The story of Rapunzel has finally reached its curtain call.
The story began with The Witch stepping through the silver-frost moonlight, crashing into the Farmer's wheat-scented cottage like a bolt of black lightning.
She snatched away the exquisite baby girl from her swaddling clothes; the child's eyelashes were like butterfly wings, yet her cries were as crisp as wind chimes.
She hid the baby girl in a tower surrounded by thorns, and for eighteen years, in the name of love, she wove an airtight "safe" cage—vines were the locks, incantations were the bolts, and even the moonlight was filtered into a mere glimmer, just enough to light the stone bed.
And the story's end saw The Witch's figure slowly fading into the thicket of thorns beneath the tower.
Her black robes rustled in the morning breeze, the hem sweeping across the thorny vines, yet she did not wave them aside as she usually did.
That departing figure was as desolate as a patch of withered grass struck by autumn frost.
Under Gwof's quiet display of force—the magic that could instantly turn the straw she used for spells into a sky full of fireflies, and the hand that seemed slender yet could easily drag her to the top of the tower—all silently declared an impassable "boundary."
Coupled with the unprecedented determination in Lettuce's eyes, which was like a blunt knife wrapped in cotton, slowly yet persistently cutting through the obsessive attachment The Witch had maintained for eighteen years.
She ultimately could not reclaim her daughter; like sand held in one's fingers, the harder she squeezed, the faster it slipped away.
Perhaps she didn't want to reclaim her anymore.
When Lettuce lowered her head, her hair falling to cover half her face, and said in a voice as light as a feather yet clear in every word, "Mother, I want to go see the world outside," The Witch's clouded eyes reflected the light in the girl's eyes for the first time.
It was a light belonging to freedom that she had never seen in eighteen years, more searing than the brightest moonlight at the tower's peak and more piercing than the thorns' spikes.
This beam of light, like a red-hot iron, burned completely through her heart that was encased in "protection," wounding her so that even her breath tasted of rust.
The softness hidden within the folds of her wrinkles, the clumsiness of naming the girl after her most cherished plant, the "protective shell" built of "Pseudo-humans" and "hell" that she thought was indestructible—all had become a grand joke at this moment.
Gwof did not say much from beginning to end.
He would not try to mediate the eighteen-year-old emotional entanglement between the two women—the bonds hidden behind "imprisonment" and "dependence," the mix of possessiveness and tenderness, guilt and stubbornness, the complications of love and pain.
Even he felt it was like a ball of yarn tangled by a cat's claws, impossible to unravel, let alone speak out to persuade them.
Nor would he stand on either side's position to judge who was right or wrong.
In his view, in this fairy tale of Rapunzel,
there were no absolute rights or wrongs, only different choices.
Only when The Witch silently turned away, the hem of her black robe about to pass the window, did he finally speak.
His voice was neither high nor low, like a spring breeze brushing over newly sprouted leaves, carrying a natural peacefulness.
"We are going back to the Animal Kingdom. There are talking foxes there who can haggle with you, no less cunning than the merchants at the marketplace."
"There are bees that brew wine; the mead they make carries the fragrance of three seasons of flowers, and a single sip can intoxicate the entire spring."
"If you are willing, you can come with us."
His tone was as flat as discussing this morning's dew, like inviting an ordinary Traveler passing by to share a cup of mountain spring water. There was no trace of condescending pity, nor any hint of deliberate or fawning disdain—only the simplest gesture: "You can choose."
Choose to come, or not to come; choose to stay and guard the empty tower, or travel together to see a new world.
The Witch's footsteps came to a sudden halt.
Her black robe was like a shadow frozen in an instant, stiffening in the morning light that cut diagonally across the ground.
She did not look back; the wide brim of her hat acted like a heavy barrier, concealing any expression that might reveal her state of mind, making it impossible to guess if she was angry, hesitant, or mocking at this moment.
