While Ophelia was changing back into her own clothes, Klein had already settled the final payment with Lillian.
He paid an extra three gold coins. When Lillian tried to offer change in a panic, he stopped her with a smile. The gold coins felt heavy and warm in the girl's palm, which was covered in callouses from needlework.
“This is extra compensation for the artisan.” Klein’s gaze swept over the wedding dress hanging back on the dress form, his eyes filled with pure admiration. “It is worth this price, and even more.”
Lillian’s cheeks flushed again. Clutching the gold coins, her fingertips felt hot. She muttered softly about it being “too much” and “not needing this much,” yet she didn't know how to return the money.
At that moment, Ophelia emerged from behind the curtain, having finished changing.
She had put on her spirited sturdy gear again, and her long golden hair was tied back up. Her entire person had returned to her usual heroic and dashing appearance.
However, the sunset-like blush that hadn't completely faded still betrayed the turbulence in her heart.
Klein took a few extra looks, only to be glared back at by her.
“The length of the skirt... and the cuffs, will they get in the way when you walk?” Seeing the main subject come out, Lillian finally found a target to divert her attention and plucked up the courage to ask a professional question.
Her voice was still very small, but her articulation was clear. This was her instinct as a tailor.
Klein looked at Ophelia with a smile, leaving the decision to her.
“No,” Ophelia shook her head. She recalled how she felt just now and added seriously, “It fits very well, and there are no issues with movement. The length of the sleeves is just right.”
When she said the last sentence, her gaze fell almost unconsciously on her left hand—the hand she always hid, intentionally or not. Inside the sleeve of that wedding dress just now, it had been tucked away so properly and quietly, as if it had never been injured.
This feeling stirred an indescribable touch in her heart.
Receiving this answer, Lillian seemed to breathe a great sigh of relief. Immediately after, a light burst from her eyes, which were usually timid; it was the brilliance unique to a craftsperson conceiving a perfect work.
She became somewhat excited, even forgetting her nervousness, and stepped forward. “Then, then I will use silver thread to embroider the initials of your name on the inside of the collar... is that okay? I'll use a very special stitching technique so it won't be visible from the outside at all! And the cuffs, I want to change them to small rounded pearl buttons; the luster will be softer...”
The young girl was completely immersed in her own world. The more she spoke, the brighter her eyes became, as if she could already see the finished product. She even unconsciously reached out her hand, gesturing the path of the needle and thread in the air.
“...Moreover, the curve of your shoulder line is very beautiful. If I take it in just a little bit here, just a tiny bit, the overall silhouette will be even sharper. I can also use hidden stitching at the seams...”
Klein listened with great interest, while Ophelia’s expression beside him was somewhat subtle.
She had no concept of these delicate details. Her mind was filled with sword moves and formations; listening to these terms, which were more complex than magic incantations, she actually felt a bit dizzy. But seeing Lillian’s obsessed look, and then seeing Klein’s expression of watching a good show, she sighed helplessly, though a trace of unfamiliar warmth rose in her heart.
How did it feel to be treated so seriously by someone?
It seemed... not bad.
“Then we’ll leave it to you, Miss Lillian,” Klein smiled and made the decision for Ophelia. He received a look from his wife—those golden eyes that usually didn't flinch on the battlefield were now clearly broadcasting four words: Save me, quickly.
Klein almost laughed out loud on the spot, so he had to clear his throat to barely suppress the mirth.
“It’s getting late; we should take our leave,” he said to Lillian, who was still immersed in her creative passion.
“Ah? O-okay...” Only then did Lillian snap out of it. Her cheeks turned red as she reverted back to that timid lop-eared rabbit, standing there at a loss. “P-please take care.”
Klein naturally took Ophelia’s hand and walked out of the sewing house.
Behind them, the small brass bell rang once more, as crisp as a farewell.
...
The afterglow of the sunset plated the manor in a heavy warm gold, and the sweet fragrance of plants and flowers steamed up during the day still lingered in the air. The evening breeze lazily passed through the manor’s bluestone path, swirling a few leaves that had fallen from some tree.
