(Thanks to Eternal Being for the Great God certification; I am truly humbled. (•́⌄•́๑)૭✧)
The wind of the Anvil Kingdom carried the scent of rust; as it blew through the town where David lived, it swirled withered yellow leaves along the cobblestone road.
Gwof and Little Bottle landed on an old tree at the town's entrance and looked down—low houses were huddled together, thin wisps of smoke rose from chimneys, and half-burnt firewood from last winter was still piled at the base of the walls.
Compared to when he had left, the town still felt sluggish and depressed.
However, the sign for the Bakery at the street corner had been repainted, and residents carrying cloth bags occasionally went in and out; it finally lacked the look of widespread famine and corpses everywhere.
"Turn into butterflies? These things fly so slowly."
Little Bottle's voice sounded beside Gwof; his wings flapped a bit clumsily, and his pale purple butterfly wings were still dusted with bits of grass.
He was clearly dissatisfied with this "stealth mode," feeling it wasn't as satisfying as turning back into a strong man and barging straight in.
Gwof ignored him, fluttered his grayish-blue wings, and flew toward the direction of David's house in his memory.
The wooden fence was still crooked, with a few withered morning glory vines climbing it, but near the garden, a fresh circle of ivy had been newly wound around it, its leaves a bright, shining green.
Two butterflies landed silently on the top of the fence, like two inconspicuous flowers.
In the garden, Lily was watering flowers with a tin watering can.
She wore a faded cotton dress with a bit of dirt on the hem; the sunlight fell on the tips of her hair, plating it with a thin layer of gold.
Honeysuckle climbed the wooden trellis, its yellow and white petals hanging down; when she reached up to brush them aside, they released a sweet fragrance;
The roses nearby were in full bloom, crowded together.
As she bent over to water the most vibrant one, the corners of her mouth curved up, and the light in her eyes was brighter than the petals, full of youthful vitality.
"Over here, over here! David, look at this one—doesn't it need pruning?"
Lily looked back and called out, her voice as crisp as wind chimes.
David was also carrying a watering can; hearing her, he hurried over, but the spout was tilted, and he didn't even notice that most of the water was splashing onto his own shoes.
His gaze was glued to Lily's face, watching the fine lines at the corners of her eyes when she smiled and the way she reached out to brush the stray hairs from her forehead; his Adam's apple bobbed before he stammered a response:
"Um... whatever you say."
Lily felt a bit embarrassed by his gaze and gave him a push: "Water the flowers properly, otherwise they'll freeze in the winter and there'll be nothing to see when spring comes."
"Don't worry,"
David quickly straightened his back and became serious,
"I went to the back mountain yesterday and chopped some wood; it's piled in the woodshed, enough to last until spring. The Auntie at the fabric store said they'll have new coarse cloth arriving next week; I'll go get a few feet and make you a thick cotton coat. And for food, there are enough potatoes and cabbages in the cellar; I'll go to town to trade for some flour..."
He rambled on with his list, and Lily listened with her head tilted, occasionally chipping in:
"Should we pickle some vegetables? The dried radish you pickled last year was quite tasty."
"I will! I'll go buy radishes right now!"
"What's the rush? Finish watering the flowers first..."
Their voices mingled with the "drip-drop" of the watering can, gently rippling through the garden.
There were no grand vows or soul-stirring twists, just discussions about whether there was enough firewood for winter, if the cotton clothes were warm enough, or if they should add more salt to the dried radishes—yet it was more grounding than any sweet nothings.
Gwof stayed on the fence, his grayish-blue wings folding gently.
Little Bottle flapped his wings beside him, and the grass bits fell off his butterfly wings.
"Master, they're doing well. Let's go? I want to eat Anvil Kingdom sausages; they smelled really good when we passed by last time..."
Gwof didn't respond, only taking one last look at the two in the garden—David finally aimed the watering can at the roots of the flowers but still stole glances toward Lily;
Lily pretended not to see, but the smile at the corners of her mouth couldn't be hidden.
He suddenly felt there was no need to say hello.
Some encounters are for rescue, while some farewells only require a distant glance to see that "they are doing well," and that is enough.
Both butterflies flapped their wings at the same time and flew out of the town with the wind.
The pale purple and grayish-blue figures skimmed past the old tree, past the repainted Bakery sign, and flew toward the distance.
