To avoid going from a paying passenger to being tied up in the trunk as a romance scammer, handed over to the Silvermane Guards for processing, Venti reacted with unprecedented speed.
“This is absolutely a misunderstanding! You must have mistaken me for someone else!”
His vehement denial made Lynx hesitate. Had she truly recognized the wrong person? Should she apologize?
To confirm her suspicion, Lynx quickly boarded the expedition vehicle and rummaged through her copy of Snowy Adventures. Inside, she found a beautifully drawn, vintage-style portrait.
The person depicted had a gentle expression, holding a white flower with sparkling stars adorning the scene. It was instantly clear this was the quintessential male lead from a bygone era: passionate, proactive, and endlessly charismatic—a true heartthrob.
Adding a layer of intrigue, the faint outline of a Silvermane Guard’s attire was visible in the background, hinting that this portrait was drawn from a heroine’s perspective.
But before anyone could admire the image further—or realize its uncanny resemblance to someone nearby—Lynx put away the portrait. Her tone turned unexpectedly wise, almost like an elderly matron in an old-time radio drama.
“I’ve told Pela countless times: love must be carefully chosen.”
“…Huh? Are we skipping the reasoning phase and jumping straight into life lessons?”
Caught between Dan Heng and March 7, who held him firmly in place, Venti wriggled futilely.
“Alright, fine! I admit the artwork is exquisite, and I’d love to meet the artist, but I have never deceived anyone’s feelings!”
Venti’s indignant defense only deepened the mischievous curve of Lynx’s smile. It was the kind of smile that could grace the cover of a psychological thriller.
“Still lying, huh? Looks like I’ll have to throw you into the frozen lake to feed the fish.”
Lynx didn’t connect Venti to his true identity, as most of her knowledge came secondhand from Pela. Moreover, she wouldn’t think to link the flamboyantly dressed bard with the figure in the portrait.
After all, the Wind God’s true appearance was considered too dazzling, and Belobog’s guardian had once decreed that divine depictions must be abstract, solemn, and modest. Consequently, the images circulating among believers often differed significantly from reality.
And Lynx? She had been too busy with fieldwork to attend Venti’s performances. It wasn’t just a lack of interest; she genuinely detested large crowds. That, coupled with a sibling rivalry of sorts—competing with Pela’s idol for attention—meant Lynx had avoided anything Venti-related.
Thus, Pela’s accounts of Venti and the reality of him were worlds apart.
Still, let’s momentarily set aside Lynx’s misidentifications and turn our focus to Venti, who resembled a lamb awaiting slaughter.
Despite his spirited protests, the portrait was an undeniable piece of evidence against him. Within moments, March 7 had him bound tightly, her expression unreadable as she eyed him.
“Who knew? You’re not a thief in the literal sense, but you do steal hearts. It’s a miracle someone as wonderful as Miss Pela likes you. If you weren’t so…well-behaved, I’d have dragged you behind the car to eat dust.”
“Come on! It’s unfair to condemn me based on Lynx’s accusations and a single portrait!”
Venti wriggled like a caterpillar, attempting to escape, but March 7 effortlessly lifted him with one hand.
“Then explain how you and Miss Pela met.”
“Uh…if I had to say, she approached me first.”
“More like you baited her! Using stories you knew she’d like, you captivated her with sweet words and made her agree to something—only to vanish without a trace! Pela has complained about this plenty!”
Lynx’s rapid-fire retort painted her as though she’d been an eyewitness to the drama.
“No way! Pela and I are just good friends! There’s nothing romantic going on—”
“You even gave her a token of affection, and now you’re denying it?!”
“…”
Venti hesitated, recalling the symbolic meaning of the Cecilia flower he’d given Pela. Although Belobog didn’t have such flowers, their meaning—a vagabond’s true heart—was clear to him.
At the time, he’d only wanted to lift her spirits. Yet, seen from an outsider’s perspective, misunderstanding seemed inevitable…
As Venti’s expression shifted to guilt, Lynx huffed softly, choosing not to press further.
She had one unspoken thought, though: Pela and Venti’s relationship was still undefined. But for a literary romantic like Pela, this ambiguity likely only added to the allure.
Thus, the blame for this misunderstanding ultimately fell on Venti.
And so, despite the pity others felt for him, no one intervened. Even Uncle Yang refrained from stepping in, sensing that Venti might learn from the experience.
Dan Heng? He simply remained indifferent. Matters of the heart held little importance to him anymore. Still, as he glanced at March 7 through the rearview mirror, an involuntary shiver ran down his spine.
If someone like her were to cling to me…peaceful days would be a distant dream.
The train’s archive room seemed all the more inviting.
—
Meanwhile, March 7 dragged Lynx along to explore a nearby festival. Despite Lynx’s aversion to crowds, she found herself intrigued by the myriad of games and activities.
Uncle Yang took this time to stretch his legs, leaving only Dan Heng to watch over Venti in the vehicle.
Attempting to crawl out like a worm, Venti was promptly stopped.
“Running away will only make things worse. You’ll have to return to Belobog eventually,” Dan Heng remarked without looking up.
“Fine, fine. Any better suggestions?”
“Apologize. Fulfill whatever promises you made. I’m sure she’ll forgive you.”
“Any chance there’s a more escapist option?”
Dan Heng turned, expression unimpressed.
“Your mistake is minor—nothing irredeemable. Take this as advice: don’t run from your problems.”
“Wow, Dan Heng, you sound like someone with experience. Were you popular with girls?”
Ignoring the comment, Dan Heng replied flatly, “What matters is what you’ll do next.”
For a moment, Venti’s confident demeanor returned.
“You’re right. If it’s not too late, I should meet her expectations.”
Before he could bask in his resolve, March 7 burst in, startling him into a graceless tumble.
“Oops, sorry! Didn’t see you there. But what were you two chatting about?”
“…Nothing,” Dan Heng replied, raising a brow at her ignorance.
And yet, March 7 remained blissfully unaware.
“Hahaha! Everyone, laugh at him!”
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