Shopping

Ophelia stood up, walked to the window, and pushed open the two casements.

Light flooded in from outside, and the skyline of the royal capital spread out in the distance—the pointed clock towers, the pigeon-gray rooftops, and further still, the silhouette of the palace, all gilded in a warm hue by the afternoon sun.

The faint sound of carriages rolling over the flagstone path drifted up from the street, occasionally punctuated by the cries of street vendors.

It was completely different from Silver Scale Harbor. There was no salty, fishy sea breeze, no clamor of the docks; even the scent in the air had changed—it was dry and warm, mingled with the aroma of bread wafting from the bakeries.

Ophelia leaned sideways against the window frame, her gaze falling on the crowds moving along the street.

The sunlight hit her profile, making those fine strands of golden hair look almost transparent. Her left hand rested on the edge of the windowsill, her sleeve barely covering the base of her fingers—a habitual movement, like an instinct carved into her bones.

Klein glanced at her, then looked at the pot of tea on the table that had gone completely cold, the untouched pastries on the tray, and finally at the perfect daylight outside the window.

“Let's go.” He stood up from his chair and stretched his wrists.

Ophelia turned to look at him.

“Where? Back to the room?”

“For a walk.” Klein shook his head. “It's a rare trip to the royal capital; we can't just huddle in the room staring blankly at tea the whole time, can we?”

He walked to the door, took his coat off the rack, draped it casually over his arm, and then jerked his chin toward Ophelia. “Besides, Nelisa said the bill goes to the Silver Scale Chamber of Commerce. It’d be a waste not to use it.”

Ophelia didn't move.

“If you don't go, I'll have to wander around alone,” Klein added, his hand already on the doorknob. “Would Ms. Ophelia really have the heart to abandon her husband?”

“...Wait.”

Ophelia's face flushed at Klein’s somewhat unreasonable reasoning. She walked over from the window, and as she passed him, she took the coat from his arm, gave it a shake, and draped it directly over his shoulders.

“Your collar is crooked,” she said.

Klein looked down—the collar was indeed crooked, but he strongly suspected she would have found another reason even if it hadn't been.

He didn't call her out, standing obediently as she straightened his collar.

Ophelia’s fingers lingered on his collar for a breath, and when she withdrew them, her fingertips lightly brushed just above his collarbone.

Whether intentional or not, it was hard to say.

Klein looked up, meeting her gaze.

There were no superfluous expressions in those golden eyes, but his shadow was still reflected in her pupils.

They were a bit close.

Close enough that he could smell the faint scent of leather and metal on her—the smell left behind by sword belts and bracers worn for a long time, unlike any perfume.

“Let's go.” Ophelia pulled the door open first, her tone as casual as if she were commenting on the weather.

Klein followed, letting out a soft laugh behind her.

...

The royal capital was indeed prosperous.

Just in the walk from the Silver Scale Chamber of Commerce to the main street, Klein counted three tailor shops, two jewelry stores, a leather goods shop, and one store whose purpose he couldn't quite discern—its display window featured a gilded peacock specimen with rubies for eyes, looking anything but cheap.

People came and went on the streets, carriages and pedestrians each keeping to their own lanes in perfect order.

Most buildings along the street were three or four stories high, with businesses on the ground floor and residences above. Clothes hung on balconies, flowers were planted, and occasionally a cat would lie on a railing looking down.

Unlike the wild, unbridled vitality of small towns, the capital's prosperity was orderly and manicured.

The spacing of streetlamps was the same on every street, every paving stone was the same size, and even the heights of the shop signs along the streets were nearly uniform—likely regulated by municipal decrees.

Klein thought it made sense.

In the heart of the empire, even the streets had to maintain their dignity.

But he also noticed something else—patrols in pairs, wearing the standard armor of the Royal Capital Garrison, weaving through the crowd without glancing aside. One would encounter a squad at regular intervals, hands on their sword hilts, scanning every face.

Two groups of people stopped Ophelia.

The first time was at a crossroads. A young patrolman stared at the sword at her waist and gestured for her to stop.

“Your sword—”

Before he could finish, Ophelia had already produced her medallion. The young patrolman leaned in to look, his expression shifting as he quickly moved aside.

The second time was at the corner of a narrow street. The other party was more polite, but they were likewise turned back by the medallion.

Klein watched from the side, thinking to himself that the empire's control over the capital's security was indeed strict. Even the right to carry a sword was checked; an ordinary person likely couldn't even bring a dagger onto the main street.

