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

Klein and Ophelia began their journey home.

The stone pavement gleamed with a bluish-white light under the moonlight, and the houses on both sides were already dark. Footsteps were particularly clear on the quiet street—Klein's leather boots made a light, quick sound on the stone pavement, while Ophelia's iron boots were steady and rhythmic.

After walking for a while, Ophelia suddenly spoke.

"Do all the taverns in the countryside sell this kind of stuff?"

Klein turned his head and saw that she was still looking at the road ahead, the moonlight outlining her cold, stern profile.

"What is it?"

"Ale, roast meat, and..." Ophelia paused, her voice lowering slightly, "...dessert."

Klein smiled. "It wasn't like this before."

Ophelia turned her head, her golden eyes looking at him in the moonlight with an indescribable curiosity.

"Because I like it," Klein shrugged, his tone tinged with a self-satisfied smugness, "so the tavern owner did it that way."

Ophelia frowned slightly, as if pondering something she didn't quite understand. She stopped and tilted her head. "Just because you like it?"

“Yes,” Klein stopped and turned to face her, “I am the lord here.”

"Lord..." Ophelia repeated the word, her gaze sweeping over him—from the alchemical robe stained with some unknown dirt, to the charred cuffs, and then to his messy hair.

Klein noticed her gaze and couldn't help but laugh.

He pointed to his disheveled appearance: "Don't look at me like this, I am still a nobleman—and a nobleman with some influence at that."

After saying this, Klein puffed out his chest, his lips curled up even higher, and his steps became lighter, like a proud peacock.

Ophelia stared at him for a few seconds, a hint of confusion flashing in her golden eyes.

Klein hummed a little tune as he continued walking, the sound drifting in the night breeze. After taking a dozen or so steps, he suddenly realized there were no footsteps behind him.

He turned around, and Ophelia was still standing there, her shadow stretched long in the moonlight.

"What's wrong?" Klein asked.

"You…" Ophelia's voice was very soft, almost too soft to be carried away by the night breeze, "are you popular?"

Klein paused, scratched his head, and said, "I wouldn't say I'm particularly popular, it's just... everyone here seems to like me—" He paused, cleared his throat, and then continued, "Ah, I mean, they adore me, they adore me."

Ophelia looked at him, a flicker of emotion in her golden eyes. Her lips pursed slightly, as if she wanted to say something, but ultimately remained silent.

A moment later, she strode over to Klein's side.

"Let's go," she said.

The two continued walking. A night breeze carried the scent of grass from the distant fields.

Perhaps Ophelia touched a nerve, and Klein began to talk.

"Speaking of which," he suddenly said, "I wasn't like this when I was a child."

Ophelia turned her head to look at him.

“My mother was a very gentle person,” Klein said with a touch of nostalgia. “When I was little, I always messed up all sorts of things—blowing up the kitchen chimney, burning a big crater in the garden, and once even blowing half of the roof off the manor.”

"...Half?" Ophelia rarely showed a hint of surprise.

"Yes, half," Klein said with a wry smile. "I was working on a new alchemy formula at the time, and I miscalculated the material ratios. My mother was downstairs having tea when the explosion happened."

He paused, his voice softening, "She never scolded me; she just cleaned up the mess for me. Every time I ran to her after causing trouble, she would first check if I was hurt before even looking at the destroyed things."

The stone path stretched out beneath their feet, and Klein's shadow and Ophelia's shadow overlapped.

“My father was different,” Klein smiled. “He was strict, but everyone in the territory respected him. Whenever I got into trouble, he would call me to his study and make me explain what I had done wrong.”

"Will he punish you?" Ophelia asked.

"Yes," Klein nodded, "but not with beatings or scoldings, but with me helping to repair the things I've damaged. If I've blown up a house, I'll have to work with the craftsmen to fix it; if I've destroyed farmland, I'll have to go work in the fields."

He looked up at the moon, his voice carrying far: "They always told me to be a proper lord."

"What makes a qualified lord?" Ophelia asked, her voice filled with genuine curiosity.

Klein thought for a moment: "It's probably... about making life better for the people? My father said that the responsibility of a nobleman isn't to be high and mighty, but to ensure that the people of this land can live in peace. He said, if the people can't even afford desserts, what's the point of the lord's existence?"

Ophelia remained silent for a moment.

"So I do my best," Klein shrugged. "Although I prefer studying alchemy, I still have to do what needs to be done. Repairing roads, clearing canals, mediating disputes—these things are actually quite troublesome, but it's worth it when I see everyone is doing well."

He paused, then turned to Ophelia, his tone becoming cautious: "And you? Did your parents... teach you these things too?"

"He's dead," Ophelia said. "He died a long time ago."

Klein's smile froze. The air seemed to freeze for a moment.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know—I didn't mean to—" he waved his hands frantically.

“It’s alright,” Ophelia interrupted him, her tone still as calm as if she were recounting someone else’s story, “It happened a long time ago. So long that I can barely remember what they looked like.”

