When Leah tiptoed into the Palace, the first thing she smelled was a rich aroma of meat.
The Palace hall was much warmer than she had imagined. The fire in the fireplace was blazing, licking at the thick logs and crackling softly.
Gwof sat at the head of the long table, with a sizzling steak in front of him. The knife and fork in his hands looked exceptionally steady as he cut the meat slowly and deliberately. The silver fork lifted a small piece of meat, and even the chewing motion exuded a sense of ease.
He wore a dark Satin Shirt, with the collar loosely open, revealing half of his collarbone.
His Wide-brimmed Hat rested on the empty seat beside him. His wolf ears occasionally twitched slightly with the sound of conversation, bathed in the warm glow from the fireplace, making them seem less intimidating than when she first saw him.
Several Administrators stood on either side of the long table. Some wore Official Robes, others had glasses, each holding Scrolls or Ledgers, not daring to breathe too loudly.
Closest to Gwof was a short, Plump Official, his face wearing an ingratiating smile, but his voice was kept very low.
"Sir, the bandit den in the west of the city has been cleared out. The food we found has been distributed to the Relief Stations. The people say..."
"Get to the point." Gwof didn't look up, the knife and fork clinking crisply against the porcelain plate.
"Yes, yes, yes!" The Plump Official quickly dropped his smile. "The Gang in the east of the city has mostly been captured. The leaders will be publicly tried tomorrow, and the rest..."
On the other side, an Official Wearing Glasses adjusted his lenses, speaking in a serious tone: "And the draft for the Tax Reform, revised three times according to your instructions, has removed all Excessive Taxes, retaining only the Basic Grain Tax. What do you think..."
Leah stood at the entrance of the hall, gazing at the figure at the far end of the long table. Words like "taxes" and "public safety" drifted into her ears, sounding like gibberish to her.
She had never been interested in such adult matters. At this moment, her mind was filled with the Notebook in her arms. Her fingers tightened around the cover, her fingertips brushing over the polished Rose Pattern, as if drawing courage from it.
Taking a deep breath, she lifted the heels of her Small Leather Shoes and stepped onto the polished, mirror-like floor tiles.
The tiles were made of White Jade, reflecting the flickering firelight from the fireplace and her small figure.
The soles of her boots tapped against the floor, making a "tap, tap" sound. In the hall where even breathing seemed cautious, it was as clear as a mischievous little bell ringing.
The voices of the Administrators stopped abruptly, like snapped strings.
They all turned their heads, their eyes fixed on her—an Old Official in a tall hat squinted, a Middle-aged Man in Brocade Robes looked surprised, and a Junior Clerk holding a ledger gaped, clearly not expecting a Little Girl to suddenly barge in.
Gwof finally set down his knife and fork.
The silver utensils rested lightly on the edge of the porcelain plate, making a soft "ding" sound.
He looked up, his green eyes glowing warmly in the firelight, like jade immersed in warm water.
When he saw Leah, the corner of his mouth lifted slightly, carrying a faint hint of a smile: "You're here?"
Looking at the Little Girl tiptoeing forward, he chuckled inwardly.
Originally, she should have been sitting beside him, poking at a steak with a Small Silver Fork and frowning at the fried egg—after all, she had complained yesterday that the Palace porridge wasn't as fragrant as the street wheat cakes.
But this Little Girl couldn't sit still. When she heard about recording "the first day of the new Anvil Kingdom," her eyes sparkled like stars, and she insisted on running out with her Notebook. He simply let her have her way, treating it as a chance for her to relax.
Leah's heart skipped a beat under his gaze. The words she had rehearsed in her mind suddenly scattered like paper blown apart by wind and snow.
She quickly hurried to the side of the long table, holding out her Notebook. Her voice was a bit tense but earnest:
"Little... Gwof. This is the record I wrote. Take a look."
As she spoke, she quickly lowered her head, her long eyelashes drooping like curtains over her eyes.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she opened the Notebook. The Leather Cover, warmed by her embrace all the way, was already cozy.
The pages rustled. Her fingertip paused on the first page for half a second, as if afraid of being burned, then she quickly flipped past it—skipping directly to the pages filled with street observations, along with several small sketches of Soldiers, Porridge Stations, and smiling faces.
She couldn't let him see the first page.
That secretly written poem was like a strawberry buried in the snow, sweet only to herself. If he saw it, she would probably want to crawl into a crack in the ground and never look up again.
The firelight from the fireplace spread over, landing on the top of her head.
Her golden curls looked like they were sprinkled with gold dust, with a few mischievous strands hanging by her cheeks, swaying gently as she flipped the pages.
Gwof's gaze swept over her reddened ear tips and landed on her tightly pursed lips, thinking to himself that she was still just a child.
