In the end, Dorothy, who was tough-tongued but soft-hearted, ran up behind Nabokov, pressed her body on the other's shoulders, wrinkled her nose and refused to let Nabokov hug her.

She wouldn't say that she was worried that she wouldn't be able to run away after being hugged by the other party!

The vigilant little girl made a soft snort from her nose, as if she wanted to express how much she disliked her adults. However, the next second she saw the wild flowers Nabokov handed her, she ran away with a red face.

It fell. But the bouquet of wild flowers was snatched into her arms with a strong gesture.

"I feel that even if you two are buried in the ground and your whole body has rotted away, your mouth will still be tough. Right, Mr. Nabokov?"

Kitahara and Feng held their chins, looked at Nabokov who was still stubbornly planning to call "Lo" or "Lolita" when facing Dorothy, and joked with a smile.

Nabokov glanced at the little girl who ran away in despair, and seemed to want to say something, but when he saw Kitahara and Kaede, he seemed to have lost the desire to speak, and began to take care of things seriously.

Your own bow tie.

He flattened his slightly raised hair, then carefully arranged the folds on his clothes, fastened all the buttons, made the collar as flat and straight as possible, and pressed down the top hat on his head. It looked like he was about to leave.

You have to dress up and attend a banquet.

After all this was done, the Russian nobleman raised his brown eyes and replied in a tone that somehow reminded people of words such as "seeing death as if he were going home" and "burning the boat":

"I'm ready, but before that, can you chat with me for a while, Kitahara?"

Huh? What preparations?

Kitahara and Feng were stunned for a moment, but they quickly reacted and showed a look of surprise: probably referring to preparations to "face Dorothy".

So he also calmed down the expression on his face, letting Nabokov lean against him, while he sat on the grass on the hillside, listening intently to the other person's slow, detailed and gorgeous music that was very characteristic of his personal style.

Narrative.

"If you have been to my home, Kitahara, you will see that my home is full of glass bottles containing butterfly specimens. They are all mounted on the walls, and there are various plant specimens surrounding them.

.The dazzling colors are hidden deep in the dazzling flowers and plants. In my opinion, it is the greatest work of art in the world - a brilliant exhibition composed of countless butterflies, which exhausts the splendor imagined by the Creator."

When Nabokov talked about his butterflies, his eyes softened obviously, as if he was talking about his beloved treasure, and his voice involuntarily became low and soft:

"Lolita was born in that place."

The girl was born into a flood of supernatural beings, and she seemed to be alone in the same way as usual.

Maybe it’s because I haven’t been back to my hometown for a long time, or maybe it’s because the distance between me and my hometown is too far, and in addition, I already have American citizenship...

Nabokov has always been like a butterfly that is constantly migrating or in exile. Even if he returns to the place of his birth, he cannot find a true habitat.

So one night, driven by some inexplicable thoughts and emotions, Nabokov suddenly wanted to have someone who he could recognize and be by his side. He wanted to have someone who would never leave.

, butterflies dancing around him.

This is how Dorothy was born. When she opened her eyes for the first time, she saw countless dead butterflies on the wall and the graceful beauty on their wings - perhaps this was doomed to her character.

.

"If she is my paradise, this paradise must be burning with fire from hell. But there is no way to change one thing: she is my paradise."

Nabokov said softly, looking into the distance with unquestionable happiness.

He thought of the days when he took this child across the continent where butterflies were flying.

They searched for the subtle and complex differences between different butterflies, and collected the hot love and beauty with an irreproachable attitude. They excitedly embraced a new species of butterfly on a road covered by grass.

Hug, and because we stepped on a snake while catching butterflies, we had to run hand in hand together in the forest in embarrassment.

How did it become like this later?

Probably everyone will grow up, just like a butterfly larvae will emerge one day.

It took Nabokov several years to gradually accept the girl he created. However, as the girl grew older, she increasingly felt the omnipresent control and restraint of adults on her.

She is not willing to stay here, just like the larvae of those monarch butterflies that can only live on milkweed when they grow up and begin to visit flowers casually and willfully. She also wants to fly away to find her own life and love.

.This is the source of the conflict between them.

"Sometimes, I wonder if I spoiled her too much when she was a child. Now she completely wants to treat herself as a person. I really can't bear that she will leave me one day, and maybe she will leave me again.

Falling in love with a man..."

Nabokov muttered with some resentment: "I know that my behavior of dragging her around is bad, but I can't help seeing her leave me, Kitahara."

Kitahara and Feng sighed, looking at this man who was rarely a little depressed, and stuffed the warm milk cup into each other's palm.

"You have worked hard enough." The traveler reached out and pressed the other person's forehead, looked at the superpower sincerely, and then bent his eyes.

"And you also know, right? Even if you let go of some butterflies, they won't want to be too far away from you."

