Time is always mischievous.
It speeds up and slows down at will.
You can never truly control its flow.
For someone like Klein, who immersed himself in alchemy every day, time always slipped away far too quickly, never leaving him with enough.
In the blink of an eye, a month had passed.
During this month, the pace of life in the manor gradually stabilized.
He and Ophelia remained cordial but distant.
Although they lived under the same roof, both had their own matters to attend to. Klein spent most of his time cooped up in his third-floor laboratory, while Ophelia had her own daily schedule.
The actual time they spent alone together might have been even less than during those first three days when she had just arrived.
Klein was busy with alchemy.
His magic-driven growth experiments had progressed to a new stage. He had scrapped and revised the improvement plans for his alchemical arrays countless times. Several crucibles had exploded, nearly blowing another hole in the laboratory ceiling.
Raymond had specifically hired craftsmen to reinforce the load-bearing structure of the third floor because of it.
As for Ophelia... most of the time, she would put on the silver-white knight's gear she had brought with her and practice her swordsmanship.
At first, the maids were startled when they heard the sound of rushing air coming from the backyard.
It sounded as if the air itself was being violently torn apart, or like the low growl of some ferocious beast.
Every time the blade sliced through the air, it produced a sharp, whistling sound that made one's scalp tingle.
Martha was the first to rush over to watch the spectacle, only to be stunned by the sight before her.
Ophelia stood in the middle of the clearing, holding a knight's sword, the blade glinting with a cold silver light under the sun.
She took a deep breath, and the blade suddenly slashed down.
In that instant, Martha thought she saw a visible ripple appear in the air.
Wherever the edge passed, the wind seemed to wail.
A nearby wooden post was split perfectly into two halves; the cut was so smooth it looked as if it had been measured with a ruler, without a single splinter.
The top half of the post hung in the air for half a second before hitting the ground with a thud.
Martha gasped at the sight.
"My goodness... is My Lady trying to tear the house down?"
She instinctively took two steps back, fearing that the lingering sword qi might drift over and split her in half as well.
Raymond, on the other hand, remained very calm.
He stood to the side, silently calculating that they needed to prepare more wooden posts and whether he should mark out a specific training area in the backyard to avoid accidentally damaging the flowerbeds.
Klein had also gone to watch once.
To be more accurate, he had been lured there.
That afternoon, he was preparing a new catalyst that required extremely precise magical control.
Just as he was about to add the material to the crucible, a sharp sound of rushing air suddenly came from outside the window.
It sounded like a sharp blade cutting through silk, or the crisp snap of a bowstring breaking.
Klein's hand shook.
The potion in the crucible let out a puff as a plume of thick smoke rose.
He quickly set down his materials and walked to the window to look out.
In the clearing of the backyard, Ophelia was swinging her sword.
She had changed into a training outfit that was more form-fitting than her usual knight's gear, making it easier for her to move.
Her long golden hair was tied into a high ponytail, tracing sharp arcs in the air with her movements.
The blade reflected the cold light of the setting sun.
Her movements were crisp and efficient, without a hint of wasted effort.
Every strike was precise, swift, and lethal.
It was a technique honed purely for killing, devoid of any decorative flair.
When her blade cut through the air, it produced a peculiar hum—the sound of pure strength colliding with skill.
Klein leaned against the windowsill, watching Ophelia swing her sword in the sunset.
Light and shadow flowed across her body; every strike carried an indescribable sense of beauty.
It wasn't a soft, delicate beauty, but one filled with a sense of power—a nearly violent beauty.
It was like the fangs of a wild beast, or the edge of a razor-sharp blade.
Klein watched for a moment until he suddenly smelled something burning.
He snapped back to reality.
Dammit.
The crucible!
By the time he rushed back to the laboratory bench, the potion in the crucible had already turned into a charred black lump, still sizzling and emitting black smoke.
Klein wanted to cry but had no tears.
From then on, he tried his best to avoid doing experiments during the hours Ophelia practiced her sword.
It was far too distracting for his concentration.
Every time he heard the sound of rushing air from outside the window, his attention would involuntarily drift toward it.
His mind would subconsciously conjure images of her swinging her sword—that focused expression, those fluid movements, and the reflection of the blade in her golden eyes.
And then the experiment would fail.
Klein even considered whether he should install a soundproofing magical barrier in the laboratory.
But in the end, he gave up on the idea.
It was too much of a waste of magic.
And...
It wasn't that he truly didn't want to hear those sounds.
Ophelia also rarely took the initiative to disturb him.
She knew that alchemy required full concentration, so even when she passed by the laboratory door, she would deliberately lighten her footsteps.
There were a few times Klein opened the door to get some fresh air and saw her tiptoeing through the hallway like a cautious cat.
That image formed such a sharp contrast with her intensity during sword practice that Klein once doubted his own eyes.
Occasionally, Klein would run into her in the hallway when he finished an experiment and came out for air.
