Solflare: The Painter's Secret-Chapter 84: Who Am I for Them to Kneel To?

One after another, every member of the Qing family rose up and exited the room, leaving Zoe and her father behind.

Leon watched them go with a confused mind.

"Come," Hu Qing said in an unkind voice. He placed a hand on Zoe’s shoulder and gently steered her toward the door.

Zoe offered Leon one last glance before allowing herself to be guided out. 𝐟𝗿𝐞𝚎𝚠𝐞𝚋𝕟𝐨𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝕔𝕠𝚖

Heavy silence ruled the room as the door swung shut behind them.

The faint hum of the afternoon and the distant, rhythmic chirp of some unseen insect broke the stillness as the afternoon sun streamed through the window.

Dust motes danced like frantic fireflies and cast long, stark shadows that stretched and shifted across the polished stone floor.

Leon sat on the edge of the bed for a full minute, still feeling Zoe’s warm grip on his hands.

"Why did they kneel down?" he said in a loud voice that sounded small in the spacious room.

He shoved himself from the bed, his legs feeling strangely weak as if they’d forgotten how to bear his own weight.

He stood upright, took a few steps forward, then walked to the window, the one he’d seen the farmers flee from.

He placed his palms on the cool sill and leaned out, peeking his head into the open air. A cool, clean breeze tugged at his messy, damp hair.

His breath caught as he shifted his gaze from the bright, cloudless sky down to the view below.

"Who am I for them to kneel to?" he whispered, looking at the vast, ordered land – the sprawling farmland, the orchards, and the clean gravel paths.

He lifted his gaze to the buildings crafted from dark stone and gleaming metal, having an elegant and imposing architecture.

Their structure alone made the grand buildings of Alchemania look like crude huts in comparison.

"Wow," he breathed, then pulled his head back inside. "Zoe is from a rich background?" He brushed his chin with his finger, then stared at the slightly open door.

He whirled around and scanned the room, then stopped when it landed on a large portrait on the far wall – a vivid painting of an exotic, night-blooming flower he’d never seen before.

He closed his eyes, trying to order his thoughts, but the memory of the golden light erupting from him slammed into his skull like a physical force.

A cold sweat broke out on the back of his neck as he forcefully cracked his eyes open. He shifted his gaze to the king-sized bed that had its sheets rumpled from his waking.

He looked at the door again, then shifted his gaze to himself, at the torn, blood-stiffened black shirt and the trousers crusted with dirt and ash.

"I need to change," he whispered softly, more to himself than to anything else.

As if the room itself was listening and eager to oblige, a soft, creaking sound echoed from the wall opposite the bed.

His heart thumped against his ribs as his eyes opened wide as a section of the seamless wall swung inward, revealing a deep, walk-in wardrobe.

Inside, clothes were arranged in perfect order – rows of jackets, trousers, shirts, all in dark, rich fabrics.

"How?!" he approached cautiously, half-afraid the wardrobe would snap shut. He scanned the contents, his fingers hovering over fine silks and sturdy wools.

Then, tucked among the finery, he saw a simple black, stretchy shirt and a pair of dark trousers, almost identical to the ones he was wearing.

He pulled them out and placed them neatly on the bed.

The moment he gripped the hem of his torn, filthy shirt and began to pull it off over his head, the door to the room opened.

Zoe stepped inside. "Ohh, sorry." She turned her head away instantly, but not before he saw a smile playing on her lips.

She kept her back to him. "Go take a bath before you change." She said and exited, pulling the door shut behind her.

Leon stood frozen, his arms still half-raised, the old shirt rucked up around his chest. His fingers clutched at the sleeves of the new shirt on the bed.

"Where is the bathroom?" he asked.

A gentle hiss of hydraulics echoed, forcing him to turn in its direction. ’Wasn’t that a mirror?’ he screamed in his head as he saw the mirror now sliding open, revealing a spacious bathroom.

"Is that..." He dropped the old shirt on the floor, then carefully placed the new one back beside the trousers, and then neared the open doorway.

"Wow." He said without thinking. Standing at the front of the door, he saw the serene nature, and the cream and deep blue tiles arranged on the floor and the walls in perfect sync.

He walked inside, looked at his reflection in the wide glass, then stepped into the tub.

After five minutes, he exited feeling cleaner, but his mind was still bleeding with the memories of the memory that had been hunting him.

Water dripped from his body, and the old trousers were now so soaked and clinging uncomfortably to his legs.

He padded across the room, leaving wet footprints on the stone, and swung the handle of the main door.

"Hope no one will barge in," he muttered to himself as he walked past the window, the sun’s warm rays on his skin, and neared the bed.

He quickly stripped off the wet trousers, dropped them in a heap, and pulled on the new, dry pair.

They fitted perfectly, almost as if they were tailored just for him. He used the old trousers to roughly towel-dry his jet-black hair, then picked up the new shirt.

He sat on the edge of the bed, then lay back, staring at the intricate patterns carved into the wooden ceiling beams.

After two minutes, a clicking sound echoed from the door. He sat up, swung his legs off the bed, and walked to it.

As he reached for the handle, the door swung inward before he could touch it. Zoe stood a little way down the hallway, waiting.

"Leon, come," Zoe said in a calm voice. She paused, gestured for him to follow her, and then turned and began walking without checking to see if he complied.

Leon exited the room. As soon as his left foot cleared the threshold, the door swung shut smoothly and silently behind him, as if pulled by an unseen attendant.

As he followed Zoe, he shifted his gaze to the lined portraits of detailed paintings of flowers.

He kept staring, his gaze following Zoe’s back and the white fabric of her dress until she disappeared through the open doorway.

He followed her into a vast room. He inhaled deeply as he saw a long, rectangular table of polished black wood laced with a white cloth.

"Take a seat," Zoe said, pointing to one chair that seemed to be pulled back already. "I’m coming."

She didn’t wait for an answer and simply turned and left the room through another door, leaving him utterly alone in the silent, opulent space.