The wind of the Anvil Kingdom still carried the scent of rust, but this time, there seemed to be a bit of honeysuckle sweetness and the warmth of the mortal world in the breeze.
"Are we really not going to say anything to them?" Little Bottle was still muttering.
Gwof's voice sounded calmly beside him: "Let's go. We'll go buy the sausages you want to eat."
Sure enough, Little Bottle stopped muttering, but the frequency of his wing vibrations clearly quickened.
Even without looking, one could tell this guy was surely calculating the taste of the sausages in his mind, the joy in his eyes impossible to hide.
The two butterflies flew further, crossing a patch of bare farmland until smoke finally appeared in the distance—another town. The style of the wooden houses, the crooked fences, and even the crooked-necked tree at the street corner were somewhat similar to the town where David lived, exuding the same sense of desolation.
"Shall we go down and take a look?" Little Bottle's voice was full of excitement; he clearly didn't want to be a slow butterfly anymore.
Gwof nodded, and the two landed in a small woods outside the town. With a flash of green light, a bald, burly man and Gwof, wearing a wide-brimmed hat, appeared in their place.
Little Bottle patted away non-existent dust from his body and even made a point of straightening a non-existent collar, looking as if he were going to a banquet.
But just as they reached the wooden bridge at the town entrance, two Soldiers wearing iron armor blocked their way.
They held spears, their armor rusty, yet they still puffed out their chests, their eyes like tempered ice as they looked Gwof and Little Bottle up and down with looks of pure impatience.
The tall Soldier spoke first, his voice as coarse as sandpaper on wood: "Who are you? Why are you barging into town?"
Gwof stopped, his tone flat: "Traveler, just passing through for a rest."
"Traveler?" The tall one sneered, tapping the ground with the butt of his spear. "By order of the King, Travelers entering the town must first pay one gold coin. Don't have it? Then get lost."
Gwof frowned.
Although he did carry some gold coins, he couldn't possibly give them here.
He thought for a moment and changed the subject: "In that case, I wonder which direction the capital is? We'll just go straight to the capital."
"Get lost!" The tall Soldier seemed to have been poked in a sore spot and suddenly raised his spear, the tip almost touching Gwof's face.
"Where did this pauper come from, thinking he's worthy of asking about the capital? Any more nonsense and I'll arrest you both as spies!"
"You're looking for death!"
With a roar of anger, Little Bottle's face instantly darkened.
He was originally a proud devil; although Gwof had trickily become his master, he had been "well-fed and well-housed" by Gwof these days and had never been forced to do anything he didn't want to do.
Seeing this Soldier dare to point a spear at Gwof and speak such filth, how could he restrain himself?
Before Gwof could stop him, Little Bottle had already moved.
He lunged forward like a gust of wind, his hand as large as a palm fan grabbing the tall Soldier's collar and lifting him up effortlessly.
That Soldier was a full two meters tall, but in his hand, he was like a paper doll, limbs flailing and howling, his spear falling to the ground with a "clatter" as he struggled in vain against that iron-clamp of a hand.
The other shorter Soldier was so scared his face turned white; he scrambled backward, shouting at the top of his lungs: "Help! Spies! Spies are attacking people!"
In just a few moments, ten Soldiers rushed out of the town, each holding blades and spears, surrounding them menacingly.
They surrounded Gwof and Little Bottle, blades flashing, shouting "Put the Captain down" and "Surrender," the scene becoming instantly tense.
Little Bottle didn't let go; instead, he held the tall Soldier even higher, the murderous light in his eyes almost overflowing, a low growl coming from his throat as he showed signs of revealing his true form.
Gwof watched this chaotic scene, his temples throbbing.
He should have stopped Little Bottle just now—had he known these Soldiers were so arrogant, it would have been better to stay as butterflies and fly straight in to rest; why bother with all this?
He held back the restless Little Bottle, his gaze sweeping over the surrounding Soldiers, and spoke in a deep voice: "We are just passing through and don't want trouble."
But how could those Soldiers listen?
Looking at their Captain held in the air, then at Little Bottle's knotted muscles and menacing face, they assumed they had encountered a tough customer. They gripped their weapons tightly, and the leader shouted: "Enough nonsense! If you don't release him, we won't be polite!"