Perhaps it was because Lettuce stood in that group—the girl she had fed, combed, and told stories to for eighteen years, yet who ultimately chose to walk toward the outside world—was still the softest spot in her heart that she dared not touch, a concern she could not let go of no matter what.
Perhaps it was the "talking foxes" and "wine-brewing bees" in Gwof's words that, like small stones thrown by a child into a lake, cast ripples into the lake of her heart that had long since dried and cracked—a corner that had been lonely for far too long, so long that even the Scarecrow stuck in the field of the manor was her only confidant, to whom she spoke of harvests, wind and rain, and how many inches of hair the girl in the tower had grown.
Those words suddenly caused ripples; she had never imagined there was a place in this world where one could converse with animals. Did that mean she would no longer have to speak to silent plants and Scarecrows?
Or perhaps, it was Gwof's calmness, untainted by any prejudice.
The way he looked at her held none of the fear ordinary people felt toward a witch, none of a child's curiosity, and certainly none of the hypocritical disgust. It was like looking at a weathered stone by the roadside or a silently growing old tree—natural and candid, accepting her for who she was.
This calmness was like a cool mountain spring, slowly washing over her nerves that had been tense for eighteen years—those spikes she was forced to raise because the world feared her, those mental defenses built layer by layer because of loneliness, finally felt a slight loosening at this moment, like the first crack in the ice during a bitter winter.
After a long time—long enough for Leah to uncontrollably tighten her grip on Lettuce's hand, her toes grinding shallow marks into the ground; long enough for Lettuce's knuckles to turn white from squeezing so hard and for her palms to sweat—The Witch finally forced a single word from her throat.
That voice was as dry as wood rubbed with sandpaper, carrying a difficulty like something breaking through the soil.
"Okay."
The voice was as faint as the final sigh of a candle in the wind, yet it reached everyone's ears clearly.
She still did not look back, only raising her hand to pull the collar of her black robe tighter, hiding the deep wrinkles etched into her neck by time.
Her voice regained some of its usual cold hardness, yet it had a few degrees less of the overbearing hostility than before.
"I will wait for you at my house in the Thistle Manor. When you go back, come and tell me."
Having said that, she stepped forward.
The shadow of her black robe stretched very, very long in the morning light, like a trail of ink dragged behind her, as she walked step by step into the familiar thicket of thorns below the tower.
The leaves brushed against the coarse fabric, making a faint "shasha" rustling sound, as if saying goodbye to the tower she had guarded for eighteen years, and as if heading toward an appointment that was far too late.
The thicket of thorns slowly closed, swallowing the black figure, leaving behind only a few withered leaves that had been hooked off, swirling in the morning light before slowly landing on the ground.
The wind at the top of the tower seemed to have finally become a bit lighter... afterward, no one else said any unnecessary words.
Ben walked at the very front leading the donkey, humming a tune that was out of key.
Leah held Lettuce's hand, occasionally leaning in to whisper something in her ear, causing Lettuce to show a faint smile.
Little Bottle followed behind Gwof, still brooding over not being able to snatch the potato chips from Ben earlier.
Gwof walked in the middle, his gaze calmly looking at the road ahead.
When the first ray of sunlight sank into the distant forest, staining the horizon with a gentle white glow, they finally arrived at the capital of Clothes Country.
Looking from afar, the entire city looked like an overturned palette, with mottled colors bleeding into the light.
The city walls were not made of monotonous gray brick and stone, but were patched together with various silks—the eastern wall was draped in crimson brocade like the morning glow, the western wall was wrapped in indigo velvet like the deep sea, the southern wall hung with pale yellow silk, and the northern wall was draped in grass-green linen.
When the wind blew, the entire wall seemed to come alive; the luster of the silk flowed in the afterglow, as if countless rainbows had solidified upon the city walls.
The city gate was even more exquisite; the two door leaves were embroidered with patterns of intertwining lotus vines using gold thread, and the door knockers were made of strings of lustrous white pearls.
