Ilya, for her part, was quite natural. She walked into the room, placed her suitcase against the wall, and went to the window to look out at the street scene.
Then she turned around, her gaze sweeping over the two beds positioned very close to each other.
“The conditions are limited; we’ll have to make do,” Ilya said. Her tone lacked any discernible emotion, as if she were stating an insignificant trifle.
“Yes… yes, all right, Mother.” Flora hurried inside as well, placing her suitcase on the opposite side. She walked over to the bed somewhat awkwardly and pressed down on the mattress.
It was not particularly soft, but not hard either—the kind of standard, filled mattress common in inns.
Looking at the bed, Flora’s mind involuntarily began to imagine the situation after they lay down for the night… ‘Mother and I might be so close that our breaths would mingle.’
“Organize your things briefly. We’ll go eat after a short rest.” Ilya’s voice interrupted her wild fantasies. Ilya had already opened her suitcase and taken out a few necessary pieces of clothing and toiletries.
Her movements were calm and unhurried, as if there were no difference between being in a royal palace or this small-town inn.
Flora quickly opened her own suitcase. Inside were clothes meticulously selected and folded by Lena, along with a few books. She took the books out and placed them on the small round table, then hung a few changes of clothes on the coat rack.
As she did these things, she could clearly feel Ilya just a few steps away. She could even smell the familiar, cool, yet reassuringly faint scent of her mother.
The room grew quiet, save for the slight sounds of items being placed and the faint bustle of the marketplace drifting in from outside.
When Flora finished putting away her last piece of clothing, she straightened up and quietly exhaled in relief.
Looking up, she realized that Ilya had finished organizing at some unknown point and was leaning against the window, quietly watching her.
In those deep silver eyes, a very faint, almost gentle smile seemed to flash by.
“All packed?” Ilya asked.
“…Yes.” Flora nodded, feeling the warmth in her face begin to rise again.
“Then let’s go get something to eat now,” Ilya said, straightening her posture. “Let’s see if it’s still the same as before.”
“Mhm!” At the mention of food, Flora’s spirits brightened. She temporarily suppressed that inexplicable fluttering in her heart and hurried to follow.
Flora walked out of the room, and the door clicked shut softly behind them.
The two of them went downstairs. By now, the twilight had faded, and the sky was completely dark. The town was quite lively, with pedestrians bustling about on the main street.
Flora took a deep breath. This familiar, mundane atmosphere of her hometown seemed to ease the tightness in her chest. She oriented herself and led Ilya toward the street she remembered.
“Mother, that place is called ‘Qinglan Stew Pot.’ Many people like to eat there; it’s very popular in town.” As she walked, Flora introduced it in a low voice, her tone unconsciously carrying a hint of nostalgic excitement.
“The owner is a pudgy old man named Mike. He has a good temperament, and his skills are truly excellent. The dishes he stews… how should I put it? It feels like he locks in the freshest flavors of the food. It’s simple and delicious.”
“It sounds decent. To dare name a restaurant after the local area, and to have so few negative reviews according to you, shows that he must indeed have some skill.”
Ilya walked half a step beside her, her calm gaze sweeping over the slightly aged shops and houses like a meticulous observer conducting an investigation.
“When I was little… back then, Eileen and I loved coming here to eat. Whenever Father saved up a bit of money, he would bring us here for a meal.”
Flora’s voice grew softer, but it remained clear. “It was… a rare delicacy. I have two favorite dishes there.”
“Oh? Which two?” Ilya asked, following her lead. She seemed to intentionally steer clear of certain topics, guiding the conversation toward food.
“One is the signature beef stew.” Flora’s eyes lit up.
“He uses veal from the nearby pastures. It’s stewed until it’s tender enough to melt in your mouth; it’s truly wonderful.”
“The key is their secret sauce. It’s savory with a hint of fruitwood smoke and an indescribable aroma of spices.”
“You can even dip bread in the broth. It goes perfectly with rice; it makes you want to keep eating.” She paused, as if savoring that distant flavor in her memory.
“The other is the creamy mushroom soup. This one sounds ordinary, but the mushrooms Mike uses are exceptionally fresh, and their flavors blend together beautifully.”
“The richness of the cream and the freshness of the mushrooms are perfectly balanced. Especially if you have a bowl in the winter, it warms you up completely from the inside out.”
Ilya listened quietly without interrupting. She could feel that when Flora described these foods, she wasn’t just talking about taste; it was more like she was picking up pieces of a faded but still warm memory.
“We didn’t have much money back then.” Flora smiled. The smile held a bit of joy, mixed with a trace of nostalgia and a faint sadness.
“Usually, we could only afford to order one main dish and share a bowl of soup. Eileen and I would always push the food back and forth, trying to give the portion with more meat to the other… Father would just sit there and watch us with a smile.”
The street gradually became more crowded as they turned into a slightly narrower but more densely packed shopping street. The aroma of food in the air grew richer and more enticing.
“Later, when I went to the Human Academy, whenever I had the chance to come back, I would always come here to eat once.”
“It felt like… only after having this meal did I truly feel like I had returned home.” Flora’s voice was as light as a sigh.
“Then let’s hurry,” Ilya said. Her tone remained flat, yet Flora could hear a hint of encouragement within it.
After walking for another seven or eight minutes, Flora stopped in front of a storefront that looked quite old.
The wooden sign was dark in color, but the words ‘Qinglan Stew Pot’ carved into it in a rugged font were still clear. A wall lamp with a warm light hung by the entrance.
The glass windows were covered in a thin layer of condensation, through which one could faintly see moving figures and steam rising from the tables.
The familiar door, the familiar lighting, and even the slight crack near the door from years of neglect were exactly as they were in her memory.
Flora’s heart raced inexplicably. She took a deep breath and pushed open the heavy wooden door.
A more surging, complex, and intimate aroma instantly enveloped her.
The rich scent of stewed meat, the toasted aroma of bread, and a faint hint of malt beer all intertwined to form the reassuring scent that belonged only to this place.
The shop’s furnishings had hardly changed. There were rough wooden tables and chairs, a clean floor, and an animal horn hanging on the wall.
It was currently peak dining hours, and more than half the seats were occupied. The sounds of voices and clattering cutlery overlapped.
Several waiters and waitresses carried trays, maneuvering nimbly between the tables and chairs.