Chapter 66

Chapter 66: A Tranquil Life

In the twilight, Pullman stood quietly on a hillside, his armor still showing traces of dried blood. A greatsword was planted beside him, its blade marked with numerous nicks, and the cloth wrapped around the hilt was worn out, dyed dark red in many places.

On the open field nearing sunset, scattered weapons, broken spear shafts, burning flags, and twisted corpses formed a desolate picture.

The rebels with white headscarves searched the battlefield one by one. If they found someone alive, they would immediately lift them onto a stretcher and carry them to the rear medical point, regardless of whether they were comrades or former enemies. Every life was precious.

“Brother Pullman, did we win?” asked a weak youth lying on a stretcher. His upper body was wrapped in bandages, and one arm hung limply.

“Yes, we won,” Pullman replied, holding the youth’s intact hand, his voice filled with emotion.

“How wonderful.”

The youth gazed at the lavender sky, whispering to himself.

“We’re closer to our dreams.”

—

In the southern region of the continent, the Vergha Commercial Alliance, Hope Lane.

After handling matters with the merchant guild, Lolan Hill recently enjoyed a rare moment of respite.

She sat alone in a small courtyard behind the manor. The courtyard wasn’t large, with a short pear tree in the middle.

It was very quiet here, the chirping of birds could be heard, and occasionally a few flew down from the eaves, landing on the grass, walking back and forth, pecking around before flying away again.

The young lady wore a white dress, sitting on a wooden chair with a backrest under the eaves. There were several standing stone pillars, and some green moss crept from the courtyard’s grass into the gaps between the steps.

At this moment, she held a small bamboo basket in her arms, containing half a basket of fresh green pea pods. She pinched the edges of the pod with her nails, tearing it open to reveal a green fiber, and several translucent, moist beans emerged, accompanied by a faint fragrance from the plant.

With her fingers gently moving, several emerald green peas rolled into her fair palm. The peas were placed in a white porcelain bowl on the right, while the torn pods were put into another bamboo basket on the left.

Lolan Hill quietly shelled the pea pods, golden hair falling loosely over her chest. Occasionally, a breeze would blow, and birds would call as they flew away with the wind. The shadows of the pear tree leaves swayed gently in the courtyard.

These days, maidservants had been taking care of her life. At first, it was somewhat novel, but over time, she longed to do things herself.

As she sat on the wooden chair shelling peas, Lolan Hill slowly recalled past events. During her childhood, every summer and winter vacation, she would visit her grandmother’s house. Unlike her oppressive city home, her grandparents lived in the mountains.

She could clearly hear the sound of raindrops hitting the green tiles whenever it rained. She loved staying at her grandmother’s house because no one pressured her to study, and no one scolded her every day. Her grandparents liked her and gave her no restrictions; she could do whatever she wanted.

Whether it was reading novels under the trees on the hillside, fishing by the riverside, roasting corn on the drying ground, digging peanuts in the fields, or hiding in the house to play games all day, her grandparents never said anything as long as she ate on time.

In the summer nights, she would lie on a bamboo recliner, watching the Milky Way and the moon, and her grandmother would tell her magical stories like wild men eating children in the mountains.

Yes, she had seen fireflies. When she was six years old, countless fireflies danced through the mountains, flickering on and off. She once wanted to catch some fireflies and put them in a transparent plastic bag to read books at night.

Unfortunately, the stories were lies. The light from the fireflies was too weak to see clearly unless hundreds gathered together.

As she grew older, she gradually realized that the fireflies in the mountains became fewer and fewer. After the age of ten, she never saw them again.

Days passed by, and she developed a liking for cooking.

At first, it was just roasting sweet potatoes, peanuts, corn, and potatoes.

Later, she learned to cook soup with fish she had caught from the pond. She was not very good at cutting vegetables, and her grandmother feared she might cut her hand, so she was not allowed to touch the knife. Therefore, her grandfather would prepare the fish, and she would watch him, along with a flower cat from her hometown.

Since she couldn’t stir-fry, she decided to boil something. Corn was delicious when boiled, and potatoes were good too. Once, boiling beans made her realize that this was also quite nice.

As the peas were slowly shelled, her thoughts slowly returned.

The originally empty porcelain bowl gradually filled up with peas, starting from just a few, accumulating bit by bit until it was full. The young lady felt a faint sense of satisfaction.

She picked up the white porcelain bowl filled with peas with both hands and went to the nearby small kitchen. This was a small room Chelsea had specially cleaned out for her, where she would make food.

The green beans were poured into a pottery basin, then a ladle of clear water was scooped from the water jar and added to the basin, gently agitating. Her fingers rotated in the basin, creating a small whirlpool. Then, she stopped and playfully spun in the opposite direction, stirring up ripples.

After several rounds, she tilted the basin, holding back the round beans with one hand like a small dam, letting the water drain slowly.

With a spark, a few dry straws were lit, and a deep pottery pot was placed on top. Clear water was poured in, followed by the shelled beans. The lid was put back on, and a few more pieces of firewood were added, the flames slowly rising from the dry branches and licking the bottom of the pot.

Lolan Hill brought a chair and sat quietly by the stove, the crackling sound of burning wood reaching her ears. Orange flames reflected in her pupils, and she fell into a slight daze.

When alone, people tend to think, to ponder about the present, the past, and the future.

She had been in this world for quite some time, without any family, friends, or familiar faces. Now, she was free from any constraints, but what path would she take in the future?

Contrary to historical records and expert predictions, the great sage Lolan Hill, who saved the world from the brink of destruction ten times with starlight, did not have grand ambitions in the third era, the year of the Iron Spear’s march, 1684. At that time, she merely wished to live a simple, tranquil life, nothing more than an ordinary existence.