Klein held Ophelia’s hand as the two walked side by side on the road back to the main house.
Her hand was somewhat rough.
There were hard callouses on her fingertips from years of holding a sword, and an old scar that had already turned white at the web of the thumb—a mark left by blades. Completely different from the slender grace outlined by that holy wedding dress, these were the hands of a warrior.
Well... it might be better if they were a bit softer and smoother?
Klein thought for a moment, then mentally contradicted himself.
No, it’s fine just like this.
He couldn't help but chuckle.
Ophelia noticed the slight tightening in his palm and glanced at him sideways, her gaze full of confusion.
“What are you laughing at?”
“Nothing.” Klein shook his head, his thumb gently rubbing the callouses on her palm. “Just thinking of some happy things.”
Ophelia stared at him suspiciously for two seconds. Seeing his innocent smile, she ultimately didn't press further, only quietly tightening her grip on his fingers.
The two were bathed in the golden light, and even their footsteps felt a bit lighter.
However, as soon as they stepped into the front hall, this relaxed and sweet atmosphere was interrupted by an unexpected figure.
It wasn't the steward Raymond, nor any of the maids.
It was Lyra.
She stood in a corner of the front hall, standing straight like a weed stubbornly taking root in barren soil.
It looked like she had been waiting for a long time. On the floor by her feet, one could vaguely see the footprints left by her pacing back and forth.
In her hands, she held a small bundle wrapped in clean linen, her thumb unconsciously rubbing the fabric repeatedly until the linen was starting to fray.
Her expression was tense, her jaw set in a rigid line, but in those eyes weathered by sea breezes and salt, there was an unmistakable persistence.
Seeing them come in, she seemed to have made a monumental decision and quickly came forward to meet them. Her pace was urgent, but she stopped abruptly three steps away from Klein, nearly stumbling.
“Lord Klein.”
Her voice was kept very low, as if afraid of disturbing something, yet it carried a hint of unconscious urgency.
Klein let go of Ophelia’s hand, somewhat surprised. “Lyra? Is something the matter?”
“I have processed the moonseed flower and soul-quieting grass you wanted. I’d like you to take a look.”
As Lyra spoke, she carefully handed over the linen bundle, her movements like she was presenting a rare treasure. Her hands trembled slightly from nervousness, causing the contents of the bundle to make a faint rustling sound.
Klein took it and unwrapped the cloth.
A cold scent mixed with earth and moonlight wafted out, along with a very faint bitterness—the unique scent of soul-quieting grass. If this thing wasn't cleaned properly, the smell would be very pungent. But the scent of this batch of medicinal ingredients was controlled just right.
He pinched a bit of powder and rubbed it gently between his fingers, bringing it to his nose to sniff.
The processing wasn't top-tier; the grain size couldn't be called perfectly uniform, and the grinding force was a bit uneven, as he could occasionally feel one or two slightly coarser grains. But it excelled in care.
Every herb was cleaned very thoroughly, without a trace of impurity mixed in. The petals and stamens of the moonseed flower were stored separately, and the root fibers of the soul-quieting grass had been carefully removed.
One could see that the person who processed it had put in immense patience.
“Very good.” Klein nodded, giving his affirmation. “Even better than I expected.”
Receiving the praise, Lyra’s tense shoulders visibly relaxed, like a string stretched to its limit finally being plucked. But she didn't show the slightest bit of joy; instead, she followed up even more urgently, her body leaning forward slightly, her voice trembling:
“Then... did I really help? My Lord, am I of some help to Karen now?”
When that name was spoken by her, her voice couldn't help but soften.
“Of course,” Klein reassured her. “It might be minor, but it is enough, isn't it?”
Lyra nodded vigorously.
“Also...” Klein’s tone was casual, as if mentioning it in passing. “That book 《Basics of Alchemy》 I mentioned, have you been reading it?”
