Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

Translator: Kinky || https://kinkytranslations.com/

---

Chapter 216

Charlie forcefully jabbed the ceiling with a broomstick, causing several spiders to fall down with the dust, quickly scurrying into the gaps in the corners.

Dwight stepped back abruptly, but through the sunlight streaming into the room, he could still see countless tiny particles swirling in the air, making his skin crawl.

“That’s why I suggested you tie up your hair.” Seeing his reaction, Charlie turned around with a smile, resting his chin on the broom handle. “Proper protective measures are essential for a deep clean.”

“Can’t we just—”

“No,” Charlie interrupted, looking displeased. “This house is full of my treasures. I can’t just let anyone come in and touch everything.”

A few minutes ago, the Duke of Brandenburg, who didn’t even know what a broom was specifically used for, felt a bit angry. He thought anything on him could fetch enough money to buy this old house, making it entirely unnecessary to spend time and effort cleaning it himself. However, he then realized that Charlie’s words classified him as “one of his own”, which soothed his anger quite a bit.

Even though it was hard for him to accept standing in a large pile of dust.

Charlie could clearly see that Dwight was very uncomfortable now, so he gently pushed him outside the door. “Take a walk anywhere you like and buy some food. Tonight, there’s no way we can clean the oven in time.”

Dwight was pushed onto the porch, and then Charlie shut the door with a bang and continued his battle.

With nothing to do, the Duke of Brandenburg could only wander aimlessly along the street. Occasionally, residents of Maplewood would cast curious glances at him. But Charlie had prepared a potion that temporarily changed his skin and hair color. Combined with Charlie’s skillful makeup techniques, the Duke’s imposing appearance was significantly toned down, so the passersby were more curious than intimidated.

“Good afternoon, sir!” A passerby greeted him.

Dwight nodded at him.

“Where are you from?” The other person, an elderly man, seemed very talkative.

“Lemena,” the Duke replied.

“Ah, that’s a good place, but our Maplewood syrup cakes are also good.” The old man tipped his hat to him as they passed each other on the narrow stone bridge.

Dwight didn’t know where the syrup cakes were sold, but the smell of baking wafting along the street was an obvious guide. He walked with his hands in his pockets, his mind wandering.

Previously, Charlie had lived in Maplewood for quite a while when he was still Rabbit Head, selling some mystical trinkets to the residents who came to his door.

On idle afternoons without business, Rabbit Head might also wander around like he was now, and upon smelling the aroma, would surely head in that direction.

At the end of the street, the cobblestone path turned into a wide stone road. Occasionally, carriages passed by, with lanterns hanging from the front, swaying violently but never falling off.

Among the residences, there were some shops, all family-run. Some sold dried herbs, some handmade leather boots, and others fruits. None of this was surprising. There was also a very small house with a foldable door panel displaying several large glass jars filled with various brightly colored liquids, shining in the sunlight.

A delightful drink shop, the kind Rabbit Head loved.

Dwight stopped. The middle-aged woman inside, knitting, noticed a customer and enthusiastically promoted her beet juice and orange juice.

They were quite cheap.

Thinking about the dust swirling at 22 Paulownia Street, he asked the shopkeeper to add an extra handful of crushed mint leaves to the orange juice and bought the entire large glass jar.

The prices in this small town were fair. The Duke of Brandenburg, rarely shopping, was misled by this appearance. By the time he finally bought the freshly baked sweet bread, he found his arms were already full. Adding the bread bag would completely block his view.

The shopkeeper, holding the bread bag, made a gesture, feeling a bit embarrassed.

Dwight didn’t want to carry such a large pile of things back. He looked around and nodded towards a boy carrying a large tray of baked goods from the back.

“Your son?” he asked the shopkeeper.

The shopkeeper nodded.

“I’ll pay a silver coin if he delivers these things back for me.”

Such a matter-of-fact tone sounded a bit rude, but neither the shopkeeper nor his son minded.

“That’s too much,” the shopkeeper said. “You bought my bread, so you could—”

Dwight ignored him, transferring all the items in his hands to the muscular boy. “22 Paulownia Street. Leave it on the porch. No need to ring the bell.”

The boy glanced at his father, eagerly accepting the task.

The shopkeeper’s attention was indeed diverted.

“22 Paulownia Street?” He raised his voice. “Isn’t that Charlie’s house? Is Charlie back?”

“Are you Charlie’s friend? That rascal! Coming back without a word…” The shopkeeper returned the silver coin and the money for the bread to Dwight. “Here. You don’t need to pay.”

Dwight didn’t quite understand the shopkeeper’s sudden excitement and didn’t take the money back. “This is what you deserve.”

“Is Charlie really back?” The shopkeeper confirmed again.

Dwight said, “Yes. He came back to check on the house.”

The other person seemed to have many more questions for him, but Dwight wasn’t very good at handling such direct emotional interactions. Taking advantage of the moment when another customer arrived, he quickly walked away.

Hiring the bakery boy as a temporary porter was a good idea because Dwight bought many more items on his way back—a variety of things so miscellaneous and mysterious that he couldn’t even explain why he suddenly felt the need for them.

