In this bizarre Fairy Tale World, the Ugly Duckling was hardly a rare character.
In terms of supernatural powers, it couldn't compare to the talking crow that could divine good and bad luck, nor the toad that spat gold coins and brought in wealth;
In terms of legends, it lagged even further behind wish-granting spirits and moving castles.
But Gwof had heard its story and knew this little thing wasn't bad at heart—it had been pecked by hens and chased by hounds, yet never learned to steal; at most, when starving, it would sneak a peck of someone's leftover bran.
Besides, helping out was just a small effort and cost him nothing.
His fingertips tapped gently on the edge of the wooden table in a slow, leisurely rhythm, like beating an out-of-tune tempo.
He said to the still-sobbing Ugly Duckling, "Ugly Duckling, is it?"
Upon hearing this, the Ugly Duckling's neck stiffened suddenly, and it began nodding its head rapidly like a chicken pecking rice.
Its wing was still firmly gripped by Little Bottle, so its whole body swayed as it nodded. Its bare feathers shed bits of dross, making it look like a dandelion tossed about by the wind—both pitiful and comical.
Gwof looked at its appearance, and the corners of his mouth quirked up almost imperceptibly: "There's no rush for a name. You're called Ugly Duckling now, but that's just a nickname others gave you based on your looks; don't take it seriously. Whatever you want to be called in the future, just choose it yourself. The days are long; appearances change, and so do circumstances."
He paused, thinking of the situation in his Wolf Kingdom, and said casually: "In this world, there are animal kingdoms where gray wolves are kings, foxes wear glasses and do arithmetic, fat pigs wear aprons and make buns, and wolves and dogs wear armor as Soldiers... everyone performs their duties, no one bullies anyone else, and as long as you're willing to work, you'll have food to eat."
As soon as these words came out, the room became so quiet that the 'crackling' of the fireplace flames could be heard.
The Ugly Duckling gaped, forgetting to sob, its eyes wide and round. The dancing firelight reflected in its pupils as if it were listening to a fairy tale—foxes doing arithmetic? Gray wolves as kings? This was more ridiculous than the old lady's stories on the heated brick bed about'swans flying ninety thousand miles and reaching the clouds with one flap of their wings'!
It shook its bare head, wondering if it was so lightheaded from hunger that it was hallucinating.
The Farmer and his wife were also stunned, forgetting to put down the apron and straw rope in their hands.
The Farmer's dark face was full of bewilderment, and he secretly nudged his wife with his elbow;
The Farmers Wife quickly tugged her husband's sleeve, her lips moving as she mouthed words only the two of them could understand:
"Don't the foxes in the forest... just know how to steal chickens and ducks? They can do arithmetic? They must be monsters!"
Liya still had half a steak in her mouth, her cheeks bulging like she'd stuffed two walnuts in them, and she forgot to chew.
She looked at Gwof, then at the Ugly Duckling, her little brow furrowed into a knot, a big question mark popping up in her small head as she asked indistinctly,
"Then... then in that kingdom... will there be people like I used to be, who can't afford to eat?"
Gwof glanced at her, seeing a bit of meat residue on the corner of her mouth like a little Squirrel sneaking food, and replied casually,
"As long as you're willing to work and aren't lazy, you definitely won't starve to death."
Then he turned to the Ugly Duckling, his tone flat but carrying an unquestionable certainty:
"In short, that's how it is. Follow me for now, and when we go back there later, I'll let you stay. You can just live there."
After speaking, he picked up a knife, cut two large pieces of roasted chicken from the plate, specifically choosing the parts with crispy skin, and handed them to the Ugly Duckling.
Oil dripped from the tip of the knife, landing on the wooden table and spreading into small grease spots.
Seeing this, Little Bottle curled his lip, tactfully let go, and turned back to deal with his box of ice cream.
The moment it was released, the Ugly Duckling was stunned for a moment, seemingly not reacting.
Only when it smelled the aroma of the chicken did it seem to have its start button pressed. With a 'whoosh,' it flapped its wings and rushed to the meat, ignoring all dignity as it lowered its head and began to wolf it down.
Meat juices got all over its bare head, and even the tip of its crooked wing was smeared with oil, making it look like a naughty child who had just finished sneaking jam, its face a total mess.
The Farmer watched from the side, clicking his tongue. He twirled his tobacco pipe in his hand three times and hesitated for a long time before asking cautiously: "Sir... you... are you really going to take it with you?"
In his eyes at this moment, this thing was no different from an old hen that snatched food, except for being ugly; taking it along was purely asking for trouble.
Gwof smiled, picking up a handkerchief to slowly wipe the oil spots from his fingertips.
"It's nothing. I just think it's pitiful, hungry and cold. It won't be a bother to keep it around."
Besides, this was at least a character with a name in the Fairy Tale World.
Maybe it would be useful later.
Only then did the Farmers Wife breathe a sigh of relief, a smile spreading across her face.
"Well then, that's fine, that's fine. As long as the guest doesn't mind, it's all good."
She turned toward the kitchen, her coarse cloth skirt sweeping over the straw on the floor.
"I'll go stew another pot of hot soup for the guest. I'll add ginger and pepper; it's cold at night, so drinking it will keep you warm."