"What did you write?"
Gwof's voice carried a hint of amusement. He reached out, his fingertips lightly touching the pages of the Notebook.
His fingertips carried the warmth from the fireplace, like a warm feather. When they brushed against the back of Leah's hand, her fingers instinctively flinched, and her heart raced again.
He took the Notebook and opened the pages.
Leah's handwriting was neat and earnest, with the rounded strokes characteristic of a child, each line exuding solemnity.
He slowly flipped through, seeing her note: "The line in front of the Porridge Station stretched for three miles. No one cut in line, no one made a fuss." Beside it, she had drawn a crooked little figure holding a bowl and smiling with two front teeth showing.
He saw her write: "The patrolling Soldier helped an Old Woman carry water. The bucket swayed, but he walked steadily." Below it, she had drawn a small heart in Red Ink.
And he saw her note: "The Bakery Owner's Wife gave burnt bread to Stray Dogs, saying, 'They're lives too.'"
Between the lines, there was nothing but joy for this newborn country, like a handful of sparkling sugar.
Every stroke on the pages radiated peace. Gone were the beatings and hunger of the past, the Soldiers' whips and officials' cold faces. Now, there was only the aroma of hot porridge, kind smiles, and slowly warming days.
Gwof's fingertips paused over these words, and the corner of his mouth curved upward.
It seemed that Actor who was still kowtowing yesterday had actually done a decent job.
His fingertips lightly traced the last page of the Notebook, and the small drawing caught his eye.
The Statue in the center of the Square had simple yet upright lines. A Boy in a Wide-brimmed Hat stood straight, with what seemed like a smile hidden in the shadows under the brim. Beside him, a Little Girl crouched on the ground, her hand holding the Notebook drawn crookedly. Snowflakes were lightly brushed with Pale Blue Strokes, but in the upper right corner, a round sun was painted with Bright Yellow Pigment, its warmth almost overflowing.
His fingertip paused on the sun for a moment—
Well, and this statue.
Because he had run into the Little Girl earlier in the evening, he had been busy taking care of her and hadn't gone to see The Statue.
This drawing reminded him that he could go take a look later.
"You drew this with great care."
He handed the Notebook back. The Leather Cover was warmed by the heat of his palm.
"You even thought of the sun in the snowflakes. It's much livelier than the scene I saw during the day."
Leah quickly took the Notebook and hugged it to her chest. The warmth from the cover seeped through the fabric into her chest, like holding a small heater.
She lowered her head to stare at the drawing, her ear tips reddening as if about to drip blood, her voice as faint as a mosquito's hum:
"I-it's just a casual drawing..."
Gwof turned to look at the Administrators standing to the side, his tone regaining some steadiness, though the previous chill was gone.
"You've seen it too. What people consider a good life isn't numbers in a ledger; it's hot porridge, smooth roads, and peace of mind."
He looked at the short, stout official: "Once the Bandits are cleared, guard the town well. Don't let new evil forces emerge."
Then he looked at the bespectacled official: "Revise the tax draft again. Ask the people more about their opinions; don't just sit in your room and make decisions arbitrarily."
The officials bowed in unison and replied: "Yes, sir!"
Their voices held less of the previous flattery and fear, replaced with a more solid confidence.
Gwof waved his hand: "Go and get busy. In three days, I want to hear real results."
As the Administrators withdrew, their steps were lighter than when they had arrived.
The great hall quickly quieted again, leaving only the crackling of wood burning in the fireplace.
Gwof looked at Leah, who was still standing in place, and pointed to the empty seat across the long table.
"Come over. The steak is getting cold."
Leah's eyes lit up. She hugged her Notebook and ran over, her little leather shoes making a slight sound on the carpet as she climbed onto the chair.
She stole a glance at Gwof and found him lowering his head to cut the steak... By the time they finished eating, the wood in the fireplace had burned down to red embers. Leah held a warm cup of milk, her eyes sparkling as she stared at Gwof.
He put down the silver fork and wiped the corner of his mouth with a napkin: "Let's go. Let's go see The Statue of The First Prince."
Leah immediately jumped down from the chair, stuffed her Notebook into her cloak, her little leather shoes making a cheerful sound on the carpet.
As Gwof stood up, he casually put on a Wide-brimmed Hat. The brim was pressed just right, covering the wolf ears on his head—though the Administrators were long used to it, the people in the capital had just emerged from the shadow of Bluebeard. Seeing such non-human ears would inevitably cause panic.
It was just a matter of wearing a hat, saving a lot of trouble.
As the side door of the Palace was pushed open, wind and snow rushed in with a chill.