But these things didn't have much to do with them.

The two of them walked aimlessly like this.

Though it was called shopping, they didn't really accomplish much. Neither of them was the type to enjoy spending money.

Klein had never had much desire for consumption—except for alchemical materials. Of course, things related to Ophelia were also an exception.

As for Ophelia herself? It went without saying.

For a knight who spent years dealing with swords, her biggest expenses were likely whetstones and leather oil for equipment maintenance. She didn't even glance at the jewelry stores they passed, though she did pause for half a step in front of a weapon shop window.

Klein didn't miss this detail, but he said nothing.

Ophelia’s walking rhythm was as steady as ever—even steps, back straight, her left hand hanging at her side with almost no swing.

When it was crowded, she would turn slightly, unobtrusively moving her left side away. If a passerby approached from that side, she would naturally lean half a step closer to Klein.

Her left hand was mostly healed now, but these protective little habits were already etched into her body, more deep-seated than any swordsmanship routine.

He didn't know if these habits would change once her hand was completely recovered.

Probably not.

Some traces weren't left on the flesh.

Klein was much more relaxed, walking with his hands in his coat pockets, going wherever the path led. When they passed a stall selling roasted chestnuts, he stopped for a moment, inhaled the scent for two seconds, and then kept walking.

“Not buying any?” Ophelia asked.

“Let's wait until we're on the way back. That way they'll still be hot when we get home to eat them.”

“...”

Ophelia didn't respond, but after walking a few more steps, she glanced back toward the stall.

Klein noticed but said nothing.

After walking a bit further, they passed a bookstore.

Klein's pace slowed as he looked at the displays through the glass.

Ophelia stopped as well, following his gaze—the shelves were mostly filled with travelogues and poetry collections, with a few covers bearing the royal capital's bestseller marks for the year.

“Want to go in and look?”

Klein thought for a moment and said, “Might as well.”

The bookstore door was a sliding one, with a string of brass bells hanging from the frame that jingled twice as they entered.

It was much quieter inside than out, the air floating with the scent of paper and ink, mixed with a hint of pine from the bookshelves.

The place wasn't large, but the shelves were packed tightly, reaching from the floor all the way to the ceiling, leaving only two narrow aisles in between.

Light slanted in from high, narrow windows, falling on the book spines and making the gold-stamped titles shimmer.

A middle-aged man wearing reading glasses sat behind the counter, re-gluing a cover to a book. He looked up as the two entered, then lowered his head to continue his work.

Ophelia had already walked straight in.

Klein sometimes wondered how this woman had lived her life before marrying him.

Ophelia didn't use to read much—she had said so herself. During her days stationed on the west coast, there wasn't a single leisure book in her tent, only maps.

Back then, her world likely consisted of only two things: sea monsters and swords.

Day after day, year after year, until the sea monsters retreated. Before she even had a chance to sheath her blade, she was plucked from the battlefield and tucked into a marriage contract.

Later, when she came to his place, life in the countryside was as slow as a crawling snail. Coupled with the half-wall of miscellaneous books in his small study, she had started flipping through them out of boredom, eventually becoming hooked.

Klein first scanned the shelves to the left of the door.

The bookstore in the royal capital was indeed different from the ones in the countryside; the selection was comprehensive and finely categorized. The section on magic theory alone occupied three rows of shelves.

He pulled out a copy of 《Gradient Models of Elemental Affinity》 and flipped through it. The paper quality was good, it used movable type printing, and the layout was far superior to the ones he had bought in town before.

After reading a few pages of the preface, he found the content wasn't particularly fresh, just an old theory presented in a new framework. He put it back and picked up the book next to it: 《Issues of Mana Decay in Mineral Distillation》.

This one was interesting.

The author's perspectives matched some of the phenomena he had encountered in his own experiments—especially the chapter dedicated to the non-linear decay curve of third-type mana at high temperatures. Klein had encountered similar issues during his distillation experiments in the countryside; he had searched through several books at the time without finding a decent explanation and had to rely on repeated trial and error.

He leaned against the shelf and began to read seriously.

A few minutes later, Ophelia turned out from behind another row of shelves, holding a book with a dark green cover that looked quite thick.

Klein tilted his head to glimpse the title on the spine—《Northland Travelogue》.

“A travelogue?”

“Yes.”

Klein shook the book in his hand. “I'll take this one. What about yours? Want to buy it?”

“I'll look a bit more first.”

