Has the knight lady who married into the countryside fallen into depravity today?

Rosalind was as healthy as a seedling being nurtured by the sun, eating well, sleeping soundly, and growing taller with every breeze.

The little girl was born with a beautiful face, fair and clean, like a glutinous rice ball. Anyone who saw her couldn't help but take a second look. Everyone in the mansion doted on this child, to an unreasonable degree.

Every time Daisy finished cleaning, she would sneak around to the nursery door, and just as she poked her head in, before she could even finish saying, "The little lady has gotten fatter again today," Margaret would grab her by the back of the collar and drag her back to work, her steps unsteady, a smile still lingering on her face. Martha was even more direct, stuffing plush toys she'd collected from who-knows-where into the nursery every few days, as if she couldn't feel at ease unless the cradle was overflowing.

Pekkal initially kept his distance from the little thing who cried incessantly, but later he found that Rosalind was quiet when she slept, her little chest rising and falling, which was quite endearing. So he would occasionally lie down by the cradle to watch her sleep, sometimes for most of the day.

Aphrodite, however, showed the most interest in the child.

She would spend some time in the nursery every day. Sometimes she would squat beside the cradle and watch Rosalind kick her legs, her chubby little legs kicking fast and frequently, as if she were struggling against the air; sometimes she would reach out a fingertip to poke her face, only to have Rosalind grab her finger tightly, her gray-green vertical pupils widening suddenly, like a cat whose tail had been suddenly caught. She would turn her head and ask Klein or Ophelia earnestly, "Why doesn't she let go?"

"Let her grab it if she wants to."

That's how they usually answer.

Aphrodite looked down at her fingers being gripped, then at Rosalind's face, which was scrunched up in concentration, and ultimately did not pull her hand away.

That afternoon, Ophelia put Rosalind on the carpet to play. The little one lay on her back, kicking her legs vigorously and waving her arms, like a little beetle struggling to roll over. She tried to roll over twice but failed, whimpering in frustration. Finally, on the third try, she managed to roll over, lying on the carpet with her head up, looking around with a triumphant, bewildered expression.

Aphrodite squatted to the side, watching intently.

When will she learn to walk?

Ophelia was folding small clothes when she heard this and looked up at her.

"It's still early."

"How long will it take?"

"A few months, maybe longer. Every child is different."

Aphrodite thought about it carefully, nodded, and then asked, "Does she need to learn to crawl first?"

"Yes. Climb first, then stand, then walk."

……

That said, Rosalind's physical abilities are indeed far superior to those of an average baby. Her limbs are strong, her reactions are quick, and the coordination she displays when rolling over is nothing like that of a newborn. At this rate, crawling and standing probably won't be long before she does.

Of course, that's normal.

After all, her mother's health condition was what it was.

After Ophelia finished folding the last piece of clothing, she went over and turned Rosalind right-side up, wiping away the glistening drool from her chin. The little one didn't seem bothered by being turned over and over; instead, she grabbed Ophelia's fingers and put them in her mouth, sucking on them noisily. Aphrodite was still lying on the ground, her grey-green eyes fixed on the mother and daughter.

"When will she be able to speak?"

"..."

Klein put down his teacup.

"This will take longer, don't rush."

"I'm not in a hurry."

Aphrodite got up from the ground, brushed the dust off her skirt, and said in a flat tone, "I just wanted to know."

She walked to the door, then stopped and looked back at the mother and daughter beside the cradle.

"Then I'll come back in a few days."

After the door closed, Ophelia turned her head to look at Klein.

"Does she see Rosalind as one of her own kind?"

Klein thought for a moment.

"I guess he felt that she was like him, having to learn everything from scratch."

Ophelia didn't reply, but glanced down at Rosalind, who was intently sucking on her finger in her arms, and her brow twitched slightly. The little one was completely oblivious, sucking away with gusto, as if nothing in the world was more important than that finger.

……

As the days went by, Rosalind became more and more lively.

For some reason, the little girl had a particular fondness for Klein.

When Ophelia held her, she nestled quietly in her arms, not making a fuss, eating obediently, and waving her arms and legs peacefully—a considerate and worry-free little one. But as soon as Klein entered the room, Rosalind was a completely different person—she made soft whimpering sounds, her little hands and legs flailing about, her little head straining to turn in his direction, as if she wanted to jump out of her swaddling clothes.