“Celery, carrots, and lettuce.” Charlie squatted on the porch, taking inventory of the items scattered around. “Tell me honestly, do you prefer my head as a rabbit? There’s no need to be so subtle. If you want, I can cooperate.”

“There are also roasted meat and sweet bread.” Dwight used his heel to nudge a bag of onions inside.

“Alright, help me move all these to the kitchen.” Charlie sighed, picking up several bags first. “You bought enough to throw a party. I told you we should have brought George and Shiloh along. I don’t know why you insisted on not bringing even Shivers this time.”

If Shivers were here, at least there would be an extra hand for cleaning. However, Charlie was used to doing things himself and managed to make the house livable just as the sun set.

“George has a sensitive nose. He would keep sneezing if he stayed in an old house for too long.” Dwight casually placed a basket of apples on the kitchen floor. “Unless you want to spend the whole night staying up helping him blow his nose.”

Charlie turned to face him, arms crossed.

“I haven’t asked you yet. How did you raise my nephew like this? He’s sick more often than Louis was as a child.” Charlie looked like he was accusing him of a crime.

“Priscilla was like that when she was little.” Dwight didn’t even look at him, striding into the kitchen with his long legs.

Charlie sulkily dropped his hands.

“We left him behind and came to Maplewood. He must be crying again.” Charlie and Dwight moved the dining table into place and lit several candles (because the gas lamps weren’t working due to unpaid bills).

Dwight, without looking up, placed bread, roast meat, and juice on the table. “Even if we were all in Brandenburg, he would cry every day.”

It was fine before, but since Charlie arrived, George had become the world’s biggest crybaby. He cried when he woke up at night, cried when he saw bugs, and cried even more when he lost a fight with the cat—because Charlie always went to hold him.

Facing the Duke’s reproachful look, Charlie quickly changed the subject. “Elly’s drinks, Old Fred’s bread, Red-Nosed Joe’s best roast pork—you bought all my favorite things from before. Does this mean our love has sublimated into tacit understanding?”

Dwight’s response was a light kick to him under the table.

Although they had left in a hurry, Charlie had made thorough preparations: the furniture was covered with dust cloths, fragile items were put away in drawers, doors and windows were tightly shut, and even the plants in the front garden were entrusted to a neighbor for care. They were still thriving.

Charlie’s room was on the second floor, facing the street, with a large wooden window but no balcony. Charlie liked the feeling of fresh air, so he placed his bed by the window. If he opened the curtains, he could see the moon while lying in bed.

Tonight, the moon was large and round. He sat on the windowsill, gazing at the quiet, empty Paulownia Street. The streetlights were still on, with many moths flying around the light clusters. Charlie watched, lost in thought.

Until an arm encircled his waist from behind.

Charlie turned around to see Dwight, who had woken up without him noticing.

“Sorry, is the wind too strong?” Charlie wanted to close the window a bit, but Dwight stopped him.

The Duke of Brandenburg had grown up and was much stronger—though he was never weak to begin with.

“What are you thinking about?” Dwight asked.

Charlie slid down from the windowsill and lay back on the bed, facing Dwight.

“I was thinking about the past,” he said. “About our old life.”

Dwight had washed off his disguise from earlier; his long, pale golden hair spread out on the bed sheet, looking like he had stolen half a moon from the sky.

“More happy memories or sad ones?” he asked again.

Charlie: “……”

Despite everything, this guy’s bluntness never changed for love.

“More sad memories,” Charlie admitted. “I was thinking about Columbus. This house has never been so quiet.”

Dwight pulled Charlie into his arms like George hugging a toy, then wrapped them both in a blanket.

“I knew it.” His voice was muffled under the blanket. “Hiding his base on the porch wouldn’t help.”

Charlie: “…Wait, you hid it? I thought some mischievous kid took it today!”

The little tin soldier used to have a base on the porch, not for any practical purpose but just to look more like a purely decorative toy. When new visitors knocked on the door, it was Rabbit Head and the tin soldier’s shared hobby to scare them by suddenly speaking.

Dwight said, “I knew you would miss him when you came back. I knew you would be sad, so I didn’t let anyone else come along.”

Charlie fumbled under the blanket to pinch his face. “I don’t get the logic.”

“You always don’t want to show your sadness.” Dwight ignored his actions and continued, “You don’t want to be seen—but I’m not ‘anyone’. If anyone can make you less sad, I hope it’s only me.”

Charlie began to understand what Dwight meant. He pulled back the blanket covering them, revealing Dwight’s face, whose eyes, light as a handicraft, were staring at him unblinkingly.

“In return,” Dwight pulled Charlie closer, resting his chin on his shoulder, “As long as you feel better, I’ll fulfill any wish you have. Just say it.”

Charlie chuckled softly. “Any wish? That sounds familiar. Did you wait to say this until we were at 22 Paulownia Street on purpose?”

“Romantic, isn’t it?” Dwight asked seriously.

“Romantic to death,” Charlie replied just as seriously, kissing the tip of his ear. “My wish has long been fulfilled. Love, you are a remarkable shopkeeper.”

---

<<< || Table of Contents || >>>