"But I don't dare to bet."

Nabokov pursed his lips, looked at the warm milk in his arms, drank it in small sips, and felt a soft warmth well up in his stomach. He replied in a sigh-like tone: "Otherwise I will

There won’t be so many butterfly specimens.”

The butterfly researcher seemed to glance at the butterflies all over the mountains and plains with some sadness. Then he hesitated for a moment, then moved the box that he had covered with cloth in front of him, and carefully pulled away the top cloth.

"Click".

There was a very slight sound. Nabokov took a breath and looked inside with a little worry. Inside the large transparent box, a striped orange butterfly panicked and bumped into the transparent plastic through which the light came.

In addition, there are many butterflies.

Most of them are beak butterflies, and there are also beautiful sleeve butterflies with various mottled colors, as well as a few butterflies that are obviously of the genus Leopard. They are all stored in this small box according to their respective positions.

There are also fresh flowers and plants and artificially sprinkled salt water inside.

"Look, Beiyuan."

Nabokov touched them through the transparent plastic and watched the butterflies being frightened away one after another, flying randomly like dazed flowers, with deep affection in his eyes:

"It's beautiful, right? I originally had a Diana Morpho butterfly...but I let it go. That's a butterfly that probably only has a population of over three digits alive in the world."

He raised his head and met the traveler's somewhat surprised gaze. He showed a proud expression as if he had won a victory, but it soon turned into a calm one, with a kind of relief and ease in his voice:

"I originally wanted to find a suitable place to release them on this far trip, and this place is very good. I have also asked Miss Rachel to check a lot of information in the past few days. If there was no large-scale man-made destruction, this group of

The little ones can live quite well."

"you……"

Kitahara and Kaede opened their mouths, as if they wanted to say something, but after seeing Nabokov's proud and determined expression, they still didn't say anything. They just curved the corners of their mouths and gave each other a hug.

"Forget it, I won't stop you from doing anything anyway. Just do whatever you want. But I've already imagined it..."

The traveler tilted his head and said in a brisk tone: "It must be beautiful with so many butterflies flying out, right?"

Rachel fiddled with her pan flute, tilted her head slightly, her eyes moved away from the instrument that was well maintained by herself, and some parts were even plated with pulp, and landed on a box full of butterflies. The corners of her lips seemed to

Outlining a smile as loose and soft as the spring breeze, the other hand flew in the wind

Yang's hair was tucked behind her ears.

She felt that she should do something.

Sometimes, it just needs to be lively.

[Sigma.]

She tilted her head and wrote the other party's name on the palm of Sigma, who was also eavesdropping. When she saw the other party turning his head, she smiled and put her finger to her lips, signaling the other party to remember to keep quiet in the next exchange.

Sigma was stunned for a moment, but after seeing the girl make a fist gesture, he still nodded sincerely: after all, Rachel's fighting power is a bit exaggerated, and he can guarantee that he will never be able to beat her.

Is this the physical quality that can be achieved by people who regard outdoor life as their daily routine...

Rachel saw that Sigma was silent, so she nodded slightly with satisfaction and wrote word by word:

[How about we help Mr. Nabokov and Dorothy a little bit next? If you join, I will delete the video of your confession to Beiyuan and promise not to sell it to Beiyuan.]

Sigma frowned, trying hard to restore what the other party wanted to express, and then his expression went blank little by little, and he looked at Rachel blankly, with a question mark slowly appearing on his head.

Wait, when did you record it?

In response, Miss Rachel just put her legs together, folded her hands on her abdomen, and showed an elegant and ladylike smile. However, in Sigma's eyes, the other party seemed to have small horns and a pointed tail belonging to the devil.

He may even be holding a pointed fork with hellfire in his hand.

How could there be such a sinister woman as Rachel Carson!

Sigma covered his heart in pain, joined the opponent's team with grief and anger and the mentality of turning grief and anger into the power of eating melons. At the same time, he was buried alone in the sea of ​​flowers. He didn't know if he was sulking at strangers.

Rosie glanced at it.

In comparison, Dorothy's annoying little guy can be considered an angel.

Rachel didn't know what image she had in Sigma's mind, otherwise Sigma might really see the devil - now she just picked up her pan flute after asking for Sigma's opinion, and then closed her mouth.

Eyes closed.

What kind of splendor is spring?

Some people say that spring is full of life.

But if we talk about vitality - it is obviously not as prosperous and lively as summer, nor the most enthusiastic and unrestrained attitude; nor is it as rich and full as autumn, with every breath carrying the sweetness and joy achieved by the accumulation of seasons.

It is plump; it is not like winter, which has the most unique purity and tranquility of the four seasons, where everything recuperates in the pale days.

So the most unique thing about spring is not the vitality that always runs through the year.
To be continued...