The fireplace flames were still dancing, their orange-red light reflecting on the back of the Ugly Duckling as it ate with its head down.
As it ate, it suddenly raised its head, a piece of meat still in its beak. Its oily mouth was covered in crumbs, but its eyes were bright as it looked at Gwof and said indistinctly: "Tha... Thank you..."
Gwof ignored it, merely using a fork to get a piece of fried potato for Liya. The potato skin was golden and crispy, with a few grains of salt sticking to it: "Eat quickly, it won't taste good once it's cold."
In fact, he had long since lost interest in this farmhouse food; otherwise, he wouldn't have been constantly giving dishes to Liya.
After they had their fill, the Farmers Wife wiped her hands on her apron and led them to the inner room.
"There's a large room in the house with two mattresses laid out. Will you make do for the night?"
The wooden door opened with a 'creak.' The room was indeed spacious, with a wide wooden bed against the wall covered in coarse cloth mattresses washed to a pale white. In the corner was a pile of clean cotton wadding that smelled of being dried in the sun.
There was a big bed, but Gwof didn't want to sleep with Little Bottle.
He glanced at Little Bottle, who was rubbing his hands nearby, and frowned: "You sleep on the floor."
Little Bottle was about to protest, but seeing Gwof's gaze, he immediately wilted: "...Yes, Master."
He picked up the cotton wadding from the corner to spread on the floor, muttering "the floor is cold" under his breath, but not daring to say another word.
The Farmers Wife had added wood to the fireplace, and it was burning brightly. The orange-red light filled the entire room, making even the air feel warm and cozy.
Liya had already made a small nest for the Ugly Duckling using some cotton wadding and placed it by the fireplace. It was now huddled inside, its bare feathers toasted fluffy. Its eyes were tightly shut, and its breathing was even; it was actually the first to fall asleep, occasionally smacking its beak as if dreaming of roast chicken.
Not long after Little Bottle lay down, his snoring erupted with a 'hu,' shaking the dust from the ceiling.
How could anyone sleep through this?
Gwof was so annoyed he sat straight up. With a flick of his finger, a spark from the fireplace flew out 'whoosh' and hit Little Bottle right on the forehead.
He jumped up with an 'ow,' and before he could see what was happening, he was kicked out the door by Gwof: "Go sleep in the woodshed, don't make noise here."
The wooden door 'thudded' shut, and the room instantly became quiet.
Liya yawned, moved further into the bed, wrapped herself in the quilt, and before long, her breathing became long and steady.
Gwof lay flat with the back of his hand over his forehead, listening to the 'crackling' of the firewood in the fireplace. Occasionally, a spark would splash against the furnace wall, making a faint'sizzling' sound.
The room was as warm as if it held a little sun, but he had no desire to sleep—the wolf ears under his hat brim were upright, able to hear the dripping of melting snow outside the yard, discern the night cry of an owl in the distant forest, and even clearly hear the light sound of a spider spinning its web in the corner.
At some point, the moonlight crawled over the window frame, casting shadows of interlaced branches on the floor like a crooked ink painting, swaying gently with the wind.
Just then, the quilt on his body was suddenly tugged by a force. The strength wasn't great, but it carried a stubborn persistence.
Gwof raised an eyebrow, and before he could turn his head, more than half the quilt was pulled away 'whoosh,' exposing the arm he had covered.
He looked sideways; Liya was sleeping soundly, her brow relaxed and the corners of her mouth slightly upturned as if dreaming of something sweet.
Her little hand gripped the corner of the quilt. Somehow, she had even rolled his side of the quilt over, wrapping it around herself in layers like a little Squirrel hiding pine cones. She had wrapped herself into a round zongzi, not even showing her little toes.
"Sigh..." Gwof let out a silent sigh, but there was no impatience in his eyes.
He tugged at the remaining small section of the quilt, and seeing Liya hold it even tighter, he simply let go—fine, he was a dignified gray wolf with thick skin and flesh; could he really be afraid of the cold?
A noble wolf had no need for such soft things anyway.
In the little nest by the fireplace, the Ugly Duckling turned over, its bare wing resting on the cotton wadding, revealing the tender pink skin underneath. It was probably dreaming of food again, as its little mouth smacked, making a faint 'murmuring' sound.
From the direction of the distant woodshed, Little Bottle's snoring came through the wooden door, muffled like an old ox panting. Blown by the wind, it faded a bit, becoming the background noise of this quiet night.
The moonlight grew even brighter, flowing through the tree shadows on the ground.
Gwof lay back down, looking at the rafters on the ceiling, which still had rusty nails from last year's repairs.
He suddenly felt his eyelids grow heavy. The warm light from the fireplace spilled over his face, and Liya's even breathing tickled his heart like a feather.
His wolf ears twitched slightly, finally catching the light snoring of the Ugly Duckling.
Gwof slowly closed his eyes. The moonlight plated his eyelashes with silver, and the wolf ears under his hat brim finally drooped, rising and falling slightly with his breathing.
This night, there was no clashing of swords, no worries of government affairs—only firewood, moonlight, and the steady breathing beside him