books44 Chapter 347 [Empire] Simple People
Chapter 347 [Empire] Simple People
"If I pack this up and bring it back to my adoptive father, he'll definitely jump up and scold me... I'll nag him all night long." I looked down at the bowl of fish and beast eyeball soup in my hand, which had a strange aroma. As I stirred it with the spoon, the eyeballs swayed slightly in the broth, as if they still had some "life." I looked up and sighed softly, my tone full of helplessness.
Nightingale was savoring a piece of roast meat soaked in insect blood when he heard me say that. He put down his knife and fork, leaned back in his chair, and said in a teasing tone, "It sounds like your adoptive father has a bad temper. Is he picky? Can he nag all night long?"
I didn't answer immediately. Instead, I looked at the slightly floating fish-beast eyeball in the bowl, a complex emotion welling up in my heart. It was a kind of nostalgia that I couldn't quite describe—a feeling of warmth and a bit of oppression.
"He's not picky, but... he likes to nag." I whispered, my eyes flickering slightly, as if I was pulled back to a long time ago by memories. "Wen Ya was the first person who took me home to take care of me. He was a very gentle person, always trying his best to make my life better in his own way."
Nightingale stopped what he was doing, as if he noticed my mood change. He didn't interrupt, but just looked at me quietly, waiting for me to continue.
"Back then, I had just been sent to him. I didn't quite understand the rules of this world, nor did I quite comprehend my own situation." I gently stirred the soup, a hint of trance in my voice. "Wen Ya was always very patient. He taught me how to interact with people, how to use a computer, and even taught me basic combat knowledge bit by bit..."
"Sounds like a good man." Nightingale murmured, her tone surprisingly gentle.
"Yes, he's a good man." I nodded, a faint smile on my face, but with a hint of bitterness that I couldn't hide. "But he's too good, even a little weak. He always warned me with red eyes not to cause trouble or do anything dangerous... He said he was afraid he would never find me again."
At this point, I couldn't help but pause, my heart tightening. Wen Ya's red, swollen eyes, and the countless nights he'd slept beside me, flashed through my mind like a movie.
"But you still left, right?" Nightingale's voice sounded softly, as if seeing through my heart.
"Yeah, I'm leaving." I put down the spoon, a suppressed pain in my voice. "He's been so good to me, so good that it feels unreal and shouldn't be like this. I can't cause him any trouble."
Nightingale didn't respond immediately, but just looked at me quietly, with an indescribable complex emotion in her eyes.
"I'm not a good child, Nightingale." I smiled bitterly and whispered, "Wen Ya might still be worried about me, wanting to nag me all night long, but I can only turn around, say 'sorry', and then walk away."
Nightingale sighed softly, raised her glass and took a sip, her tone carrying a hint of sarcasm: "Don't make yourself sound like a sinner. Listen, little ghost, sometimes people leave a place not because they don't love it anymore, but because they love it too deeply, so deeply that they feel they are not worthy."
I froze for a moment and looked up at him. His expression was still nonchalant.
"Wen Ya is good to you, but your consideration for him isn't necessarily wrong." He continued, his voice low and firm. "But, kid, when you feel strong enough one day, don't forget to go back and see him. That kind of person will always wait for you."
I was silent for a moment, looking down at the soup in the bowl. My heart felt like it was blocked by something, and I was so confused that I couldn't speak.
"I will." Finally, I nodded softly and whispered, "I definitely will."
"Come to think of it, you were at Wen Ya's recital that day, in the front row." I looked up at Nightingale and said casually, as if I was just mentioning something trivial. "Do you like him very much?"
Nightingale was about to cut a piece of meat when he paused. He glanced up at me, his lips curled up slightly, his expression ambiguous. "You really have a good memory. Even in that situation, you still noticed me."
"Of course." I propped my chin up and looked at him with a half-smile. "After all, a recital is such an elegant occasion that it doesn't really match your usual image."
Nightingale sneered, thrust her fork into the meat on the plate, and gracefully cut off a piece, saying nonchalantly, "Why, do you think I should spend all my time with guns and knives like those rough guys in the mercenary circle?"
I shrugged, a hint of teasing in my eyes. "So, you went to the recital because you really like Wen Ya, or are you just joining in the fun?"
Nightingale didn't answer immediately. Instead, he put down his knife and fork, picked up his wine glass, and took a sip. He looked at the liquid in the glass, as if thinking. After a while, he slowly said, "Like him? Not really. But I do admire him."
"Oh?" I raised my eyebrows, my tone inquiring. "So, did you go to the front row to enjoy his music, or to see him as a person?"
Nightingale chuckled softly, then looked up at me with a meaningful glint in her eyes. "It's a bit of both. His music has a unique power. It's not some flashy technique, but something so pure that it can bring peace to your heart—quite rare for someone like me."
His answer took me by surprise. Would someone like Nightingale care about the feeling of "quiet"? There was a subtle sincerity in his words.
"So you're looking for that 'rare' feeling?" I asked tentatively, still with a hint of uncertainty in my tone.
Nightingale smiled slightly, her eyes softening a little. "I guess so. People always need to find something to calm themselves down, otherwise they will go crazy sooner or later. And Wen Ya, his music does have that effect."
He spoke frankly, but I sensed a deeper emotion hidden in his words. He appreciated gentle music not just for its own sake, but for the peace that he could hardly achieve, which was perhaps what he longed for most at certain moments.
“It seems that the person who raised me is quite admirable,” I whispered, a complex emotion welling up in my heart.
Nightingale nodded slightly, her tone holding a rare hint of seriousness: "Wen Ya is a good person. His world is simple and clean. Troublesome little brats like you are probably the kind of people he wants to protect the most."
I was stunned for a moment, lowered my head silently and said nothing more.
Nightingale didn't ask any more questions, but picked up his knife and fork and continued eating his food. His expression was still casual and relaxed, but every word he said stirred up a lot of waves in my heart.
Perhaps, Wen Ya's world is so simple that it makes us complicated people feel overwhelmed.