The firewood in the stove crackled, illuminating Derek's momentarily pale face.
He stared at the tips of his leather shoes, seeing only a blur of gray.
The sensation of Tabitha's fingers grazing his collarbone that morning suddenly became vivid.
How can a blind man compete with others? The thought stung his heart like a venomous needle. He clenched his pants leg fiercely, nails nearly piercing his thigh.
A small hand suddenly covered his, Hedwig's thumb pressing gently into his taut tendons.
Her palm, warm as a jade pendant, reminded him of nights when Tabitha would rest her feet on his stomach for warmth during her pregnancy.
Derek took a deep breath and found a plump pea pod. As his nail pierced the pod, releasing its sweet juice onto his knuckle, Hedwig raced to the wooden bridge with her bamboo flute.
The wooden planks resonated with her footsteps.
Derek heard the rustle of her skirt as she sat and the soft inhalation before the flute played—a habit identical to Tabitha's pre-whistle breath.
The melody of Castle in the Sky began to flow—ethereal notes that made him visualize moonlight dancing in Tabitha's hair. His right index finger tapped the stone table in rhythm.
Time slipped by unnoticed.
When the basket of peas was finally emptied, the clock had struck half past nine.
In this rural mountain village with no nightlife, most were already asleep.
Derek's body, too, grew weary.
Hedwig approached and took his hand, guiding him back to his room.
His pea-stained fingers sought a washbasin. "Hedwig, where can I wash my hands?"
Hedwig tugged him forward, and Derek mentally tracked their path.
Passing several wooden cottages, she led him to a courtyard.
The air was thick with floral fragrance—this must be the hut Spike mentioned, its yard bursting with exotic blooms.
Hedwig turned on the bamboo water pipe, and clear water gushed out.
She handed him a bar of soap.
Suddenly, Derek heard Tabitha's voice, "Be gentle!"
His hands froze mid-wash, and rage flared in his chest.
He feigned ignorance and asked, "What was that sound?"
Hedwig shook her head. Derek felt as though a dagger had pierced his heart.
"Is someone hurting your mom? Take me there," he demanded.
Hedwig wanted to explain that things weren't what they seemed, but she couldn't speak and didn't know how to communicate with Derek.
Seeing Derek's growing anxiety, she had no choice but to take his hand and lead him upstairs.
The sounds upstairs grew clearer—Tabitha seemed to be in pain.
"Ouch."
"Bear with it."
Each word felt like a knife stabbing Derek's heart, causing it to bleed profusely.
Tabitha...
What was Tabitha doing?
At this moment, he couldn't help but tremble all over—both with anger and with fear.
At the door, Hedwig pushed it open with a creak.
Derek's blood pounded in his ears.
Blinded, he pictured Tabitha and Jasper entangled as they had been years ago on the ship.
If they were now acting on their feelings, what could Derek do?
For a moment, he was almost grateful for his blindness, spared the miserable sight.
The room was filled with a scent like shampoo or body wash.
Tabitha's cold voice cut through the air, "What are you doing here?"
Derek was flustered. Why had he come? To catch them in the act?
He forced his voice to sound casual, "I heard you cry out downstairs and came to check if everything's alright."
"I was just..." Tabitha began.
Jasper sneered, "Alpha Derek, you're so considerate of every woman? When a woman cries upstairs, do you really not understand, or are you just pretending?"
"Vanessa is my chief doctor. Her safety directly impacts my recovery. If something happened to her, who would treat me? It's only natural for me to care. What have I done to deserve such hostility?"
"You know exactly what you've done."
Tabitha didn't want any friction between Jasper and Derek that might arouse Derek's suspicions.
She waved at Jasper to stay silent.
Seeing Derek, whose sight was still bandaged and whose pride had been trampled, she sighed inwardly.
"I'm fine. My brother was just helping me comb my hair."
After chemotherapy, her hair had grown back slowly. Women are naturally image-conscious, fearing irreversible damage.
Jasper had crafted a special shampoo for her and even learned massage techniques.
It hurt a bit, but it worked—Tabitha's hair was now jet-black and glossy, healthier than ever.
Brother?
Derek's clenched fists relaxed. It seemed things hadn't gone that far.
"Sorry to disturb," he said.