"There's really nothing much to see here! It's all just barren dirt!"
Hecatia leaned over the second-floor balcony railing, resting her chin on her hands as she looked out at the dormant, brown hillsides stretching across the southern horizon.
Fujiwara no Mokou tilted her head, pointing with her thumb toward Kazami Yuuka, who was standing quietly near the tea table inside the parlor. "She hasn't even started exerting her power yet, has she!"
Kazami Yuuka was in no rush whatsoever.
She gazed out the window for a long while before turning her head to stare at Flandre, who was currently sitting on the rug playing cat's cradle with Komeiji Koishi.
"Little one, help me ask if I can meet that Agricultural Master," Yuuka requested softly.
Flandre tilted her head, quickly pulled out her smartphone, and located an internal office number—the dedicated line for the Lungmen Guard Department post stationed in Flower Village.
She dialed the line, and someone picked up almost instantly. Because this was a restricted internal line rather than a general public emergency channel, the duty officer recognized Flandre's voice right away and promptly provided the precise location of the master's residence.
According to the officer, the agricultural specialist didn't reside in the main village proper. Instead, she lived in dedicated field houses situated right outside the boundaries of the four seasonal manors, rotating her living quarters according to the agricultural calendar.
In the master's own words: among flowers, plants, and trees, the former two were extraordinarily fragile and susceptible to shifting weather patterns. Consequently, they required far more careful, hands-on tending. Since she had agreed to take charge of arranging and nurturing the flora across these four grounds, she was determined to fulfill her duty to the absolute best of her ability.
Over the past two days, because the Spring Garden was scheduled for its official public opening while the Winter Garden was wrapping up its peak cycle, she had been running back and forth between the northern and southern sectors continuously. If anyone wanted to locate her, their best bet was to head straight for the Spring Garden, where the probability of meeting her was highest.
Kazami Yuuka, who had been listening to the conversation from the side, appeared even more satisfied with what she heard.
"Hey... you aren't secretly planning to snatch that specialist back to Gensokyo to serve as your personal gardener, are you?" Junko asked, giving Yuuka a knowing glance as if she had suddenly deduced her intentions.
"That won't be necessary; she is doing quite well right here," Yuuka chuckled softly, a amused glint flashing in her crimson eyes. "Besides, once these fields burst into full bloom, the sheer workload here will be staggering. By then, I am afraid that master alone will hardly be able to keep up with the demands of the soil."
"Then shall we head over to the Spring Garden later today to wait for her?" Remilia asked.
"No need, we shall simply go tomorrow morning. I am certain she will be present at the Spring Garden at dawn," Yuuka said, pointing out toward the southern hills before turning to walk back toward the tea room.
Seeing that there was nothing immediate to attend to, Flandre noted that Flower Village was quite vast and suggested taking Koishi out for a leisurely stroll.
"You may go for a walk, but do not go causing any trouble..." Remilia couldn't help but issue a gentle warning, recalling her younger sister's peculiar affinity for stumbling into bizarre situations ever since arriving in this world.
"Alright, we're just going out to play! Meiling doesn't need to trail behind us either—she looks so exhausted, let her sleep for a bit!"
Just as they reached the front door, Flandre noticed Master Hong standing by the entrance looking as though she might collapse asleep at any second, and spoke up with thoughtful consideration.
In an instant, a cold, lethal aura crawled right up Hong Meiling's spine and settled squarely on her shoulders.
Meiling's eyes snapped wide open as she caught Sakuya's terrifying glaze from across the foyer.
"No, no, no! I'm completely fine, I don't need any sleep at all!" Meiling stammered, her voice rising an octave. "Flower Village is a wonderful place—come on, I'll accompany you girls! I'm not reluctant in the slightest, don't you know what kind of diligent gatekeeper I am... Hurry and take me with you!"
By the end of her frantic plea, Meiling was nearly in tears.
Fortunately, Flandre was a good child at heart and didn't continue teasing the poor gatekeeper. Instead, she raised her hand, pointed toward the sunlit street outside, and declared brightly:
"Flower Village Exploration Team, set off!"
With that, she took Koishi by the hand and marched out the front gate. Meiling quickly picked up her pace, scrambling after them.
"Miss Flandre, wait for me! Wait for me!"
Back inside the villa, the rest of the party—having spent most of the morning traveling in the vehicles—decided to rest for the remainder of the day and postpone all formal matters until tomorrow.