When people entered or exited, the pearls collided with a crisp "ding-dong" sound, like wind chimes singing.
The Soldiers guarding the city stood on both sides of the gate, each looking like a mobile bouquet.
Their armor was not cold metal, but was stitched together from colored leather; the armor plates were sewn with sequins and feathers, dazzling one's eyes when the sunlight hit them.
The Soldier on the left wore pink and purple armor with two peacock feathers stuck in his helmet, while the one on the right was wrapped in orange and yellow striped armor, with an emerald green silk ribbon tied around his waist, fluttering in the wind.
When they inspected passersby, their movements were not as serious as ordinary Soldiers; instead, they would laugh and tease the patterns on the person's clothes, their tone as relaxed as if they were attending a banquet.
The crowd beneath the city gate was even more bustling.
Pedestrians entering and leaving the capital wore all kinds of clothes—there was a Woman in a hoop skirt embroidered with roses, the hem as large as a blooming flower;
there was a peddler wearing a vest adorned with copper bells that jingled incessantly as he walked;
and there were children wearing small jackets sewn from leaves and petals, hopping and skipping as they chased butterflies.
Everyone's clothes were unique, their colors as bright as if they had stepped out of a painting; even the air seemed to waft with the scent of silk threads and dyes, vivid and warm.
"Wow..."
Lettuce stood outside the city gate, her eyes wide with wonder, unable to help letting out a gasp of admiration.
She never saw such a city, where even the walls wore "clothes" and even the Soldiers looked like they were celebrating a festival. It was completely different from the "outside world" she had imagined, yet a hundred times more wonderful than what Leah had described.
Leah held her hand, her eyes curving into crescents as she smiled: "How is it? I didn't lie to you, right? The most important thing in Clothes Country is to dress beautifully; even from the cracks in the stones, cloth that can bloom can grow!"
Ben had already rushed to the city gate leading the donkey, eyeing the sequins on the Soldiers' armor.
Gwof stood behind them, his gaze sweeping across the bustling city gate, the look beneath his hat's brim carrying a hint of imperceptible softness.
Little Bottle looked around and whispered, "I wonder if there's anything good to eat..."
The group entered the city under the warm greetings of the guarding Soldiers, who even specifically pointed them toward the busiest street, saying it had the most famous restaurant and inn in Clothes Country.
Just as they stepped onto the street, they were enveloped by the scents of silk thread and food wafting from the shops on both sides, and their steps became a bit lighter.
After entering the city, Ben immediately set about arranging accommodation and food.
Relying on his experience of traveling to various places, it didn't take long for him to spot a shop at the corner of the street with a sign that read "Colored Thread Eatery"—the storefront was woven from colored threads, moving like a giant scarf when the wind blew.
"This is the one!"
Ben lifted the door curtain, and the bells inside went "ding-ling." He turned back to call the others, "Quick, come in!"
Everyone followed him into the shop and saw that the tables and chairs inside were woven from dyed rattan. Various aprons and table napkins hung on the walls, each piece of cloth embroidered with different food patterns—oily roasted chicken, round buns—looking even more mouth-watering than the real thing.
They were led to a large table by the window and sat down. The wooden tabletop was polished smooth and embedded with several colored glass beads, like a handful of jelly beans.
As soon as Ben sat down, he waved over a Waiter and shouted loudly, "Let us see the menu!"
The Waiter was a young man in a blue cloth shirt, with an apron embroidered with spoon patterns tied around his waist. As he handed over the menu, he introduced with a smile,
"We're a restaurant and inn combined. The guest rooms are upstairs, and the bedding is all freshly changed colored cotton—it's very comfortable to sleep in! The food is even more special; you'll see once you take a look."
Gwof picked up the menu and saw that the names of the dishes were all fancy—"Rainbow Vegetable Tower," "Gold Thread Wrapped Meat Skewers," "Seven-Colored Soup Rice"—with colored illustrations next to them that looked more exquisite than paintings.