Little Bottle sneered, his hand exerting a bit of force, and the tall Soldier immediately let out a scream like a slaughtered pig.
Gwof closed his eyes, knowing this fight was likely unavoidable.
He glanced at Little Bottle beside him; the guy was glaring at the Soldiers like an enraged beast, clearly unable to hold back any longer.
Fine, it's just as well to let these wretched fellows taste the power of a devil.
Gwof took half a step back and said in a low voice to Little Bottle: "Don't take any lives."
Little Bottle's eyes lit up, and he suddenly slammed the Soldier in his hand to the ground—with a "thud," the Soldier hit the ground like a broken sack, grimacing in pain but unable to crawl up.
Immediately after, he cracked his wrists and showed a fanged smile to the surrounding Soldiers.
The Soldiers rushed forward with yells, waving their blades and spears, but they couldn't even touch the hem of Little Bottle's clothes.
This guy didn't take these people seriously at all; his massive body was incredibly agile. While dodging left and right, he only reached out with his palm-fan-sized hands, and with several crisp "slaps," he specifically aimed for the Soldiers' faces.
Those slaps didn't look forceful, but when they landed on a face, it was like being hit by a heavy hammer.
The first Soldier to rush up had just raised his blade when he was slapped into three full rotations on the spot, blood spraying from his nose as he collapsed to the ground with a "thump."
The second tried to sneak an attack from the side; before the palm even reached him, the gust of wind made it impossible for him to open his eyes. Then his cheek went numb, and he flew sideways, crashing into a wooden fence and passing out.
Little Bottle got more and more into the rhythm, muttering: "How dare you be so fierce! How dare you insult my master!"
His slaps were like they had eyes, specifically picking the most arrogant Soldiers to target. Before long, over a dozen Soldiers were lying on the ground, either clutching their faces and groaning or holding their heads and shivering, without even the strength to crawl up.
The last two remaining Soldiers looked at their wailing companions on the ground; their blades fell with a "clatter," and they knelt before Gwof with a "thud," their faces as pale as paper: "Mercy! Mercy, my lord!"
Seeing this, the other Soldiers who weren't out cold also scrambled over to kneel, a dark mass of them kowtowing like pounding garlic.
Little Bottle clapped his hands and stood proudly beside Gwof, like a large dog seeking praise.
Gwof kicked a Soldier beside him who was still trembling. "Speak. Where is the capital? Why charge one gold coin?"
The Soldier's teeth chattered as he stammered, "The... the capital is just behind the town, over those low hills... Charging... charging gold coins was our own idea to get greedy... The King never gave such an order..."
Another Soldier quickly added, "It... it was the Captain's idea. He said the Traveler looked easy to bully, so we should extort whatever we could... We were forced by him too..."
Gwof glanced at the tall Captain who had been thrown to the ground and was still moaning, understanding the situation.
This Anvil Kingdom was indeed permeated with corruption from top to bottom; even a Soldier at the town entrance dared to commit blatant extortion.
After finishing his questioning, Gwof didn't trouble the Soldiers kneeling and begging for mercy any further; he just waved his hand for them to get lost.
The Soldiers fled as if granted a divine reprieve, scrambling and crawling as they dragged their wounded comrade away, vanishing in the blink of an eye.
Quiet returned to the town entrance, save for the "creak" of the wind blowing through the fence and the faint sound of a rooster crowing in the distance.
"Let's go. We'll rest in town."
Gwof took the lead, and Little Bottle immediately followed close behind, his eyes scanning the houses in the town while his nose sniffed hard, as if searching for something.
Before they had gone two steps, his eyes suddenly lit up. Grabbing Gwof's sleeve, he ran toward a shop on the side of the street.
"Master! Sausages! It's the scent of grilled sausages!"
It was a humble meat shop with a charcoal stove set up at the entrance. Several glistening sausages were skewered on an iron rack, sizzling with oil, their charred and meaty aroma wafting far and wide.
Little Bottle pulled out several silver coins he had scavenged from the Soldiers and slapped them onto the counter. "Boss, give me five! No, ten!"
The meat shop owner was a scrawny old man. Seeing Little Bottle's fierce appearance, his hands trembled as he quickly wrapped the sausages in oil paper and handed them over.