Leah shrank her neck but ran swiftly, stepping in her own footprints to lead the way ahead.
"Going through here is the shortest way. Go around three streets and you'll reach the Square!" Her voice, wrapped in the wind, was like a bouncing snowflake.
"Let me tell you, that statue seems to talk—"
As she turned her head, snow on her hat brim rustled down, her blue eyes flickering in the snowy light.
"Once, when I was selling matches and passing by, it was almost dark. I passed that statue and suddenly heard a voice ask, 'How are you doing?' It was deep, as if coming from a crack in the stone."
Gwof followed her footprints forward, his leather boots making a "crunch" sound on the snow: "You weren't scared, were you?"
"I was scared!"
Leah nodded vigorously.
"I was so scared that I dropped the matches in my hand. I didn't dare answer, got up, and ran. Later, I thought, maybe it's The First Prince's spirit attached to it? My grandmother said that after people die, they become stars..."
As they spoke, the outline of the Square came into view.
Leah suddenly slowed her pace, her voice softer: "We're here."
Gwof followed her gaze—The Statue in the center of the Square stood silently in the wind and snow, about three to four meters tall, more plain than he had imagined.
The stone pedestal was covered in cracks, like wrinkles on an old man's hand;
The Statue held a sword in its hand, but the blade was broken in half, the break jagged, likely deliberately smashed;
where gemstones should have been inlaid in the eyes, only two black holes remained, gazing at the gray sky, lacking the "gentle smile" from legends, instead exuding a bit of desolation.
It had no decorations, even the name carved on the pedestal was chiseled blurry. Only the endless falling snow covered it with a thick white coat.
Gwof's gaze lingered in The Statue's empty eye sockets for a long time. Those chiseled marks were like two hideous scars, gleaming cold and hard in the wind and snow.
The wind, carrying snowflakes, blew into the broken sword's hole, a "whooshing" sound wrapping around his ears, sometimes near, sometimes far, truly like someone whispering low in the snow, telling stories frozen by time.
He remembered what he had heard people here say before:
"That statue is the capital's memory. No matter how cold the sky is, looking at the sword in its hand warms the heart by three parts."
But now, the stone pedestal looked frozen like ice, even the wind carried a biting chill—where was the warmth?
"There seems to be something on The Statue!"
Leah's voice suddenly rose, carrying a bit of alarm.
Gwof snapped back to attention and looked in the direction she pointed—on The Statue's neck, where the prince's chin should have been, lay a small, dusty thing.
He squinted to search carefully. The thing was curled up, wings tightly pressed against its body, half-buried in snow, like a frozen Swallow.
Its feathers were covered in a thin layer of ice, motionless, unclear if it was dead or just frozen unconscious.
"It's a Swallow!" Leah was already running toward the base of The Statue, her little leather shoes slipping in the snow. "How did it get here?"
Gwof followed closely, standing by the pedestal and looking up.
The Swallow's position wasn't too high, but it was beyond Leah's reach.
Without saying much, he reached out, grabbed a chiseled groove on The Statue's waist, used the stone cracks as footholds, and climbed up in a few moves.
When his fingertips touched the Swallow, ice shards made his hand ache. The small body was stiff, not even moving its wings.
He carefully cradled the Swallow in his palm. As he jumped down from The Statue, Leah was already tiptoeing below, waiting, her eyes wide with anxiety.
"Let me see it quickly!" She immediately leaned in, her nose almost touching the back of Gwof's hand.
Their cheeks were extremely close. Leah's exhaled white breath landed on his jaw, carrying a warm, ticklish sensation.
But when she saw the Swallow in Gwof's palm, the light in her blue eyes "swished" out.
The Swallow's feathers were dusty, its wings still stained with a bit of dried grass debris, its head tilted to one side, no longer as agile as when it used to skim over eaves.
Leah's lips trembled twice, and she suddenly burst into tears with a "wah."
"What's wrong?" Gwof quickly crouched down, lowering the hand holding the Swallow, and gently patted her back with his other hand.
But Leah buried her head in his chest, her small shoulders shaking violently, tears like broken beads soaking the front of his clothes.
"I know it... I've seen this Swallow!"
Her voice choked, coming out intermittently, "A few months ago, it landed on the Orphanage windowsill, holding a blue gemstone in its beak, sparkling like a star in the sky.
It gave the gemstone to me. I hid it under my pillow, but the Headmistress searched and took it..."
She sniffled, her crying louder.
"I thought it had flown away, gone south for the winter... How could it freeze to death here? The winter is so cold, why didn't it fly away..."
Gwof looked down at the Swallow in his palm, his fingertips feeling its stiff body, even the last bit of body heat sucked away by the wind and snow.
Yes, it was dead.