Chapter 60: Not a Foodie

A Spark of Inspiration

It was a whim at the time. Not rigorous. It didn’t count, but it pointed her toward a direction. For Wenger, this was a significant gain. Thus, her previously gloomy mood lightened considerably. Forgetting all troubles, she saw only harvests.

Wenger’s emotions were usually stable. When occasionally down, she’d talk herself through it. Truthfully, she lacked clear goals. Farming or meditating—she just wanted something to do. Of course, some progress was nice; otherwise, she’d rather sleep until death. In her original world, her dream was to avoid work, sleeping until the world’s end. Here, that dream was half-realized. Sleeping too long might indeed bring the world’s end.

Yet, how could she rest easy knowing such a future? If a plane sparked across the sky, she’d stumble out of bed, bleary-eyed, to buy fried dough and tea eggs. Indeed, lying flat was impossible anywhere. Wenger scratched her head glumly, patting the giant lily bouquet. It was sturdy. Should she harvest it now for potions? On second thought, it looked wilted—perhaps poorly grown.

Checking Resources

She checked her inventory’s colorless crystals—plenty for planting several more acres. Her fourth-tier promotion used far fewer crystals than expected, her cautious nature seeming excessive that day. Reaching the fourth tier qualified her to cross realms, so running out wasn’t a concern. Still, she hadn’t grasped the threshold and might need to ask Vick for tips. Putting these thoughts aside, she tilled the soil, inspecting the seeds.

Hmm… They were indeed ruined, as if twisted apart. Likely, the crystals’ volatile mana, dumped in bulk last time, caused this. No wonder the results were poor. Glancing at the white umbrella-like lily behind her, she marveled at its resilience. But it was still destined for her potion crafting. At that moment, Wenger was a cold farming machine.

Tidying the Cabin

After tidying the flower field, she decided against changes. Altering variables might kill her precious plant, leaving her with regrets. Returning to the cabin, she cleared spiderwebs. She disliked them. The rift’s spider-like creature was disgusting. Back then, too weak, every strike was life-or-death, yet she instinctively wanted to crush it.

Sigh. She couldn’t match Vick’s strength then, but now, one punch might dent it. Meditation, physical training—some things were done. When idle, tasks piled up endlessly. Thus, never claim you’re too free. Wenger thought this while working, unable to escape the farming curse. Did anyone truly work nonstop? She flopped onto the cabin’s bed.

Using mana, she meticulously cleared dust. It still felt off. The bedding needed airing. Resolutely, she stood, tied a pole to a tree, and let the breeze, guided by her will, hang and beat the bedding. Yet, she couldn’t settle down. She’d lost her knack for slacking. In her youth, she’d laze from noon to evening. But with the sun setting, who aired bedding then?

Reflections on Change

Even slacking didn’t mean her life was doomed. Now, she marveled at lying from noon to night—an “outstanding” skill. Life’s stages brought different pursuits, mindsets, and perspectives. Her attitude was calmer than her actions. The treehouse’s magic circle, copied from the mine’s, used holy runes to detect threats. It wouldn’t react to Viyi waking. Its function was simplistic. She wanted to improve it, but her skills were limited. A 200-year skewed scholar—retaking a college exam would be disastrous. She teased herself for a while.

Checking the sky, she secured the bedding and headed back. Not to the village—just home. If Rhine saw her note, he wouldn’t worry. Once Viyi woke, she could focus on upgrading [Forging]. The transcendent path’s nature made the fifth tier a pipe dream short-term, so she’d improve laterally. A good weapon would be a solid boost.

A Bitter Breeze

Walking the mountain path, she avoided her earlier route. Deliberately slow, a gust at the mountainside made her stumble. Withered chamomiles swayed, embracing each other. The wind carried a bitter tang, unlike recent days. Standing among the flowers, Wenger listened to their dry whispers. She couldn’t understand, but her heart felt their sorrow. The field brimmed with sadness.

These flowers shouldn’t bloom now. Reila’s magic circle had adjusted the microclimate. But no flower bloomed forever. Withering was inevitable. Everyone faced it. Except her. Finding a spot, she sat.

Echoes of Nostalgia

Familiar scenes surged back. Why was there a flat stone to sit on? She’d placed it there before. In the shallow sea of chamomiles, she hummed a hometown lullaby. Faintly, she saw time bugs lingering in the flower sea, like in a game—poke them to rewind time. If only she could catch many. Return to before it all began. Sadly, the game lacked such absurd mechanics.

Swaying, she sang softly. Sunlight pierced passing clouds, a breeze dispelling the heat. The coolness shook off her gloom. Lifting her head, she gazed at clouds on a different layer, reaching out. She missed. Of course, she could do it. She never had such conditions before.

A Playful Sky

Meanwhile, Vick, fishing by the lake, released a bucket of fish back. A shifting shadow escaped his view, and he looked up. A shining cloud was molded into shapes by an unseen hand. Berries, pears—edibles. A pie? No, a pizza. Wenger, on her stone, gestured, mana shaping the clouds. This world’s food was lackluster—“pizza” was just a flatbread with random toppings. If she could, she’d open a pizza shop somewhere in this world.