Ophelia initially thought it was just a child's passing interest and didn't take it too seriously.

That afternoon, sunlight streamed obliquely into the nursery. Aphrodite had already left, leaving only the three of them in the room. Ophelia sat on the carpet, holding Rosalind in her arms, playing with a small stuffed animal. The little one watched intently, occasionally reaching out to grab it, her expression peaceful, like a composed little adult.

Klein had just finished processing several alchemy notes when he pushed open the door and came in.

All that could be heard was Rosalind's soft "Ah!" in his arms. She instantly dropped the little rag doll in front of her and burrowed her body toward Klein, her chubby little hands raised high, eager to pounce on him immediately.

Ophelia tightened her arms slightly, holding the child steadily in her embrace. A strange, inexplicable feeling welled up inside her—a dignified knight, who had never flinched before a thousand armies, was now feeling a tightness in her chest because of this soft little thing in her arms.

She carried him for ten months and gave birth to him. But this ungrateful little thing acts like he's seen honey whenever he sees Klein, fluttering around with such joy. They're family, but all she gets is quiet obedience, lacking that warm, direct affection.

What frustrated her even more was that since the baby's birth, Klein had devoted a great deal of time to the nursery. The quiet evenings that used to belong to just the two of them, those moments of solitude where they could chat and relax, were gradually squeezed out by crying, soothing to sleep, and changing swaddling clothes. Often, just as she was about to say a few words to Klein, he would turn around to check on Rosalind at the slightest sound.

Klein stepped forward and reached out his hand. Rosalind immediately snuggled into his arms, clutching his sleeve with her small hands, nuzzling against him, her eyes squinting comfortably.

Ophelia remained seated, her gaze lingering on the father and daughter. She subtly shifted her position, intentionally or unintentionally sitting next to Klein, and reached out to playfully tickle Rosalind's cheek.

To everyone's surprise, the little girl turned her head away, dodged slightly, and then continued to bury her face in Klein's neck.

Ophelia's hand froze in mid-air, paused for a moment, and then silently withdrew. She lightly rubbed her fingertips against her palm, her lips pursed slightly, then quickly suppressed them, returning to her usual aloof demeanor—but beneath that aloofness, there was still a hint of grievance she hadn't had time to hide.

Klein caught a glimpse of this scene out of the corner of his eye, a faint smile playing on his lips, but he didn't rush to expose her.

After a while, Rosalind felt sleepy, and Klein gently patted her back.

"Let me hug you for a while."

Ophelia spoke, her tone flat, revealing nothing unusual.

Klein carefully handed Rosalind back to her. As soon as she was out of Klein's arms, Rosalind frowned, whimpered and squirmed, and kept turning her head to look back for Klein, her little face full of reluctance.

Ophelia looked down at the baby in her arms, whose mind was completely focused on someone else, and a little jealousy towards Klein resurfaced. She turned slightly to the side, intentionally or unintentionally blocking Rosalind's view from Klein, preventing the little one from easily seeing the other.

After making this small gesture, she was slightly taken aback. A warmth crept up her ears, and she quickly lowered her head to pretend to tidy the swaddle, but her fingers were clumsy than usual, and she almost tied the corners of the swaddle in the wrong direction.

Klein saw it all, but still didn't expose it.

For the next half hour, Ophelia was exceptionally attentive. When Martha brought over warm milk, she rushed to take it, tested the temperature herself, and sat down to feed Rosalind. But the little one would only drink a couple of sips before stopping, turning her head to look for Klein. As soon as Klein moved even a little, making the slightest noise, Rosalind would immediately become distracted, releasing the nipple and whimpering.

Ophelia gently brought the bottle to her lips and whispered, with a barely audible hint of resentment, "Drink your milk properly."

Rosalind, of course, didn't understand. She blinked and kept looking in Klein's direction.

After feeding the baby, Ophelia put the child on the carpet to play. Klein sat down as well, reaching out to touch Rosalind's little feet with his fingertips. Rosalind immediately became excited, kicking her arms and legs and giggling.

Seeing this, Ophelia reached out and grasped the child's other little foot, pulling it slightly towards her.

"Play here."

