Miss Witch Doesn't Want to be a Diva-Chapter 1668: Dappled Light in the Woods
Four-leaf Crystal Star Domain·Jade Skirt
The creek in the mountains babbles, its clarity revealing the stones at the bottom, as Tilan and Ores walk along the path beside it.
"Tilan, what's the name of that flower over there?" Ores stops and points to an unknown blossom emerging from the forest.
The petals are slender, like fingers closing, with stamens thin as threads, possessing a delicate beauty different from ordinary flowers.
"That's a stone garlic." Tilan wears a soft dark green off-shoulder dress today, with smooth strands of hair draped over her shoulders.
"Stone garlic, such an ordinary name." Ores seems eager to take a closer look, yet the thick grass and dew would stain her shoes with mud and grime.
These attractive purple strap sandals were newly bought by Tilan for her, worn only twice, and Ores hesitates to soil them.
"Let's go over." Tilan comes to her side, taking Ores' hand, and they both leap lightly, like two cotton flowers gently falling beside the forest stone garlic.
The fresh young stems sport dew and hints of mud, lacking the clean perfection found in flower shops and botanical gardens, yet possessing a natural, real beauty that captures Ores' gaze. She carefully holds her dress as she bends down, drawing her eyes close to the blooming petals, curious and delighted in her observation.
"Can I pick it, Tilan?" Ores turns her head to ask the girl standing behind her.
"It would die if you picked it. You can gently uproot it whole and bring it back." Tilan gazes tenderly at her silver-haired companion.
"Alright," Ores says, her voice tinged with a small thrill.
Having said this, she gradually brushes away the loose soil at the flower's roots, slowly digging out the entire blossom, and once she stands up holding it, her arms bear a coating of dirt.
"Got it out~" Ores gazes happily at the flower swaying and trembling mildly in her hands.
"Yes, let's go." Tilan nods, then leads Ores, leaping lightly back to the path.
The two continue along the path by the creek, Ores' attention alternating between the trees and scenery beside the path and the stone garlic flower she holds in her hands. Along the way, she intermittently asks Tilan the names of the flowers, grass, and birds they pass, noting them down.
Arriving at a rest pavilion on the mountainside, Ores, guided by Tilan, carefully places the stone garlic on the grass, then washes her arms clean with fresh water.
Tilan meticulously dries Ores' fingers with paper, then sets it aside: "There, that's good."
Ores looks at her now clean fingers and answers happily, "Thank you, Tilan."
Then they sit in the pavilion, lightly resting, gazing upward at the patch of sky framed by the mountain forests, feeling the refreshing breeze of the woods.
As time fleetingly passes, it has been twenty years since the Federation unified, the epic war in the Central Star Domain slowly fading from memory.
The songstresses who once inspired countless people and stirred an era now resemble faded photos, only to be found in memories and stacks of records.
The new generation faces a wholly new world, absent of the intense fervor of the past. Today's social atmosphere is much calmer, lacking the extremes, where sensationalized antics and surprises meant for catching attention have become matters of dislike and detest for many. Even language in advertisements is far more cautious and humble.
If Color-level Songstresses could alter societal guidance and foundation, then after the golden beliefs and cobalt blue resoluteness comes the dawn rising slowly from the black ink. It's neither dazzling nor intense as imagined, rather a serenity and placidness after much has been experienced.
"If we must evaluate this sentiment, it might be understood as a return to life's essence following much hope and despair, without excitement or sorrow, but just the tranquility of watching the water flow," a sociologist ultimately remarks in a journal.
A person's life encounters the radiant sunrise and beautiful sunset, but more often walks peacefully on windless paths, gradually crossing grasslands and shade, until reaching the hilltop at the road's end.
Sitting in the pavilion, Tilan leans lightly against the railing, her eyes closing slightly, taking a nap in the gentle forest breeze. Nearby, Ores kneels on one knee on the wooden planks, both hands lightly gripping the railing, gazing up at the exceptionally bright blue sky.
The mountain birds make pleasant sounds, heard only when one's heart is truly calm, their graceful shifts in tone quick and joyful. Even unseen, their small bodies exude lively vitality.
It's May, and summer's cicadas haven't awakened yet, leaving room for varied lengths of mountain bird calls filling the clearing under woods and the blue sky.
Nostrils gently rise and fall, the sleeping girl's face touched by a little sunshine, fragmented light through strands casting a soft aspect over her visage, her brows relaxed naturally, her delicate fingers resting by her dress combine with the red lacquered old wood and some fallen curled and dried leaves beside, appearing exceptionally harmonious.
The ten-minute nap feels exceptionally long, and when those eyes open again within the slight movement of eyelashes, it's as though a long dream has transpired.
Tilan gently props against the red lacquered wood, sitting up, seeing Ores still leaning against the railing looking at the mountain scenery. She smiles and comes to Ores' side, their shoulders gently touching.