Little Bottle took them and, without worrying about the heat, stuffed one into his mouth. Grease dripped down his chin, and his face turned red from the heat and excitement of eating.
Gwof stood by, watching his gluttonous display, and shook his head helplessly.
He reached out his hand, palm up. With a thought, an Ice Cream emitting white vapor condensed out of thin air—milk-white cream piled up like a small mountain, topped with a few crushed nuts. Wisps of cold air rose, condensing into tiny water droplets in the warm air.
He took a slow lick. The cold, sweet flavor melted on the tip of his tongue, dispelling the heat from the journey.
Little Bottle was gnawing on his third sausage when he caught a glimpse of the Ice Cream from the corner of his eye. His movements froze, and he even forgot to chew the sausage in his mouth.
He blinked, then rubbed his eyes hard. After confirming he wasn't seeing things, he swallowed hard and asked indistinctly:
"Master? Where did... that thing come from? And what is it? It looks chilly, but it's quite pretty."
"Oh, I forgot to tell you." Gwof licked the cream from the corner of his mouth, his tone as casual as if he were commenting on the nice weather.
"I can summon candy. This is called Ice Cream. It's sweet and cold."
He actually wondered to himself—shouldn't there be Ice Cream in this Fairy Tale World? In stories he'd heard before, there were similar things at a princess's banquet.
Little Bottle looked at the greasy sausage in his hand, then at the steaming cold Ice Cream in Gwof's hand, and suddenly felt the sausage in his mouth wasn't so tasty anymore.
No matter how fragrant the sausage was, it was just the taste of meat. How could it compare to the novelty of this chilly thing appearing out of thin air?
He immediately put on a fawning smile and sidled up to Gwof. His tail (though he was in human form, that tail-wagging, begging energy couldn't be hidden) was practically wagging. "Master..."
That "Master" made Gwof shiver, giving him goosebumps.
He knew this devil's nature all too well; he definitely wanted to beg for Ice Cream.
Without waiting for Little Bottle to finish, he raised his hand and summoned a chocolate-flavored Ice Cream, handing it over.
"Thank you, Master!" Little Bottle snatched it away. Forgetting all manners, he opened his mouth and took a huge bite, swallowing more than half. Cold cream smeared all over his face.
His eyes widened, and a satisfied purr came from his throat. His excitement was even greater than when he had just beaten the Soldiers.
Master could actually summon candy at will! And such a chilly, cloyingly sweet thing at that!
Little Bottle licked the chocolate sauce from the corner of his mouth. The way he looked at Gwof changed; his eyes were sparkling, as if he were looking at a mobile mountain of candy.
He suddenly felt that following Gwof was truly worth it—not only was there meat to eat, but there were also these novelties he couldn't even name. It was much more interesting than staying in a bottle for a thousand years.
Gwof felt a bit uncomfortable under his gaze, so he summoned a strawberry-flavored Ice Cream and stuffed it into his hand. "Eat yours, and stop looking at me like that."
"Aye! Okay!" Little Bottle happily took it. With a chocolate one in his left hand and a strawberry one in his right, he attacked them from both sides, eating with great joy.
The two of them stood by the street like that, one slowly licking an Ice Cream while the other wolfed down sausages and Ice Cream, drawing frequent side-glances from passing townspeople.
Those townspeople looked at the Ice Cream appearing out of thin air in Gwof's hand with eyes full of curiosity, yet they didn't dare step forward to talk, only watching from a distance.
Afterward, the two found a stone bench under the eaves and sat down to continue eating slowly.
Little Bottle was clutching a Spicy Strip, his tongue sticking out from the heat, yet he couldn't bear to put it down. His eyes were wide:
"Master, this red strip is amazing! It's spicy and fragrant, even more kick than the sausages!"
He had long since thrown the idea of buying food from shops to the back of his mind, focusing entirely on pestering Gwof for "novelty candies." One moment he was pointing at the clouds in the sky asking if they could turn into Marshmallows, and the next he was staring at the pebbles on the ground, muttering about whether they could turn into Chocolate Beans.
Gwof, unable to withstand the pestering, simply opened up the supply.
With a lift of his finger, a hard fruit candy appeared out of thin air, with a cherry encased in its crystal-clear sugar coating.