The two would exchange a glance, offer a greeting, and then go about their own business.
Sometimes she would ask, "Is the experiment going well?"
Klein would answer, "It's alright," or "It exploded again."
Then she would nod and continue walking.
Days flowed by in such a mundane fashion.
It was so ordinary that Klein sometimes felt the conversation in the wheat fields had been more of a hallucination.
The words spoken under the moonlight, those unfinished sentences suspended between them, all seemed to have been diluted by time, becoming blurred and unclear.
Only occasionally, in an inadvertent moment, would Klein remember the temperature of her fingertip when it touched his cheek.
Then he would shake his head and put his focus back on alchemy.
As for those dreams about the deep sea...
They had never returned to haunt him after Klein began lighting the soothing incense to help him sleep.
That suffocating pressure, the whispers echoing in the deep sea, and those eyes that seemed to see through everything had all dissipated with the smoke of the incense.
Every night before bed, Klein would light that special incense, which was a mixture of lavender, rosemary, and some alchemical materials used to dispel mental pollution. Although the cost wasn't low, it was better than being tortured by those strange dreams.
He didn't specifically investigate anything either.
For an alchemist like him who dealt with strange alchemical materials every day, attracting odd things wasn't actually uncommon.
This wasn't the first strange occurrence he had seen, and it wouldn't be the last.
If one insisted on figuring out exactly what kind of entity was on the other side, they might only sink deeper until they couldn't pull themselves out.
Some things were safer left unknown.
...
...
The roses had already bloomed.
They were right there in the manor's courtyard.
For once, Klein didn't spend the entire day cooped up in his third-floor laboratory; instead, he came to the courtyard.
The sun was pleasant, and the air was filled with a faint floral scent mixed with the earthy fragrance unique to spring. Birdsong drifted from the distance, and occasionally, the sounds of the maids busy in the kitchen could be heard.
He didn't actually understand flowers.
Identifying the difference between roses and monthly roses was the limit of his knowledge. Asking him to name specific varieties was simply asking too much.
But his mother had loved roses.
So his father had filled the manor with them.
Klein remembered that when he was a child, his father would always tend to these flowerbeds personally, sometimes crouching there for half the day. His mother would stand under the corridor holding black tea, watching him with a gentle smile.
Back then, the manor was always filled with the scent of flowers and laughter.
After the two of them passed away, Klein hadn't changed anything.
Raymond tended to them regularly. Every year when the flowering season arrived, the place would be submerged in a sea of interwoven pale white and deep red. Those roses still bloomed brilliantly; it was just that there was no longer anyone waiting under the corridor.
It was the same this year.
Except this year, there was someone else.
Klein stood under the corridor, his gaze falling on the flower trellis not far away.
Ophelia hadn't started her training directly today; instead, she had put on a set of new clothes.
These clothes had been ordered from Lillian's Sewing House back then and had already been paid for. It was said that Lillian had specifically made three trips to the fabric merchant just for this outfit to select the best materials.
Compared to the two somewhat plain semi-finished dresses from before, the clothes Ophelia was wearing now could be called quite elegant.
The base material was a pale gold that gave off a soft luster under the sun. The cuffs and collar were embroidered with fine silver thread patterns—patterns that formed elegant vine designs, looking like rose branches and leaves spreading across the fabric.
The hem of the skirt was a bit long, nearly reaching her ankles; it would sway gently with her steps, carrying a faint, ethereal breeze.
The waistline was well-defined, outlining her slender figure.
Klein took one look and quickly averted his gaze.
He suddenly felt his throat go a bit dry.
Ophelia walked to the flower trellis, raised her hand, and her fingertip lightly touched a half-bloomed rose.
The petals were very soft.
They carried the moist touch left by the morning dew.
She turned her head, her golden eyes reflecting that cluster of deep red. Sunlight spilled down through the gaps between the petals, casting fragmented patterns of light and shadow across her face.
"My Lady is very beautiful today."
Martha had appeared out of nowhere, holding a tray with two cups of black tea on it.
Her smile was obvious—the kind of "I know everything" smile that was nearly overflowing.
Her eyes were bright, as if she had discovered some incredible secret.
Ophelia turned around, gave her a calm look, and then took the teacup.
"Thank you."
Martha winked at Klein again, handed him the other cup of tea, and said in a low voice, "My Lord, you should also come out and walk around more. Closing yourself in the laboratory every day has made your face quite pale. See how well My Lady enjoys life? Basking in the sun, admiring the flowers—how wonderful."
She paused and then added, "Besides, the weather is so good today, the flowers are blooming so beautifully, and My Lady is dressed so well. It would be a pity not to spend more time together."
That last sentence was spoken with significant weight.
Klein took the teacup but didn't take the bait.
Martha hummed a little tune as she walked away, glancing back at them one last time with a look that clearly said, "The two of you get along well, I won't disturb you."
Only the two of them were left under the corridor.
Klein held his teacup, standing in place, feeling a bit lost for words.
