On this quiet night, the three of them watched the paper lamp go away.

The clear night sky is full of stars, and the paper lanterns that are gradually hard to find seem to have turned into stars and merged into the bright galaxy.

And the words written in it seem to have successfully spread to the distance, to the end that is difficult to reach.

If there was anyone waiting there, she would have been able to see it.

Maybe she's looking down at the same time.

"What a beautiful custom." The old man stood in the snow, put his hands behind his back, and said with a smile.

"It's hard to imagine what it would be like when a group of people do this together."

Yes, Al listened to the old man's words and tried to imagine it.

It's hard to imagine that it might be like a group of people sending a star to the starry sky.

The light of the fire will be reflected in the eyes of people full of anticipation, and finally fill the sky.

Yanagihara must have a very beautiful hometown, Al thought to him, and looked enviously at the wanderer standing beside him.

Yanagihara, on the other hand, tilted his head up, looked at the direction where the paper lamp was gone, and remained silent.

Because she knows that the more beautiful something is, the more painful it is when it is lost.

So yes, she used to have a very beautiful hometown.

There are clean and warm streets, people are smiling, and the sun is always pleasant.

It used to be her home, and it's so beautiful.

So much so that she suffers from her loss to this day.

······

By the time the three of them returned to the institute, it was already nine o'clock in the evening.

Al and Aztod were both frozen and stiff, and it must be admitted that although the snow had stopped, the temperature outside was still frighteningly low.

The old man prepared a cup of warm tea for Al and Yanagihara, and he went into the kitchen to make coffee.

He seems to like the slightly pungent drink, and even has a separate greenhouse in the ecological garden to grow the plants that produce it.

Yanagihara sat in the seat in the hall, looking boredly at the coffee powder in the old man's hand, and suddenly as if he thought of something, he smashed his mouth and glanced sideways at Al.

"Speaking of which, Mr. Aztod." After a moment, Yanagihara shifted his gaze back to the old man and asked aloud.

"Do you have sugar here?"

"Sugar?" The old man was stunned for a moment, obviously not understanding why Yanagihara was asking about this, but he still thought about it for a while, and then replied.

"There should be, the supply team seems to have sent some last time, in the warehouse."

"So, can I borrow some?" Yanagihara asked again.

"Of course, it's not a big deal, is it?" Aztod lifted his shoulders and glanced at Yanagihara with a smile.

"Thank you very much."

"Actually, you don't have to be so polite, but you'd better stop pointing a gun at me."

After a casual joke, Aztord took the brewed coffee and sat down in the hall while stirring it.

"That's right." Perhaps a little curious, the old man glanced at Yanagihara again and asked, "What do you want candy for?" ”

"Make some, eat?" Yanagihara thought and said in as easy a way as possible to understand.

"yes, looks like I can look forward to it." The old man smiled and squinted his eyes and took a slow sip of coffee.

As the communication between the two ended, Sixia gradually quieted down.

Perhaps thinking that the time was right, Al hesitated and begged Yanagihara to tell another story.

Yanagihara thought about it, and had nothing to do anyway, so he told another story called Robot Story.

It's a story of adventure, love, and reflection, set in a similar way to the world at hand, but not the same.

It's also a deserted world, and although it's not frozen yet, it's not hard for the old man and Al to experience some of these emotions in person.

The loneliness of the robot that was left alone on the planet, and the joy of its encounter with other kinds, etc.

This makes it so that by the time a story is finished, neither of them has come to their senses.

As if they were still in that world.

In fact, Yanagihara doesn't remember the main plot of this story very clearly, so he can only rely on his own impressions to tell a similar story.

That didn't seem to affect much, though, at least the old man and Al still seemed to be listening.

There must have been silence in the hall for a while, until the old man stirred the cold coffee in his hand again with a spoon, and the sound of the spoon bumping against the wall of the cup broke the silence.

Glancing at the time, it was already eleven o'clock in the evening.

"It's really, a story full of whimsy." After a pause, the old man gave such an assessment.

"I like it very much, Yanagihara, you should go and write a book."

His tone was sincere, because he felt that such a story had reason to be heard by more people.

"It's a pity it's not my story." Yanagihara picked up his cup of tea, leaned back on the seat, and said without concealment.

"It's a movie from the pre-disaster era."

"Movies?" As a slum kid, Al had never heard of such a thing.

"It's a form of narrative with the help of light and shadow." The old man sat aside and patiently explained.

Unfortunately, Al still didn't seem to understand.

So the old man went on to explain in a fluttering manner.

In his slow but incomprehensible expressions, the night seemed to have a different kind of fun.

Perhaps for those who live on the ice fields, even just sitting idly by doing nothing can be regarded as a special enjoyment.

What's more, there are people to accompany and confide in.

So the old man felt that he had a reason to cherish the time he was having, and so did Yanagihara and Al.

They are all willing to indulge in this kind of leisure, which may not be interesting, because even if it is enough, it is enough to give their tired body and mind a moment of rest.

It's like a weary traveler who sits on the side of the road and rests, lights a bonfire, and brags about his past with strangers passing by.

The point is not in boasting, nor in the past.

It's because the flame just warms the body, and because "I" just happened to meet "you".

There is no doubt that this ice field is lonely, so there will always be someone to cherish every encounter.