With another wave of his hand, several bags of potato chips landed on the stone table with a "thud," the crisp sound making Little Bottle swallow hard.
Even more impressive were the snacks he dug out from his "past life" memories—amber-colored Maltose that could be pulled into long threads, savory Fish-skin Peanuts that grew more fragrant with every chew, and even the wrapping paper printed with patterns Little Bottle couldn't understand. Little Bottle's eyes went wide.
"Master, what exactly was your background before?" Little Bottle asked indistinctly, his mouth stuffed with potato chips. "How do you have so many novelties?"
Gwof didn't answer, simply tossing him a Twist Candy.
Sunlight fell through the gaps in the eaves onto the candy wrapper, shimmering with fine light. Seeing Little Bottle's silly, happy face, he suddenly felt a bit dazed—these snacks with a modern aura were like thin threads connecting two worlds, allowing him to occasionally touch a familiar warmth in this bizarre Fairy Tale World.
Just then, a shrill cry for help suddenly shattered the peace of the town.
"Help! Help!"
Gwof and Little Bottle looked up at the same time to see an Old Woman with white hair stumbling out of a wooden house area. Her coarse cloth skirt was soaked with something and stuck clammily to her legs, her face full of terror.
And from the low house behind her, white porridge was actually gushing out from the cracks in the door and the window frames!
The white porridge was as thick as condensed milk, with a pearl-like luster and a sweet rice aroma. But at this moment, it was spreading like a flood, flowing down the threshold, submerging the stone path, and creeping toward the surrounding houses.
A neighbor tried to rush forward to pull the Old Woman, but his feet were stuck the moment they touched the white porridge. No matter how he tried, he couldn't pull them out, and he watched helplessly as the porridge rose higher and higher, already reaching his knees.
"It's magic! It's porridge that comes out on its own!" someone cried out. "Get away! You'll be drowned!"
Gwof looked at the continuously spreading white porridge, and his brow suddenly furrowed.
This scene... why was it so familiar? A fairy tale fragment suddenly flashed through his mind—"Sweet Porridge," which told of a pot that would cook porridge by itself, and once it couldn't stop, it would keep producing porridge.
"Little Pot, stop."
He almost subconsciously shouted this sentence toward the house. His voice wasn't loud, but it possessed a strange piercing power.
As soon as the words left his mouth, the frantically spreading white porridge suddenly seemed to have its pause button pressed; the gurgling sound of flow stopped abruptly.
The porridge stuck to the people was no longer hot; it just wrapped around them softly, but it no longer continued to rise.
The white porridge finally stopped when it reached ankle height. The entire town seemed wrapped in a bowl of lukewarm rice paste, and even the wind carried a faint scent of rice.
The residents froze in place, their pant legs and shoes covered in sticky porridge grains. The previous screams had turned into heavy breathing; they looked at one another, their faces still etched with lingering panic.
The Old Woman, slumped in the porridge, took a long while to recover. Her withered hands tightly gripped her porridge-stained apron. Looking at the white porridge that was no longer creeping forward, she suddenly burst into tears. Murky tears flowed down her face, mixing with the porridge:
"It scared me to death... I said long ago there was something strange about this broken pot..."
She slapped her thighs, her voice trembling uncontrollably.
"My daughter went out to find food, so I just wanted to heat up a bowl of leftover porridge to tide me over. Who would have thought I'd forget that incantation, and it just started gushing out like it was crazy... My old bones were almost drowned alive..."
Gwof watched the Old Woman still beating her chest and muttering about "forgetting the incantation," and the corner of his mouth twitched imperceptibly.
The four words "Little Pot, stop" were as simple as a nursery rhyme learned by a three-year-old. One would think they'd be etched into one's mind—after all, this pot was a dangerous thing that could drown an entire country.
But somehow, someone could completely forget the life-saving incantation.
He glanced at the surrounding residents. They were chattering away to comfort the Old Woman, saying things like "it's inevitable to have a poor memory when you're old" and "next time write it on a cloth and stick it to the rim of the pot." Not a single one of them thought the situation was absurd.
Gwof suddenly felt that the logic of this Fairy Tale World was sometimes like bread soaked in water—soft and without any shape.
Little Bottle gnawed on the last half of his Spicy Strip, sucking in air from the heat. "Master, are they stupid?"