Klein opened his mouth, wanting to say something comforting, but all words seemed pale and powerless at this moment. In the end, he said nothing, but simply slowed his pace and walked side by side with Ophelia.

A night breeze blew, causing wisps of hair to flutter and fall across Ophelia's forehead. Moonlight cast soft shadows on her face.

Klein glanced at her furtively, but naturally didn't press the matter further.

He cleared his throat, deliberately changing the subject to a lighter one: "By the way, I told you, I recently figured out a new alchemy formula—"

"What recipe?" Ophelia asked, her voice regaining a hint of life.

"A potion that can temporarily soften metal," Klein exclaimed, gesturing wildly. "Think about it, if we used it during forging, we wouldn't need to reheat it repeatedly, and—"

As he walked, his voice grew increasingly excited: "The key to the recipe is the rhizome of moonflower, but not ordinary moonflower; it must be harvested on a full moon night. Silver powder must also be added, and its purity cannot be even slightly compromised. The hardest thing to find is that blue moss that only grows in swamps—"

Ophelia listened quietly, nodding occasionally. Moonlight shone on her profile, reflecting Klein's excited expression in her golden eyes.

Klein got more and more excited as he spoke: "The hardest part was temperature control, which had to be accurate to within one degree. I tried seventeen times before I succeeded—no, eighteen times. Once, I blew up the lab bench and blackened the whole room, but I forgot to count that."

"It exploded?" Ophelia raised her eyebrows slightly.

"Well," Klein scratched his head awkwardly, "and burned a hole in the roof. The butler was so angry he didn't speak to me for three days, and he always had a stern face whenever he saw me."

Ophelia's lips twitched, as if she wanted to laugh but held it back.

"But it worked in the end," Klein said proudly. "Although the potion isn't very useful right now—after all, blacksmiths are more used to the traditional methods, and my potion is too expensive—it might come in handy in the future."

He then recounted another experiment about using magic to accelerate crop growth: "If we can shorten the crop growth cycle, the people can harvest an extra season's worth of food. I've tried various methods—magic infusion, growth potions, and even summoning the spring spirits—"

Halfway through his speech, Klein suddenly stopped.

"What's wrong?" Ophelia asked.

Klein looked ahead; the manor gates were now in sight. The light from the wall lamps shone down from the gateposts, illuminating the stone walls and the tightly closed gates.

"Ah," he sighed, his tone filled with obvious regret, "I'm home."

Ophelia followed his gaze.

"I'm not finished yet," Klein shrugged. "Regarding the experiments on magical ripening, I later discovered that adding moonstone powder allows crops to maintain their original taste without becoming unpalatable due to rapid growth. I also wanted to tell you that last month I cultivated a new variety of wheat—but never mind, I'll tell you another day."

He strode toward the door and reached for the doorknob.

The door remained completely still.

Klein paused, thinking he hadn't used enough force, and pushed with the other hand.

I still can't push it open.

"Hmm?" He looked down at the doorknob, then looked up at the lintel, his brows furrowing.

Suddenly, the expression on his face froze.

Klein remembered—he had made sure to lock the door tightly when he left.

He turned stiffly, glanced at Ophelia behind him, then turned back and reached into the pocket of his alchemical robe to fumble around.

The left pocket is empty.

In the right pocket, there were a few broken stones and a broken test tube.

Inside the inner pocket was a small packet of herbs that had been tucked in at some point, along with a few crumpled lab notebooks.

Klein searched through all the pockets and even took off his robe and shook it.

Nothing fell out.

His hand froze in mid-air, and the expression on his face was priceless.

"Um..." Klein turned around, giving Ophelia a smile that looked more like a grimace, "Do you have your keys?"

Ophelia tilted her head and looked at him.

"I mean," Klein reached into his pocket again, making a final effort, "I think... I might... probably... left my keys at home."

When he spoke the last few words, his voice was so soft it was barely audible.

Ophelia stared at him for a few seconds, then stepped forward, reached out and grasped the doorknob, turning it gently.

The door remained locked, unmoved.

She released her grip, took a step back, and stared directly at Klein with her golden eyes.

The air was still for a few seconds.

"I can force it open," Ophelia said seriously. "Want to try?"

Klein paused, coughed, and tried his best to maintain the dignity of a lord. He walked to the door, squatted down, and carefully inspected the room.

He knocked on the door, then pressed his ear against it to listen, before peering through the crack in the door from the floor. Finally, he stood up and solemnly dusted off his hands.

"It was indeed locked," he said seriously, "and locked very securely."

Ophelia didn't speak, she just looked at him.

The moonlight shone on the two of them, and the light from the wall lamps cast long shadows from the doorposts.

Klein looked up and glanced at the height of the manor wall—it was about three meters high.

He was silent for a few seconds, then swallowed.

"How about..." Klein began with difficulty, "...by climbing over the wall?"