Chapter 48: The Art of Stillness

“Starting today…” Wishstone warned, as if he could see through any tricks, urging me not to skip a single day before leaving.

As I cleared his empty glass, I felt dazed.

“He said just a moment each day, but how long is that? And now that I’m trying…”

After finishing the dishes, I stepped out of the kitchen.

Outside, the washed apron was drying nicely.

I should check the crops, work on recipes, bathe the pig-bird… and then…

“I agree with him,” Bernell interjected, interrupting my mental to-do list.

“Cultivation is a form of training. A sound mind is essential for a great knight. Even a sturdy castle crumbles on a weak foundation. Think of it as strengthening your foundation.”

I stared at Bernell silently, resisting the urge to ask if he was fit to talk about sound minds.

“So, where do I start?”

“Find a comfortable place first. It doesn’t need to be formal—open nature, feeling the breeze, works too.”

A comfortable place? My bed, maybe?

Scratching my head, I headed to the second floor.

Even then, worries crept in: Would a guest arrive while I’m away? Would the snake sneak inside? Would the pig-bird break a glass in the kitchen?

“You need to clear your mind first,” Bernell said as my steps slowed on the stairs, nearly stopping.

“Yeah, yeah.”

In my room, I sat on the bed, staring blankly at the wall, clueless.

“Is this right?”

Sitting still quickly felt boring and stifling.

It seemed like forbidden time, stirring an inexplicable urgency.

What if, while wasting time, I miss my dimension’s god visiting the café?

“No… He said no negative thoughts.” I exhaled. “He said enjoying a hobby is fine.”

Then I hit another wall. What’s my hobby?

My mind went blank.

“No hobbies? You’ll die living like that!”

“You don’t even game? What? You’ve done jobs instead of gaming? What kind of weird gig is that?”

“What about music? You don’t watch YouTube? How do you live?”

Thinking of hobbies brought back memories of bosses and coworkers gawking at me like I was a freak.

I wasn’t clueless about the world—work kept me informed—but their desired answers weren’t my reality, so I had nothing to say.

“What do you do in your free time?”

“Plan dinner, think about my sister’s school…”

“That’s not resting. You’re hopeless.”

If I’d had their stable lives, I could’ve…

I suppressed the rising frustration.

“Those thoughts won’t help,” I muttered, breathing deeply to forget. Blaming others was pointless.

“This way, I’ll fail Wishstone’s request. Sitting still just breeds stray thoughts. How do I empty my mind? Is that possible? Should I sleep?”

I flopped onto the bed, staring at the ceiling.

Sleep didn’t come, and napping would disrupt my night, throwing off my rhythm.

“What did I do when I wasn’t working?”

As an adult, my friend and I rarely synced schedules, meeting only late at night after work.

I recalled unexpected days off, forced rest.

I’d tackle neglected chores, like mending my sister’s torn clothes or crafting items from fabric scraps—time-consuming tasks I’d pour hours into.

Mother was busy, so I’d mastered sewing.

Seeing my sister happy in neatly mended clothes was rewarding. Making scrubbers or handkerchiefs from scraps passed time quickly. I think I enjoyed it.

Could that be my hobby?

I was clumsy with machines or furniture but often praised for dexterity with small tasks.

“Hmm…”

The outline of how to cultivate my mind was forming.

A slithering sound came from the open window.

Startled, I sat up and saw the white snake there.

“How’d you get up here?”

This was the second floor. Even for a snake, climbing walls seemed unlikely. Looking out, I saw the greenhouse.

It must’ve scaled the greenhouse roof, using the wall’s rough texture and pillars.

“I told you not to come inside…”

Technically, this was my room, not the café.

The snake seemed to agree, staring at me shamelessly.

My fault for not specifying “no entering the building.”

“Well, the pig-bird’s downstairs, so it’s fine. This isn’t the sanitary kitchen.”

Focused on keeping calm, I didn’t want conflict.

Ignoring the snake, I lay back down.

Unchallenged, it slithered triumphantly onto the bed’s headboard, coiling beside my pillow. Turning, our eyes met.

“You’re no different from the pig-bird. How’d you guard Frostbloom alone acting so clingy?”

Its tongue flicked out, then in. Despite its venomous fangs, it seemed cute, not scary.

“It’s perfect for the pig-bird to relate to, but that snake appearance…” An idea struck, and I sat up.

The snake, unbalanced by the shifting sheets, faceplanted into the pillow.

“It’s the lack of fur scaring it.”

The pig-bird left fluff everywhere, like molting. I’d saved it in a box for cushions or dolls—now was the time to use it.

I’d collected fabric scraps from cleaning the café, so materials were plentiful.

“Let’s try it. This counts as a hobby, not work, right?”

Thus began the “Pig-Bird and Snake Friendship Project.”

As I cut fabric, the snake watched curiously.

I aimed for something small and simple, needing minimal effort.

“A matching look with the pig-bird…”

The pig-bird’s café uniform was a coffee-colored ribbon bowtie and beret.

Full outfits like mine or Bernell’s were impractical, so we used accents. The ribbon barely showed through its fluff.

I measured the snake’s girth, cutting fabric for a ribbon. Weaving in pig-bird fluff, it became a fuzzy scarf, surprisingly decent.

“…”

Sewing cleared my mind, calming me. I’d use this for future cultivation.

Tying the ribbon on the snake, it looked adorable.

“Nice! The pig-bird won’t be so scared.”

Praising it, the snake preened, lifting its head to show off the ribbon. It liked it.

I worried it might resist, but it stayed still, even seeming to enjoy it.

“Some fabric’s left. How about an apron?”

I recalled the black waist aprons Bernell and I wore.

Since the pig-bird saw them often, it’d feel familiar. I grabbed black fabric.

Lost in the task, I made three versions.

Dressing the snake felt like playing with a doll—oddly fun.

“This counts as a hobby, right?”

I couldn’t leave the clothes lying around, so I flipped a cup holder and hung them like a rack. The snake slithered around it, like someone admiring organized shopping hauls.

“Let’s show the pig-bird.”

Opening the door, the snake, in matching ribbon and beret, glided out elegantly, head high, moving with its tail like a model.

At the stairs, the pig-bird froze, shocked, as if saying, Why’re you coming from there?

“Look, pig. Not scary now, right? Same clothes as you—hat, ribbon, even some fluff.”

The pig-bird stood petrified, unable to flee.

“You sent her to cultivate, and you did this to the snake?” Bernell said, eyeing it with disdain.

“It wants to come inside, but the pig’s scared, so I thought making it cute would help. Isn’t it adorable?”

“You made those?” Bernell asked.

“Yeah, I’m good at simple sewing. Not high-level like human clothes, but decent, right? I worked hard. Sewing’s great for cultivation.”

The pig-bird snapped out of its stupor, staring at us with a different kind of shock.

“Bbi…?”

“Still scary? Should I try another outfit? I made more.”

Thinking of the apron, I hesitated as the pig-bird began to wail sadly.

“Bbi bbi!”

Was it that upset? But its behavior was odd.

Pointing at the snake with its wing, it sobbed, then turned away dramatically, stomping to its nest and burying its face in a cushion. Muffled cries leaked out, heart-wrenching.

“Pig?”

Something was wrong. I approached, stroking its back, but it weakly swatted my hand with its wing.

Its actions pointed to one conclusion.

My sister acted like this sometimes.

When she was… sulking.

The pig-bird was thoroughly sulky.