On the fourth day, when I was released, I was on the verge of starvation. Several strong-elven women carried me into the room and onto the bed. I was forcefully given a cup of clear water and then fed a few mouthfuls of porridge. I heard an elven woman's confident voice beside the bed, "Miss Xuedai'er, don't worry. She won't die."
My head was dizzy and muddled, and I didn't hear what they muttered next. I could only eat a few mouthfuls of porridge and then couldn't eat any more. Weak and feeble, I rested my head on the hard pillow and fell asleep.
Five days later, my body gradually recovered. On the seventh day, I returned to the hot spring room.
The man was still in the hot spring. His back was to me, and he didn't react at all to my arrival. I felt a bit annoyed. This time, it was all because of him that I ended up in this situation, yet he showed no gratitude or guilt for my "sacrifice".
When I returned to the hot spring this time, I found two additional elven maids. They were both extremely beautiful, with skin as smooth as jade, long hair reaching their waists. Their eyes were charming as they moved, and their cherry lips were slightly upturned, revealing their white teeth, as if asking for a kiss from him.
"This man is really lucky," I cursed in my heart as I placed the food box on the ground. "Two beautiful women are taking care of him."
Now I was mainly responsible for miscellaneous tasks, delivering meals, washing clothes, and cleaning the hot spring. After a busy day, my hair was messy and my face was dirty, making it obvious that I was a menial worker.
One day, when the two beautiful women went to change clothes, I quickly walked to the hot spring and whispered behind the man, "I have given the emerald to her."
He lazily grunted in response and without even turning his head, tossed a small bag over. I was startled and quickly opened it. It was a whole bag of gold coins.
A strange feeling welled up in my heart. I didn't help him for the money, but he regarded me as a greedy woman. However, it was okay, I thought. What's wrong with conforming to the mundane world? At least it was a hidden survival rule, showing that I was no different from the others here and allowing me to hide more safely.
Thinking of this, I immediately beamed and took out a gold coin. Just like Luwu used to play, I tossed it high and then caught it with a backhand. "Thank you, my lord. This is a good thing. Just let me know if you need anything else in the future."
Seeing a faint sneer of disdain on the corner of his lips, I couldn't help but smile even more happily.
At night, I was sound asleep when I was suddenly awakened by a strange sound. From the other side of the hot spring pool came the soft moans of a woman and the continuous groans of a man. The heavy panting was mixed with strange "ah, ah, hmm..." sounds. I got down from the hammock and walked towards the hot spring step by step.
Under the dim orange torchlight, a man and two women were performing a passionate scene that made one restless. They were intertwined in the water. The two elven beauties were like mermaids wrapped around him, kissing him all over his body. And he, while enjoying the company of both, was passionately engaged with one of the beauties, pressing her against the edge of the pool, with her thighs wrapped around his waist. The two were kissing wildly, almost merging into one in their frenzy.
My face was burning red. Good heavens, although I had peeked at many movies before, this kind of live-action version, except for the one I saw on the street last time, was the first time I had seen it so closely. And it was a passionate scene performed by such a handsome man and beautiful women.
My face grew redder and redder, and unconsciously, a restlessness surged within me. I didn't dare to look any further and quickly returned to the forest, cursing in my heart, "Damn them. What are they doing in this place? Don't they know there are others nearby?"
The soft moans of the woman and the heavy panting of the man echoed in the hot spring all night. I couldn't sleep a wink. Besides my ears being tortured, my body also had to endure wave after wave of strange sensations. This was a normal reaction after watching such a scene, regardless of gender.
I decided to ask to stay in the hall below. Although it was gloomy there, with a dozen or so statues standing, looking rather scary, I still decided to sleep there at night.
When I made this request to Yalunde, the two beautiful women giggled. One of the elven beauties said, "I'm afraid she can't stand it. Ha, the little girl is also thinking about men."
I blushed and repeated my request. Finally, he said through gritted teeth, "Fine."