As she spoke, she flipped the book to a page in the middle and began to read, her position exactly blocking the aisle. A tall, thin young man who wanted to pass behind her hesitated for two seconds, looked at the sword at her waist, then at her unmoving back, and chose to take the long way around.

Klein suppressed a smile and went back to flipping through his own book.

The bookstore remained quiet for quite a while, with only the rustle of turning pages and the distant sound of carriages from the street outside.

The angle of the sunlight slowly shifted, moving from the top of the bookshelves to the middle, light spots falling on Ophelia’s open pages.

She stood very quietly, her breathing steady and her focus almost frightening.

The owner behind the counter finished gluing the book cover, looked up at the two guests standing in the aisle reading, and then lowered his head again.

The two guests didn't look like the type to break rules, so what was the harm in letting them read for a bit?

About fifteen minutes later, Klein closed his book and tapped Ophelia on the shoulder.

“Ready?”

Ophelia didn't move, her eyes still glued to the page.

“...Wait a bit more. I'm almost done with this chapter.”

Klein glanced at her, tucked his book under his arm, and leaned over to look at the page she had open.

It was about the auroras over an ice lake in the North—the author's writing was decent, providing a vivid sense of imagery.

It described the colors of the aurora rising from the lake's surface as if someone had lit a lamp behind the sky. The light refracted through the ice was a cold green, a cold blue, with an occasional purple edge cutting across the entire night sky like a blade.

He leaned in close, his shoulder almost touching hers.

Ophelia didn't pull away—perhaps she was too focused to notice.

“Is it good?”

“It's okay.” Ophelia turned a page, paused, then added, “It's better than the last one I read.”

“Then we're buying it.”

“...I haven't finished it.”

“Read it when we get back.” Klein took the book from her hands and brought it to the counter along with his own. “Anyway, it’s on the Silver Scale Chamber of Commerce’s tab.”

Ophelia stood in place, her hand still held in the position of pinching a page, now empty.

After a momentary daze, she slowly lowered her hand.

She followed him to the counter without speaking, but Klein could read the meaning in her eyes—it was basically, “How could you just snatch it away?”

He pretended not to notice and pulled out the voucher Nelisa had left, handing it to the owner.

The owner took it and looked at the Silver Scale Chamber of Commerce seal. His expression became much more polite as he pushed up his reading glasses, quickly wrapped the two books in kraft paper, tied them with a thin string, and handed them over.

Klein carried the paper bundle in one hand and pushed open the bookstore door with the other. The brass bells jingled twice again.

The light outside was warmer than when they had entered; the sun was sinking in the west, and the shadows on the street had lengthened.

He handed the bundle of books to Ophelia.

Ophelia took them, looking down at the knot tied on the paper package without immediately opening it.

“That part about the auroras just now,” Klein said as he walked beside her, his tone as casual as if they were discussing what to have for dinner, “it was talking about Lake Fran in the North, right?”

“Yes. You can only see them around the winter solstice,” Ophelia said.

“Have you been to the North before?”

“No.” She paused. “When I was stationed, I was only around the west coast. I haven't really been to many places. I can't even name more than a few, let alone the North.”

Klein nodded and walked in silence for a few steps.

The roasted chestnut stall from earlier appeared in the distance again—they had made a loop and were coming back from the other direction. The chestnuts tumbled in the iron pot over the charcoal fire, crackling and popping as a sweet fragrance drifted on the wind.

Klein didn't hesitate this time. He went over and bought a paper bag, peeled one, and handed it to Ophelia.

Ophelia looked at his hand and reached out with her right hand to take it.

The chestnut was still hot; she held it in her fingertips without rushing to eat it.

“If you're really interested in those things,” Klein said, peeling one for himself and blowing on it, “then when we have time in the future, let's go see them together.”

Ophelia bit into half a chestnut, chewed, and swallowed.

It was sweet and delicious. As Klein had said, chestnuts really should be eaten hot.

She glanced at him, her golden eyes much softer in the evening light than they were during the day. “It's a deal then.”

Klein smiled.

“It's a deal,” he said.

The two walked back side by side, the chestnuts in the paper bag disappearing one by one. The bundle of books was tucked under Ophelia’s left arm, held against her ribs.

Dusk in the royal capital was long, the clouds at the horizon burning into a deep orange. The last bit of sunlight hung on the tip of the clock tower like a melting gold coin.

The streetlamps weren't lit yet, but they would be soon.