She said to Rosalind.

As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized how childish they sounded—it sounded like children fighting over toys. A faint blush quickly rose to the tips of her ears. She lowered her eyelashes, feigning composure, and looked away, pretending that she hadn't said those words.

Klein finally couldn't help but chuckle softly.

Ophelia turned and glared at him after that laugh. Her gaze wasn't fierce, but rather carried a hint of embarrassment at being seen through, with a slight, barely concealed blush at the corner of her eye.

"What are you laughing at?"

His tone hardened, so hard that it only made things worse.

"It's nothing."

Klein suppressed his smile, but his eyes were still curved. "I just find it amusing to see you two, mother and daughter, getting along."

Ophelia pursed her lips and looked down at Rosalind on the ground. The little girl had completely forgotten their earlier squabble and was now crawling forward on the mat, her goal still Klein. Her little bottom wiggled like a stubborn caterpillar.

Looking at this scene, she felt a mix of emotions—a tender, almost overwhelming fondness on one hand, and a sour, bittersweet resentment on the other.

These thoughts were small, even somewhat out of character for her, yet they lingered in her heart, impossible to shake off.

Ophelia reached out and simply pulled Rosalind back onto her lap, encircling her with her arms. The little one giggled twice, completely oblivious to her mother's inner thoughts, her little hand still stubbornly reaching towards Klein.

Klein looked at Ophelia's stubborn and awkward appearance, said nothing, and simply sat down next to her, reached out and pulled her and the child into his arms.

Ophelia froze for a moment, then didn't struggle.

Rosalind was in Ophelia's arms, and Ophelia was in Klein's arms. The little girl had been whining and looking for Klein just moments before, but now that he was right behind her, she reached out a couple of times, grabbed Klein's sleeve, and finally quieted down. She nestled between the two of them, blinked her eyes, blew a bubble of saliva, which popped with a "pop," and then remained quiet.

Ophelia's back was pressed against Klein's chest, and she could feel his body heat warming her through his clothes. She glanced down at Rosalind in her arms; the little one was now quiet and still, her head resting on her arm, her chubby little legs draped over Klein's arm, one on each side, neither left out.

She remained silent for a few seconds.

"What are you doing?"

Her tone was flat, but the last syllable fell softly, like a question or a coquettish plea. She leaned a tiny bit closer to Klein, so slight it was almost imperceptible, as if she had simply changed to a more comfortable position, only that position happened to bring her closer to him.

Klein rested his chin on the top of her head, his voice descending from above: "It's comfortable to hold you."

Ophelia did not respond.

She lifted Rosalind up slightly, adjusting her position, only to realize afterward that she was actually pressing even closer. Her ears began to burn again, and she tilted her head, using her hair to cover the small patch of increasingly hot blush.

Rosalind suddenly exclaimed "Ah!" and slapped Ophelia's chin twice with her small hand. The force was not great, but the slaps were very accurate.

Ophelia tilted her head to dodge, pressed Rosalind's small hand down, and muttered, "Who are you hitting?"

Klein chuckled softly, the vibration in his chest traveling down his back, making her heart tingle slightly.

Ophelia was getting restless from his laughter and was about to say something to get back at him when Rosalind got even more agitated, tilting her head back so that the back of her head hit Ophelia's collarbone.

Ophelia straightened the child's head and frowned at Rosalind. The little one, oblivious, giggled and reached behind her to grab Klein's fingers, her laughter crisp and sweet, as if she had just accomplished a remarkable feat.

Ophelia stared at the scene for two seconds.

She nudged Rosalind toward Klein, saying casually, "Here you go."

Klein took it, and Rosalind immediately turned around and nestled against Klein's chest, her little face pressed against his clothes, quietly curling into a soft ball.

Ophelia, now with her hands free, didn't know where to put them. She rested them on her knees, sat for a while without moving, but her back relaxed slightly, leaning firmly against Klein. The movement was natural, as if she had finally allowed herself a moment's rest.

Klein supported Rosalind with one hand and placed the other on Ophelia's shoulder, gently pressing his thumb on her shoulder.

He didn't say anything.

The room was quiet. The afternoon light shone in through the window and fell on the carpet. The three people huddled together, their shadows overlapping and fuzzy in the light and shadow.