I let out a heavy sigh of relief and relaxed a great deal. Now, my ears would be quiet.
At night, I slept alone in the hall outside the hot spring. Here, it was at least an independent large single room. In our world, it could be called a one-bedroom apartment. The hall of the hot spring room was very large, with many stone pillars and a dozen or so statues. The statues were strange, neither like humans, nor animals, nor elves. I didn't know what they were.
There was also a long stone staircase in the hall. Walking up to the top along the ladder and pushing open a door, behind the door was the huge hot spring pool and a small forest. It was always wet there and filled with white steam. It was a natural wide stone cave, without day or night, only the firelight shining all the time. That was where the man of the hot spring, Yalunde, lived.
"This is really a strange place," I muttered to myself. After finding a pillar, I made a bed on the floor and covered myself with a blanket.
That night, I slept well and had no dreams.
As time passed, I became familiar with the two beautiful women. Originally, I only told stories to Yalunde, but now, I had two more listeners.
I told them the story of Snow White, Cinderella, and some Chinese mythological legends. They were completely captivated. Occasionally, I would also draw sketches for them, using a charcoal pencil to outline their faces on paper. Of course, the most vividly drawn were their eyes. They were amazed after seeing them, and there was a faint jealousy in their eyes besides praise.
"How did you learn to do this?" one of the beauties asked me.
I laughed it off and evaded the question, saying, "My late mother taught me."
"Oh?" The beauty was curious. "Your mother could draw?"
"Of course," I said with a bit of pride. "My mother was a famous talented woman. She was proficient in painting, music, and writing." But because of this, my mother also had the sensitivity and neuroticism of an artist. Occasionally, she would become hysterical. If it weren't for that American bearded man who worshiped artists, she might have had a hard time remarrying after the divorce.
The bearded man often proudly introduced to others, "My wife is a painter and was once a top student at the conservatory. She played the piano in the Vienna Golden Hall and is now a teacher at an art school."
Whenever I heard him introduce like this, I wanted to find a place to hide. My mother was an artist, but she was only a third-rate one. She was an ordinary painter who relied on hard work rather than talent. She played the piano in the Golden Hall when there was no audience, sneaking in to play for a few minutes when the administrator was momentarily negligent. My mother was indeed a teacher at an art school, but it was only a very small art training school in our town.
There was nothing more painful in the world than being a second- or third-rate artist. Having the great dream of a first-rate artist but, due to various reasons, either lacking in talent or having bad opportunities, could only end up at the bottom of the art world.
It was as if constantly in dialogue with the world's masters, yet also constantly being distanced from them. Time and aging were the great enemies of my mother's artistic heart.
She often said, "With each passing day, I feel one step closer to the mundane world and ten steps further from art." Seeing my astonished look, she added, "Isn't it? That's why some artists usually become famous when they are young, and few can create great works after fifty or sixty."
The water in the hot spring pool was flowing gently. An elven beauty waved the sketch paper in front of my eyes and said, "What are you thinking about? Why are you in a daze all of a sudden?"
I suddenly snapped back to reality and quickly said, "Oh, nothing."
The handsome man, Yalunde, who had been idly soaking in the hot spring, suddenly said, "You always seem so distracted."
I looked at him in surprise. In my impression, he rarely interrupted, but today he couldn't help but say something. He seemed to realize something and then shut his mouth. His face became cold and rigid again, and his eyes were still full of gloom and coldness.
I had secretly drawn his portrait in private and had drawn his eyes especially dark and sinister, believing that I had captured the essence.
I had to admit that I didn't like him. Or rather, I didn't like a man like him. A long time ago, I read an article "My Loves and Dislikes", which basically said that I didn't like slovenly men, cold and gloomy men, ungrateful and heartless men, and especially not cunning and treacherous men.
My feelings were the same as what was written in the article. I didn't like cunning and treacherous men. The handsome man Yalunde was a prime example.