The air was filled with the scent of roses, mixed with the fragrance of black tea and the unique warmth of the spring sun.
Ophelia, however, was very natural. She walked to the other side of the flower trellis and looked down at the vines that had just sprouted new buds. The new leaves were still a tender green, almost translucent under the sun.
"Were these flowers planted by your mother?"
"No," Klein paused. "My father planted them."
There was a trace of nostalgia in his voice.
"My mother liked roses, so my father filled the manor with them. He said that this way, the first thing my mother saw when she opened her eyes every day would be the flowers she loved."
Ophelia didn't ask further.
She simply nodded and continued looking at the roses.
The color of the flowers was reflected in her golden eyes, looking like a touch of deep red had merged into liquid gold.
The wind blew, the petals swayed gently, and the air filled with an even richer fragrance.
A few petals were blown off by the wind, twirling in the air before finally landing on Ophelia's shoulder.
Watching those petals, Klein suddenly spoke, "Do you like flowers?"
Ophelia thought for a moment.
"I don't hate them."
That answer was quite in line with her style.
Klein raised his teacup and took a sip.
The tea was a bit hot, making his tongue tingle.
The scalding liquid burned its way down his throat. He almost couldn't help but cough, but in front of Ophelia, he forced himself to swallow the tea, pretending as if nothing was wrong.
Ophelia turned her head and glanced at him.
"Is it very hot?"
Her tone was calm, but Klein felt there was a trace of a smile in her eyes.
"It's alright." Klein set down his teacup and cleared his throat. "Martha's timing for the tea temperature is always a bit off."
Ophelia nodded and also raised her own cup to take a sip.
Her movement was very light; the tea stopped the moment it touched her lips.
Then she put down the cup without changing her expression, turning her gaze back toward the roses as if nothing had happened.
Klein could tell.
She had also been burned.
She just didn't say it.
Klein almost laughed out loud.
He quickly turned his head, pretending to be seriously admiring the roses. In truth, he couldn't tell the difference between any of them; in his eyes, they all looked more or less the same.
"What are you laughing at?" Ophelia's voice came from the side.
"Nothing." Klein cleared his throat, trying to make his expression look more serious. "I just think..."
He paused.
Whatever, he'd just go for it.
"I just think... My Lady is indeed very beautiful today."
The moment the words left his mouth, Klein regretted it a little.
Why did that sound so unnatural?
And why did he suddenly say something like that?
Martha had clearly already said it.
By repeating it now, did it seem too deliberate?
Klein's brain began to churn, trying to find a way to fix the situation.
But Ophelia had already stopped what she was doing.
She looked down at the clothes she was wearing and remained silent for a while.
"Lillian did a good job."
"Yes," Klein nodded. "Her craftsmanship has always been good."
He tried to steer the conversation away.
But Ophelia clearly didn't plan to let him off.
"But you haven't seen me wear this before."
"Mm," Klein nodded.
Great, this conversation was starting to head in a strange direction.
"So that's why you said I was beautiful today."
Klein's back began to break out in a cold sweat.
He suddenly realized that this conversation seemed to have walked into a very dangerous territory.
Ophelia looked up, her golden eyes staring straight at him.
The sunlight danced in her eyes, making those already bright eyes appear even more dazzling.
"Am I not beautiful usually?"
Klein: "..."
Was this some kind of death trap question?
Klein didn't think Ophelia was the type of person who would dwell on such a question.
But he still chose the safest answer.
"You look good usually too."
Ophelia didn't speak.
She looked down and took another sip of tea.
"Mm."
Then she continued looking at the roses as if the previous conversation had never happened.
Klein also raised his cup and took another sip.
This time the tea temperature was just right, neither hot nor cold.
It carried the characteristic bitterness and sweet aftertaste of black tea, slowly dissolving on his tongue.
The two of them stood there quietly, neither saying another word.
There was only the sound of the wind blowing through the trellis and the distant birdcalls.
Sunlight danced on the rose petals, staining those deep reds and pale whites with a layer of golden brilliance.
From the corner of his eye, Klein saw Ophelia reach out to brush a rose.
Her movement was very light, as if she were afraid of disturbing the petals.
Her fingertip lingered on the flower for a moment before slowly pulling back.
The pale gold hem of her skirt swayed gently with her movements, shimmering with a soft light in the sun.
Klein suddenly felt that Martha was right.
The weather today was indeed very good.
The flowers were indeed blooming beautifully.
And Madam...
He looked at the figure not far away, a strange emotion suddenly welling up in his heart.
He couldn't say exactly what it was.
It was like something warm, soft, and something he wanted to protect with great care.
"Klein."
Ophelia suddenly spoke.
"Hmm?"
"Thank you."
She still had her back to him, her long golden hair shining in the sun.
"Thank you for what?" Klein was a bit bewildered.
Ophelia turned around, her golden eyes looking straight at him.
"Thank you for saying I am beautiful."
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