NFBE Chapter 290 [Empire] Christmas Chapter
Chapter 290 [Empire] Christmas Chapter
Finally, I sighed and reached out to pick up the bowl and chopsticks. Since I was hungry, no matter what his purpose was in leaving these meals, I could choose to ignore it. This was a simple gift.
"Eat it anyway. He won't actually eat me alive." I flipped my chopsticks around and took the first bite of cold rice. While it didn't taste great, it wasn't hard to swallow either. But with every bite, I felt like I was gnawing on a thorn in my stomach.
The food was icy cold, and my stomach felt a chill as I swallowed it. But I didn't want to dwell on it, so I just ate mouthful after mouthful, regardless of the taste. The air around the table was a little silent, and my movements echoed with subtle sounds.
At this moment, my eyes inadvertently glanced at the table - a wine bottle that had not been put away in time, empty, with the bottle mouth tilted towards me, as if silently reminding me of something.
A sudden, inexplicable irritation welled up inside me, so I sped up, finishing my meal in a few gulps, leaving my bowl and chopsticks behind and heading for my room. The air was filled with the greasy smell of cold food, mixed with the lingering aroma of wine from an empty bottle.
Tonight, there were no quarrels or tit-for-tat taunts in the living room; it was unusually quiet.
But I've actually gotten used to this abnormality.
Yawning, I walked to the living room for some water, only to be startled by the cold wind blowing in from the window. The window was wide open, letting the night's chill intrude mercilessly. I instinctively crossed my arms and was about to close the window when I saw him.
He stood by the window, his back to me. The wind lifted the hem of his windbreaker, as if to envelop him in the night. His figure looked exceptionally thin in the dim light, enveloped in coldness and silence, revealing an indescribable loneliness.
"When did you come back?" I asked subconsciously in a low voice, but my voice was carried away by the night wind and sounded so light that it almost lacked confidence.
He didn't look back. The wind ruffled his hair, disturbing my mood as well. It was a kind of silent alienation, as if there was an invisible barrier between him and the world.
Outside the window, the shadows of dandelions flew by, tumbling in the wind like white waves. His sleeves fluttered in the wind, blending in with the fleeting dandelions. At that moment, I couldn't tell whether the night was swallowing him or he was merging into it.
"Aren't you... cold?" I asked again, trying to break the eerie silence with some irrelevant words.
He finally turned to look at me, his eyes indifferent, yet concealing a deep sense of fatigue. His thin lips parted slightly, his tone unexpectedly calm. "Are you cold?" He seemed to be talking to himself, but also like a rhetorical question.
Without waiting for me to say anything, he slowly averted his gaze and raised his hand to tug at the collar of his windbreaker. The movement seemed to be an attempt to shield him from the cold, but it also seemed more like an attempt to conceal something. Without looking at me again, he turned and walked towards the room, his windbreaker making a muffled sound as it swept through the air.
The window was still open, and the wind was still howling. I walked over to the window to close it, only to find a few withered dandelion stems lying on the floor. They were so thin and fragile that they were blown to pieces by the night wind.
Early in the morning, I stood by the window, my gaze fixed on the street outside. Snow fell quietly, and the simulation system's precise reproduction transformed the entire city into a winter fairytale atmosphere overnight. The temperature plummeted to below zero, and the chill filtered through the glass. I subconsciously rubbed my arms.
Overnight, the trees along the street transformed into towering pine trees, their branches festooned with red and green lights, and tiny stars glimpsed faintly beneath the snow. Streamers, strings of lights, and several rotating small projection devices projected all sorts of Christmas elements, creating a realistic atmosphere that felt less like a product of technology and more like a human effort to pluck a piece of the past from the depths of memory.
I casually picked up my laptop and glanced at the date. It was Christmas Eve. Honestly, I was a bit surprised. I'd assumed that in the interstellar age, such holidays would have long since vanished, or existed only in history books. Yet, here, someone had surprisingly preserved it and presented it in this way.
"Christmas..." I muttered to myself, the scene outside the window evoking a bit of distant memories. Those memories were vague and out of reach, like snow, once it fell into the palm of your hand, it quickly melted away, leaving nothing behind.
Pedestrians walked in groups of two or three, most bundled up, as if trying to withstand the virtual cold but also to embrace the festive atmosphere. A few children ran around in the thick snow, their laughter filtering through the windows, bringing a touch of warmth.
But the sight didn't warm my heart. "Are these people...really celebrating Christmas?" I asked myself, but I couldn't find the answer. I just felt, inexplicably, that all this, while exquisite, felt a little hollow, like some form of nostalgia, a collective tribute to a bygone era.
I stood there for a while, then felt a little cold for no reason, so I closed the curtains and went back to my room. Although this "Christmas atmosphere" seemed joyful, it couldn't dispel the faint chill that enveloped my heart.
"Remember to eat them," he said, pressing a few beautifully wrapped gingerbread men into my hands. His voice was low and calm, as if he were instructing me on a trivial matter. The gingerbread packaging was printed with a simple red and green pattern, and the rich Christmas atmosphere filled me.
I stared at him, a bit stunned. He'd gotten up early today, even earlier than me, which was rare. On normal mornings, he'd either slumped on the couch, unwilling to move, or humming a few words with a hungover look, completely different from this cool and composed demeanor.
He stood by the door, wearing his usual thin coat, his windbreaker unbuttoned, revealing a simple turtleneck sweater underneath. He seemed oblivious to the subzero temperatures created by the simulation. I couldn't help but wonder, "Does this guy have a built-in heating system, or has he completely lost his sense of temperature?"
"Why are you up so early?" I asked casually, glancing down as I took the gingerbread. He'd even thoughtfully tied a small golden string around it. Could this man normally be so attentive?
He didn't answer, but just waved his hand, as if he didn't want to waste time on such a small issue.
"Go ahead, don't be late." The voice was as indifferent as usual, but it seemed less harsh because of the small bag of gingerbread men.
I nodded and stuffed the gingerbread into my bag. As I walked out the door, I couldn't help but glance back. He was still standing at the door, his gaze faraway, as if he were looking at something through the falling snow, but he couldn't see anything. The cold wind blew the corners of his clothes, but he remained motionless, like a statue.
What a strange man.