"So, is there really anyone who would make human flesh into chemical fuel?" Bender grabbed a few pieces of freshly fried fries and threw them into his mouth—these crimpropy things with crispy skin and soft inside were sprinkled with a little salt by Mosilare, and they were delicious, crispy, and delicious.

"I think so." Old Knife looked at the ceiling and thought for a moment, "And they also like to dig up organs from captured captives and sell them for money." ”

"Oh—it's horrible." Little Red Riding Hood's brows were twisted together, "How can there be such a ruthless person in the world?" ”

The old knife smiled, took a bite of the sweet potato in his hand, and added: "It is said that in the end they will kill these poor insects who are still wailing and suffering, and further process their still warm bodies into roughage for livestock." ”

"Oh!" The old knife put his head in front of his partner and deliberately made a terrifying grimace. "Or offer fresh human flesh to people with special fetishes – they love to eat children's meat the most!"

"Ahh Anya was startled by the naughty guy of the old knife, and she didn't care about eating the corn cob in her hand, so she went directly into her sister's arms, her little face was shocked and frightened.

Miss Winnie was a little older, so she was not very afraid of the old knife's grimaces and jokes, and even after hesitating for a while, she asked Uncle Bender beside her with some curiosity: "Well, Uncle Bender, what is 'chemical fuel', what do they want human organs to do, and what does 'wailing' mean?" ”

"Uh......" Bender shoved two more mouthfuls of fries into his mouth, not thinking about how to answer the clever little girl's question.

"Uh-I've heard that some colonies like to make furniture out of human skins, maybe our soft animal beds-"

Mosilaire reluctantly stuffed a piece of steamed potato into the old knife's mouth, interrupting his chatter, "Don't scare the child, you old bad guy!" ”

"Ahh ”

"Whoa—Miss Mosilaire, the greens you fried today are so tender!" Little Red Riding Hood picked up a few shiny little greens with chopsticks and put them in her mouth, tasted them carefully, and soon showed a satisfied smile on her face - this extra crisp taste has some slight sweetness that only green vegetables have, and the taste is indeed very good.

"Ahh ”

"Oh, is that so, I think it's delicious, and it suits my appetite." Little Red Riding Riding Hood scratched at her curls indifferently—the fringe colony's long hair was flowing and supple thanks to the abundance of nutrients from the fringe colony.

"Oh—by the way, dear," Mosilaire winked at Little Red Riding Hood, "How are you feeling lately, are you okay?" ”

She grabbed another piece of piping hot corn on the cob and pulled open a clump of unpalatable corn whiskers attached to it, "I mean, does that replacement kidney work?" ”

"Well, I think it's pretty good." Little Red Riding Hood smiled happily, wondering why this cheerful girl was so happy every day. "Except that it might make me a little pale."

"But that probably doesn't matter." Lady Little Red Riding Hood yawned, and quietly touched the back of Little Peanut, passing by, to startle the furry fellow—and seeing the evil smile on Little Red Riding Hood's face, Mosilelle thought she must have tried to tease the cat.

"By the way," the old knife swallowed the potato in his mouth, and asked Mosileelle, "You haven't told me where those fiberglass came from!" ”

"Ah, Mr. Knife, I remember I explained it to you," Mosilaire yawned unconsciously, under the influence of Little Red Riding Hood, "heh—didn't I say I found it in the laboratory, why don't you want to trust your companion who you spend all day and night?" ”

This fiberglass was naturally removed by her quietly from the mechanical platform, but she didn't want to say it directly - otherwise the old knife would definitely dismantle it, and then use the precious fiberglass to make something strange!

Besides, Mosilaire thought she was telling the truth—the gate to the platform was indeed connected to the lab, so she could explain the question raised by the old knife with peace of mind.

If the old knife still needs a small amount of fiberglass in the future, Mosilaire can also get some more from the hidden places on the lifting platform that are not easy to see—naturally, her answer is still the same.

The old knife didn't quite believe it, but soon put it down to the unspeakable secrets of his companions, so he cleverly stopped the meaningless questioning, and went to fight with Bender for the french fries on the table, but both of them were finally defeated by the big watery eyes of the girls.