He raised an eyebrow, genuinely curious about what the specialty dishes of this Clothes Country were all about.
"I want this Rainbow Vegetable Tower!" Leah was the first to point at a picture on the menu, her eyes sparkling.
"Give me an order of Gold Thread Wrapped Meat Skewers." Ben swallowed his saliva; it sounded delicious just from the name.
Gwof ordered a "Moonlight Cheese Pancake," which was said to have silver powder-like icing sugar sprinkled on the crust.
Lettuce stared blankly at the picture of the "Cloud Pudding." The pudding was made in the shape of a marshmallow and looked pink and tender. She said softly, "I want this."
Little Bottle didn't even wait to see the menu, slapping the table and shouting, "I want the biggest bowl of meat porridge!"
When the Waiter took back the menu, his eyes grew wider and wider. Once he saw what everyone had ordered, he couldn't help but let out an "Ah"—this group had actually ordered several of the fanciest items on the menu, looking nothing like ordinary diners.
He peeked at them while noting down the dishes, probably wondering if this group was here to try something new or to conduct an inspection.
Before long, the dishes were served one by one.
First was the Rainbow Vegetable Tower Leah ordered. Carrots, cucumbers, and purple cabbage were sliced thin and stacked high in layers of red, green, and purple, with a small flag carved from a carrot stuck on top; it indeed looked like a miniature rainbow, so beautiful that one was reluctant to use their chopsticks.
Ben's Gold Thread Wrapped Meat Skewers arrived too. The roasted meat skewers were wrapped in a coil of golden noodles, like a necklace for the meat, with a flower carved from a white radish placed beside them.
Gwof's Moonlight Cheese Pancake indeed had silver powder sprinkled on it, shimmering under the light, with a wavy pattern pressed around the edge, looking like a little moon.
Lettuce's Cloud Pudding was served in a goblet, drizzled with pink syrup and topped with a small cloud made of chocolate; it trembled slightly with a gentle shake.
Little Bottle's big bowl of meat porridge was the most substantial. The bowl was made of colored clay, with patches of red and yellow, and the porridge was sprinkled with a circle of chopped carrots, like a rainbow drawn on the porridge.
How should one put it?
The ingredients were still common ones—carrots were still carrots, pork was still pork—but once handled by the chefs of Clothes Country, each became like a work of art with bright colors and exquisite shapes, making one happy just looking at them.
However, after taking a bite, everyone's expressions became a bit subtle—the vegetables in the Rainbow Vegetable Tower were a bit raw, the noodles in the Gold Thread Wrapped Meat Skewers were a bit hard, the icing on the Moonlight Cheese Pancake was too sweet, and the milky flavor of the Cloud Pudding was a bit thin.
Overall, the taste could only be considered average, not even as substantial as ordinary farmhouse cooking.
But Lettuce ate very comfortably, even starting to smile.
As she smiled, her eyes curved into crescents, and even the sweetness in her mouth seemed to intensify.
Just then, a "hulu hulu" sound came from the corner.
Everyone turned to look and saw Little Bottle with his whole face buried in the meat porridge bowl, only the top of his fuzzy head visible, eating with porridge grains all over his face like a little beast with its head down in its feed.
Beside him, the Ugly Duckling followed his example, burying its round body in the small porcelain bowl specially prepared for it. The bowl contained multigrain porridge provided by the shop, and it was eating heartily, its downy feathers covered in porridge foam, creating a charming contrast with Little Bottle.
"Eat slowly, no one's going to snatch it from you."
Leah smiled and patted Little Bottle's back, then put some vegetables into the Ugly Duckling's bowl.
Ben gnawed on a meat skewer and said indistinctly,
"This food, the taste is just so-so, but it's good-looking, so it wasn't a wasted trip..."
Gwof tasted the cheese pancake and watched the pedestrians in colorful clothes passing by in the street outside the window, a faint smile playing on his lips—this Clothes Country truly had "good-looking" etched into its very bones.