Beatrice had intended to hear more of Flandre's travels, but seeing the little girl suppress a long yawn, she gently stifled her curiosity.
"Tired, Flandre? Off to bed with you... we can continue the story tomorrow, okay?"
Flandre Scarlet stretched her small arms above her head. "Okay!"
She was indeed getting sleepy, so she didn't argue with Sister Beatrice's suggestion. Trotting back to her bedroom, she curled under the soft blankets and closed her eyes; in what felt like the blink of an eye, morning had arrived.
When Flandre stepped out of her room, bright sunlight was already streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
She peered into the spacious living room and spotted Hong Meiling sitting cross-legged on the plush sofa, lazily watching television, while the twin maid sisters were busy dusting and tidying up the space.
There was no sign of anyone else.
"Stop looking, they went out hours ago," Meiling murmured, not even bothering to look up from the screen.
"Ah?" Flandre trotted over and plopped down beside her. "They went out already?"
Hearing Flandre's bewildered question, Meiling pointed a lazy finger at the clock on the wall. "It's already nine-thirty. Who else but a little lazy pig like you would still be sleeping!"
Flandre spread her hands wide, adopting an expression that clearly stated it wasn't her fault at all—if anyone was to blame, it was time itself for moving far too fast. She had clearly only closed her eyes for a split second; who could have known so many hours had slipped by?
Besides, setting the facts aside, wasn't it also Hong Meiling's responsibility for not waking her up earlier?
Hearing Flandre's completely shameless logic, Meiling reached out, grabbed both of her soft cheeks, and began kneading them like dough. "Setting the facts aside, huh? If you set the facts aside, what on earth is there left to talk about!"
After having her cheeks playfully squished, Flandre was finally rescued from Meiling's clutches when one of the maids called out that breakfast was served.
Rubbing her rosy cheeks, Flandre sat down at the dining table. Looking at the freshly prepared cream puffs set before her, she curiously picked one up and popped it into her mouth.
A sweet, tangy, and refreshingly cool burst of flavor exploded across her tongue. Because these custom-made puffs had been infused with fresh blood, the taste was exceptionally divine to a vampire's palate.
"So delicious!" Flandre gave a enthusiastic thumbs-up.
After breakfast, Flandre and Meiling headed out together to continue exploring the city.
This time, they ventured into one of Lungmen's most densely populated residential districts. They picked this sector specifically because it was packed with vibrant energy, endless street-food stalls, and a massive municipal park.
Stepping into the bustling district and taking in the lively crowds, Meiling lightly rubbed her arms. "There are so many people here... it actually feels a bit strange."
"How come? You weren't like this when we were back in Londinium!" Flandre tilted her head.
"That was completely different," Meiling explained with a soft sigh. "That was foreign territory—no matter how crowded it got, it never felt familiar. But this place... it almost gives me the feeling of coming home."
She looked around at the bustling stalls. After wandering across worlds, she hadn't expected to find traces of her old home here in Terra. The street snacks in particular—she recognized almost every single one, and some even shared identical names. It inevitably stirred a gentle wave of homesickness within her.
Flandre patted her waist, suggesting she not overthink things since there were so many fun activities to try. With that, she dragged Meiling over to an artisan stall specializing in hand-crafted clay figurines.
Seated behind the counter was an elderly man wearing an absurdly thick pair of black-rimmed glasses.
Despite his age, his fingers were remarkably nimble. Taking a plain lump of clay into his hands, he could shape a scarily accurate, lifelike miniature of whoever sat in front of him in less than five minutes.
Flandre and Meiling joined the queue, and before long, it was their turn.
"One for me and one for her, please!" Flandre declared excitedly.
"Alright, little girl," the old artisan chuckled, pointing toward a money box on the counter. "Fifteen Lungmen dollars for one, or thirty for two."
Flandre quickly pulled out the exact notes and slid them directly into the box right before his eyes. The old man scooped up two lumps of clay and set his hands to work in a blur of motion.
In no time, two clay figurines bearing a seventy percent resemblance to the two of them were complete. He then carefully placed the figures into a small, portable baking oven.
"They need about ten minutes to set properly. You two can take a short walk and come back for them."
The two nodded naturally; the artisan had given the same instructions to the patrons ahead of them.
Coincidentally, just a few meters away stood a food stall displaying a bright sign reading Oyster Omelet. Flandre admitted she had never tasted one before and eagerly pulled Meiling toward the counter.
"Meiling, Meiling, what is this?" Flandre stood on her tiptoes, peering curiously at the sizzling iron griddle.
"Uh... it's a type of traditional street snack..." Meiling's expression turned slightly subtle and complicated.
"Can I eat it?" Flandre pressed.
"Of course you can," Meiling smiled, fondly patting Flandre's hair.
"Then two portions, please!" Flandre held up two small fingers.
"No, no, just one portion is fine," Meiling suggested, gently pressing one of Flandre's fingers down. "We can share it so we save enough room in our stomachs for other delicacies."
"What a great idea! I didn't expect you to be so smart, Sister Hong Meiling!" Flandre's red eyes lit up as she praised her.
"The way you say that makes it sound like I'm normally a total idiot," Meiling muttered, utterly speechless.
While they teased each other, a fresh, piping-hot portion of Oyster Omelet was handed over. Meiling expertly divided it in two, and holding their respective halves, they ambled back toward the clay figurine stall.
As they approached, they watched other customers receiving their baked figurines and meticulously painting them with colorful pigments. Eating their omelet, the two happily debated how they would paint their own figures once they were ready.
Suddenly, a loud, shrill screech shattered the pleasant atmosphere nearby.
"You actually spent fifteen whole Lungmen dollars to buy this useless piece of junk? What's the point of it?! Refund! You must give me an immediate refund!"
Flandre and Meiling turned their heads to see a sharp-tongued, middle-aged woman dragging a terrified seven-year-old girl by the wrist. The little girl was clutching a freshly painted clay figurine tightly to her chest, her eyes brimming with tears.
Sailing right past the waiting queue, the woman shoved her way straight to the front of the artisan's booth and began throwing a loud, belligerent tantrum. She pointed a finger at the old man's face, screaming at the top of her lungs that he was a scammer exploiting innocent children into buying worthless toys, demanding a full financial compensation.
Before the old craftsman could even open his mouth, the surrounding patrons in line began to scowl with deep disgust.
Fifteen Lungmen dollars was a modest price, and what was wrong with a young child spending her own pocket money on a figurine she genuinely liked? Calling the old man a cheat and screaming that the toy was "useless"—all while completely ignoring her daughter's pale, trembling face—left everyone feeling intensely chilled and disgusted by her behavior.
"Demanding an explanation, my foot," Meiling snorted, her voice cold with disdain. "She just wants to bully an old man into giving her something for free."
"Yeah, why do some adults act like this?" Flandre added from the side, shaking her head. "Isn't emotional happiness a kind of value, too? The clay figures are so pretty and everyone loves them. Insisting on whether a toy is 'useful' or not is just super weird."
Neither of them raised their voices to a scream, but in the tense silence of the crowd, their crisp, clear words echoed distinctly—reaching the ears of everyone standing nearby, including the enraged woman.