lettuce's cheek with her fingertips, a slight coolness in her touch.
"You will become the prettiest girl, with smooth skin and a straight nose, not like me..."
"No,"
Lettuce immediately interrupted her, her small brows furrowed, but her tone was unusually firm.
"I want to grow up to be just like Mother!"
"Mother" was completely stunned, a trace of panic flashing in her usually vigilant blue eyes, like a stone dropped into a calm lake.
She turned her face away, avoiding Lettuce's gaze, her voice suddenly becoming stern, yet holding a subtle tremor.
"Why do you want to be like me? I am so ugly..."
Her voice carried a self-loathing she didn't even realize.
"Mother isn't ugly at all!"
Lettuce reached out and hugged "Mother's" waist, burying her small face in the other's soap-scented clothes, her voice muffled but clear.
"Mother is the person I love most!"
"Mother's" body stiffened, as if burned by these words.
After a long while, she slowly raised her hand and awkwardly patted Lettuce's back, her voice heavy like a waterlogged stone, carrying an unyielding solemnity, yet also a choked emotion she herself hadn't noticed.
"You don't understand what love is..."
"Then what is love?"
Lettuce lifted her head from her embrace, her eyes clear and bright with confusion, as if washed by moonlight.
"Mother's" hand abruptly froze in mid-air, and the peach wood comb clattered onto the stone ground, making a crisp sound.
She looked down at Lettuce's undefiled eyes, her blue eyes swirling with complex emotions—surprise, helplessness, and a softness she couldn't even describe herself.
A moment later, she took a deep breath, her voice low as if rising from underground.
"My love for you is true love."
The moonlight happened to shift across her face, and Lettuce saw the glistening in "Mother's" eyes, like two forgotten stars.
She nodded, half-understanding, and reached out to pick up the comb, handing it back to "Mother":
"Then my love for Mother is true love too."
"Mother" took the comb, her fingertips trembling slightly. It took her a long time to re-grasp Lettuce's hair, but this time, the sound of the comb teeth gliding through the strands was so light, as if afraid of breaking some precious treasure.
Her hand once again stroked Lettuce's golden hair, the calluses on her fingertips brushing against her scalp, the force carrying an undeniable certainty, yet subtly revealing a faint tenderness when it reached the ends of her hair, like sunlight occasionally piercing through a window crack in deep winter.
"Only I will be good to you, give you bread, and protect you in this tower."
Her voice was even lower, as if speaking a secret that must be guarded to the death.
"Everyone else is a Pseudo-human, a demon in human skin, here to harm you.
Their smiles are seasoned with poison, their kindness is a sugar-coated knife. As soon as you get close, they will drag you to hell, leaving not even a speck of bone."
At that time, Lettuce believed it.
She took "Mother's" words as truth, like seeds rooting in the soil.
She thought "love" was the rye bread that appeared punctually in the bamboo basket every day, the dew-fresh water in the morning;
It was "Mother's" rough palm occasionally stroking her head, carrying a prickly warmth;
It was the phrase "It's only safe here" repeated for eighteen years, like a sturdy door, blocking out all "bad things."
But at this very moment, watching Lia rack her brains to describe the outside world to make her happy, vividly recounting the bustling market, the magnificent church, the vibrant fields, even as tears streamed down her face from the spicy strip, she was still gasping and shouting, "See, isn't it interesting?";
Watching Ben laugh heartily, holding a cola can, his laughter shaking the potato chip bag on the table, yet silently handing her a bottle of juice when her cup was empty;
Watching Gwof always sit calmly by the window, saying little, but always gently stopping Little Bottle with a look when he got too boisterous, his gaze on her carrying a reassuring warmth;
Even watching Little Bottle, single-mindedly stuffing cake into his mouth, and when Lia patted the back of his head saying "eat slower," he only grumbled vaguely, "You're so nosy," yet secretly pushed the last strawberry in front of her—Lettuce suddenly felt something melt like ice in her heart, as if she finally understood what true love was.
It wasn't high walls built with "danger" trapping her in a confined space;
It wasn't fear woven with "Pseudo-humans" making her afraid to look up at the outside sunlight.
Instead, it was the starlight twinkling in Lia's eyes, that sincerity when describing the world to her;
It was the warmth hidden in Gwof's calm gaze, that silent protection;
It was Little Bottle's awkward kindness, that concern hidden behind complaints.
It was someone willing to squat down and patiently listen to her eighteen years of loneliness, without finding her long-winded;
It was someone willing to take her hand, smiling and saying "come with me," to show her sunrises and sunsets she had never seen before;
It was someone who, even knowing there were Evil Dragons, thorns, and difficult paths in the world, would hold her hand tightly and say, "Don't be afraid, heroes always appear, and we can be our own heroes."
The wind blew in through the window again, carrying the chirping of birds from the distant forest, as crisp as clinking jade fragments.
Lettuce looked down at the potato chip softened in her palm, its edges already slightly wrinkled, yet carrying a reassuring warmth.
She suddenly felt that the "true love" "Mother" spoke of and what she was feeling now were not the same thing at all.
Perhaps, "Mother" didn't understand what love was either.
She thought, Mother, walking alone through the forest every day, guarding this tall tower, guarding a "daughter" she had confined with fear, probably... was very lonely too.
The moment this thought emerged, Lettuce herself was taken aback.
She gently shook her head, put the potato chip in her mouth, and a faint salty aroma spread on her tongue, mixed with an indescribable taste in her heart, like a glass of lemonade with honey, sweet and sour intertwined, yet exceptionally real.