Today was a little unusual, for Bender's face had been red since the morning like those steaming sweet potatoes on a plate—he was excited, or rather, very excited.

Because after several regrettable failures in a row, Bender, who was not discouraged by this, succeeded in building a chain shotgun with fine workmanship and good quality for himself with the help of a machining table at about nine o'clock last night!

This not only shows that he has successfully mastered the craftsmanship and skills of making chain shotguns in a relatively short period of time, but also shows his talent and ability in firearm making!

Bender seemed to be particularly fond of the rugged and hideous large-caliber shotgun - so his chest was filled with joy and he flipped over to share the good news with his stunned companions, and eagerly invited everyone to take part in the initial test of it this morning - oh, Bender didn't do a somersault, but the naughty Anya thought that Uncle Bender didn't do it because he didn't know how to do it.

Bender, who is not very agile, would probably only have two swollen bags in his head if he really tried to do somersaults like a child—Uncle Bender was still very self-aware.

After breakfast, Bender dragged the old knife and went to test the gun, but Mosilaire, who had his turn to wash the dishes today, had to stay.

The two playful little girls were given permission to go outside with them after the adults had put on their thick clothes, and when the children had left, she was really the only one left in the dining room—even the naughtiest kitten, Peanut, had slipped out to be happy.

The hustle and bustle that had shrouded the place a few moments ago quickly dissipated, leaving only an ethereal, elusive silence.

Instead of rushing to wash the dishes, Mosilare first took out a few cleaned tea sets from a corner of the cupboard.

The teapots and teacups are beautiful, and the small sheer white bone china has a large pink flower cluster floating on it.

Mosilere loved the elegant but fragile works of art abandoned in the corners by the previous colonists, so she didn't use them very often—for the most part, Mosilere just tossed the tea into her cup and drank it as she pleased, as it unfolded in the hot water.

But this time is different.

She washed her hands and, following the vague memories in her mind, poured boiling water into the warm teapot, then poured the hot water out of the kettle, filled a small amount of tea with a teaspoon, and added water to it again.

There are many and complicated steps to make the whole tea, and some of Mosilaire really can't remember it clearly, but still stubbornly and seriously do it.

She poured tea into her cup at the end with careful action, and in addition to charming concentration, there was some gentle and lovely piety on her gentle features.

The small cup of tea was warm in his hand, and it made Mosileelle's heart feel an indescribable sense of comfort.

But she suddenly flipped the cup in her hand, so that the tea in the cup drippedly pulled out a translucent line in the air, and all spilled it on the ground.

Today was her great-grandfather's sacrifice day, and she missed him, as well as other relatives who were far away from another star field.

Mosilaire picked up the half-filled teapot and poured some tea into the porcelain cup that reflected the faint light—this one for herself.

She took a sip of the tea in the cup, but the taste of the tea was very light and not very fragrant, perhaps because the homemade tea leaves were just the leaves of an unknown bush that she picked and dried casually.

Mosilaire stood up in the warm light and unconsciously walked to the outside wall of the dining room.

There are no windows for natural lighting in the dining room, so the only thing that connects to the outside world is a long, narrow air window that continuously injects fresh air into the main body of the site.

As she reached the window, a few fluttering snowflakes emerged from the gloomy dome that had not yet been fully lit, penetrated by the long air windows, and finally dissolved by the hot tea into her pink porcelain cup.

Snowing?

Mosilaire blinked, gently wiping away the white snowflakes from her eyelashes.

The small drops of snow that rubbed from her eyes stuck to the back of her hand, and soon melted into small crystal droplets, bringing some cold touch to her who was a little hot due to the indoor heating.

It's snowing.

Mosilaire teased the bracelet and adjusted its calendar—oh, it must have snowed over there, she thought.

She took a gentle sip of the tea that cooled down quickly, as if she had tasted something different in the faint taste.

Mosilaire didn't know if she would ever go back, but if there was some ethereal hope, she was willing to pay any price.

Even if she built a spaceship herself, she had to go back, back to the place where she had been desperate to escape.

The fallen leaves that my grandfather often talked about when he was dying returned to their roots, about this is what it meant, right?