This was hardly because these sovereign great youkai were lazy. Rather, having lived for centuries, they operated on a vastly different perception of time. Unless an issue was actively burning their eyebrows, there was absolutely no reason to rush.
Thus, they were in no hurry at all, settling comfortably onto the living room plush sofas, sipping afternoon black tea, watching local broadcast television, and chatting idly.
Meanwhile, Flandre, Koishi, and Meiling set off down the stone avenues, wandering leisurely through the surrounding streets and side alleys.
The rural town in mid-winter wasn't nearly as bustling as it was during the warmer seasons. Furthermore, with the Lunar New Year fast approaching, many local merchants and workers had already returned to their home cities, giving the residential streets a far quieter, serene atmosphere than during Flandre's previous visits.
However, thanks to the presence of the active Winter Garden, the village was by no means completely devoid of life. At the very least, quite a few visitors with heavy cases of literary pretentiousness lingered about the area, utterly unable to tear themselves away from the scenery.
Flandre and her group had only walked down a single commercial street when they passed three separate establishments bearing prominent Literary Club banners, with patrons constantly coming and going.
Recollecting her past visits, Flandre remembered that these clubs hadn't existed before. Curious, she trotted over to ask a local shopkeeper about them.
Only then did she learn that these literary societies had sprung up rapidly over the past six months.
The origin traced back to a prominent professor from Lungmen University who had visited the village on vacation. Upon arriving in Flower Village, the scholar was so profoundly struck by the serene, scenic landscape that he declared it a heavenly paradise, remaining on-site to compose over a dozen praised literary works.
Those writings had circulated widely upon his return to Lungmen University. Subsequently, scores of students, aspiring writers, and scholars followed his example, pouring into Flower Village in search of artistic inspiration.
Once a critical mass of these cultured individuals assembled, they gradually split into distinct factions based on their personal literary tastes and philosophies, each group founding their own formal literary clubs.
Thanks to the promotional efforts of these societies, Flower Village now enjoyed a steady stream of foot traffic even during the dead of winter, rendering it far more prosperous than it had been in previous years.
Having understood the history, Flandre turned her head to look at Meiling. "Should we also..."
"Don't even think about it!" Meiling shook her head repeatedly, waving her hands in frantic refusal. "Ask me to swing a broadsword or thrust a spear and I won't hesitate for a second, but literature? Forget it! That stuff is an absolute waste of brain cells, totally not worth the effort."
"I meant going over to join in the fun and see what kind of literature they're discussing!" Flandre rolled her eyes, thoroughly annoyed by the gatekeeper's knee-jerk reaction.
"Oh! Join in the fun? I thought you were planning to open our own Scarlet Devil Literary Club!" Meiling patted her chest in relief, instantly changing her tune.
After all, she was always more than eager to join a lively crowd. When it came to being a master slacker, who across the entire Scarlet Devil Mansion understood the art better than her? Absolutely no one!
Following the flow of pedestrians toward the northern edge of the Winter Garden, the trio quickly located a popular seminar gathering surrounded by a sizeable audience.
Thanks to the fact that two of the three visitors looked like young children, the group was welcomed without any friction. The organizers merely reminded them in hushed tones that a formal literary seminar was currently underway, requesting that they refrain from making loud noises so as not to disrupt the scholars' train of thought.
"Looking at it from this perspective, life in Great Yan is indeed quite comfortable," Meiling observed in a low voice after the three of them found a quiet bench near the back.
"Why do you say that?" Flandre asked, swinging her legs off the edge of the seat.
"Think about it," Meiling murmured, her eyes softening as she looked out over the quiet garden. "The places we've passed through before... while not completely terrible, lacked true stability. Now, I won't deny that suffering and hardship often serve as rich soil for deep literature to take root. But if you want literary culture to truly flourish across an entire society, you still need a peaceful, stable foundation."
Meiling gazed into the distance with genuine emotion. "War and tragedy easily produce striking, heart-wrenching prose. But to cultivate the societal soil needed for arts and letters to blossom universally, you need peace, security, and warm hearths. Otherwise, if the common folk are forced to worry every single day about where their next meal is coming from or whether they'll live to see tomorrow's sunrise, then even the most profound literature of suffering—if no one survives to read or preserve it—becomes nothing more than a scrap of waste paper."