Lyra was stunned by this question. Her lips moved as if she wanted to say something, yet also as if something was choking her.
That shrewdness and tenacity forged at the west coast docks faded from her face, receding rapidly like a tide, revealing a distress and embarrassment that bordered on shame.
Her gaze suddenly dropped, staring intently at her rough fingertips covered in tiny cuts, as if there were a hole there she could hide in.
Some of those wounds were scratches from stems while processing herbs, others were left from washing fish scales, layered and crisscrossing like some silent medals—or like some silent mockery.
Silence lasted for several seconds.
Her Adam's apple bobbed up and down once, and she finally spoke.
“My Lord... I...” Her voice was as light as a breeze, every word seemingly squeezed out from between her teeth. “...I don't really know how to read.”
The moment she said this, her whole person seemed to shrink.
It wasn't that her body bent; she still stood straight—it was a certain spirit, a certain backbone she had desperately maintained at the docks, in the shanty town, and before everyone, that quietly shattered in a corner at this moment.
The air went dead silent for an instant.
Lyra thought she would be met with disappointment, or mockery, or even an eviction order saying, “Then you’re of no use.”
She had heard too many such words in Silver Scale Harbor. Those words weren't like knives; knives were at least quick. Those words were more like salt, rubbed into an already raw wound, seeping in and stinging bit by bit.
However, what she met was a light chuckle.
“I thought it was something major.”
Klein’s voice was incredibly relaxed, even carrying a tone of “is that all?”
He wrapped the medicinal powder back up and stored it properly, his movements as natural as if the previous question had been nothing but trivial small talk.
Lyra looked up abruptly, her eyes full of shock and confusion; she even thought she had misheard. Tears were already welling in her eyes, but she desperately held them back, refusing to let them fall.
Looking at her shocked expression, Klein’s smile was gentle and sincere. “If you don't know how to read, then just learn.”
A few light words.
But in Lyra’s ears, they were as heavy as a stone falling from the sky, leaving her completely stunned.
Just learn.
Learn?
It was easy to say. At her age, she had long missed the best time to learn.
The children in Silver Scale Harbor started learning to read from priests at age seven or eight, but she had followed her mother to sort fish catches at the docks since she was little. The “words” she recognized most were the numbers on fish crates indicating weight and the prices offered by buyers.
Moreover, who would be willing to teach an adult whose mind was no longer sharp?
A trace of hope had just risen in her heart, only to be quickly suppressed by the coldness of reality.
“But... I...”
“Most of the maids in the manor are literate,” Klein interrupted her self-denial, his tone as casual as if arranging a trivial matter. “Go to them to learn. The manor is quiet anyway; consider it giving them something to do.”
He paused and added—
“Whoever teaches the best, I will give an extra gold coin as a reward at the end of the month.”
Lyra heard the weight of those words very clearly.
Her lips trembled, wanting to say a proper thank you, but all the carefully organized words shattered into dust the moment they reached her throat.
“Thank you... thank you...”
Lyra’s voice was already choked. She blinked her eyes hard, forcing back the tears welling in her eyes. After so many years of struggling at the docks, she had long ago learned one thing: do not cry in front of others.
Tears were of no use; crying would only make others look down on you.
But today, she felt it was so hard to endure.
“Go rest first,” Klein’s voice was gentle and calm, like an inconspicuous hand gently patting her shoulders, which were aching from being tense for too long. “You look like you're in poor condition.”
“O-okay, My Lord.”
Lyra nodded vigorously and took a step back.
She turned around and quickly walked out of the front hall.
The sound of footsteps gradually faded, and silence returned to the corridor.
The sunset shone diagonally through the high windows, with tiny dust motes floating and lazily rising and falling in the golden pillars of light.
Ophelia was silent for a moment, then suddenly said, “She has it very hard.”
Klein looked at her but did not speak.
“Taking care of a Karen like that all by herself, having to make a living, and having to learn things she is completely unskilled at...” Ophelia’s voice was calm.
“Mhm,” Klein responded.
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