Southampton, Britain, has a history of over 1,000 years; situated in a quiet corner, it is devoid of bustling noise.
It is like the ancient, mottled city walls and the calm sea.
Now, this sea finally began to show sparks of whitecaps.
The arrival of the first industrial peak brought many roaring, oil-gulping cars to the roads where horses once trotted. Their streamlined shells, like beetles on wheels, hurried past pedestrians, kicking up dust.
Men had slicked-back, shiny hair, wearing casual suits with blue stripes and trendy leather shoes on their feet;
The girls went even further, simply cutting their hair short and donning loose-fitting, straight-cut miniskirts.
After centuries of suppression, they now bared their arms and legs, walking down the streets with their heads held high.
Some playful ones even threw winks at the passing Boys, only bursting into laughter with their sisters after the Boys' eyes went glazed.
On the bustling streets, fried chicken shops stood next to pocket watch shops, and elderly gentlemen sat side-by-side with trendy young lads.
In this era about to change course, both the old and the new enjoyed the sea breeze blowing from the Port of Southampton together.
By the side of the port, near a bench.
A young girl sat before an easel, a long oil paintbrush gripped in her hand.
Facing the horizon, she carefully captured the flock of bobbing seabirds onto her canvas.
Not far away, a long-haired artist playing the violin harmonized with this scene. A serenade flowed smoothly from the strings, making one feel as if they had returned to the golden age of twenty or thirty years ago, filled with the scent of leather and tea.
Passersby were used to the sight; some hurried past, while others stopped to watch for a while, unsure if they were marvelling at the girl's graceful figure or the melodious violin piece.
A Boy was led away, grimacing as his girlfriend pinched his arm; even as he left, he was reluctant, turning back to gaze blankly at the girl—
Unlike the women of the new era.
That oil-painting maiden was quiet and gentle, still wearing an 'ancient' long dress rather than shorts and short hair;
White lace traced her waist, which looked slender enough to be held in one's hands;
Beneath lashes like raven feathers were eyes as clear as a winter spring, focused intently on the sea.
At the corner of her eye hung a small beauty mark.
Her satin-like black hair fell to her waist. Set against the waves and the wind, she looked like a princess from the deep sea, tenderly sketching the hometown she had loved for many years.
As the grimacing Boy departed, several elderly gentlemen on the bench behind her, reading newspapers and chatting with pipes in their mouths, began to chuckle.
It's good to be young, isn't it?
If I were a few years younger... Caressing his pocket watch, the white-haired old man looked at the still-quiet young girl.
At this moment, a conversation drifted over.
"Hey, darling, see you in a bit?"
The middle-aged man speaking had the slicked-back hair common for the era, and his looks were quite ordinary.
He held the woman in his arms with a smug look, revealing a glittering gold watch on his wrist.
His suit was sharply tailored, and on his feet were polished, lace-up low-cut leather shoes.
This was a wealthy man.
The old gentleman looked away, unfolding the newspaper in his hands, but his ears were quietly listening to the conversation.
The girl in the middle-aged man's arms smiled charmingly: "See you in a bit. Once I've dealt with that 'trouble,' I'll go to the coffee shop to find you. Darling, I love this outfit on you."
The man shrugged at her words: "I like myself too."
As he chatted with the woman in his arms, he raised his hand to check his watch to confirm the time—
The man shook his arm vigorously with great fanfare, seemingly wanting to display that golden watch more fully: "It's about time, I should go. By the way, Mary, your necklace is quite nice."
The girl kissed the middle-aged man's cheek and rolled her eyes disdainfully: "That 'trouble' gave it to me."
The middle-aged man nodded, reached out to brush the young girl's waist, and replied nonchalantly: "Settle your 'trouble' soon, Mary. My mother doesn't like women with 'trouble'."
"I know, I know, darling. Hey, you're almost old enough to be my father, what are you trying to do to your own daughter?" Speaking craftily, the young girl pressed herself directly against the middle-aged man's chest, the two of them clinging intimately, their bodies rubbing against each other.
The old men sitting in a row reading their newspapers sat up straight, but their eyes were quietly peeking over the tops of the papers.
"Well then, see you in a bit."
The young girl saw off her middle-aged darling.
Before long, she was waiting for another one—the timing was so precise it could be called a seamless transition.
The other was a handsome young Boy.
The old men had looks of realization.
This kind of thing was not uncommon; it wasn't even as interesting as the news reported in the papers: at least they got to see the whole process of these lovers 'committing their crimes'.
The young Boy wore brown, old-fashioned suspenders and a deep red shirt; his features were sharp, and his eyes were deep-set. On his head was a dirty newsboy cap, with a few strands of blonde hair peeking through the gaps.
He ran over from the other side of the pier looking excited, clutching a rectangular paint box and a large-format sketchbook in his hands.
"Hey."
"Hi, Jack." Mary stood up from the bench with feigned reserve, her hands behind her back.
She no longer had her previous charming and seductive expression, showing instead the shyness a young girl should have.
"How is it? Shall we go to—"
Mary rolled her eyes discreetly and interrupted while covering her mouth: "Sorry, Jack. I have something to do; my aunt is taking me to try on a newly commissioned dress in a bit. You know, it's the banquet season lately."
The Boy looked a bit embarrassed, gripping his sketchbook tighter. He nodded with a forced smile, reaching his hand toward the girl's neck: "That necklace—"
"Thank you, Jack."
Mary took a step back, dodging him. She smiled at the Boy, clutching the necklace: "Thank you for the necklace. I'm in a hurry, I'll be going now."
"Hey! I'm about to get a chance to—you know, paint portraits for big shots.
When the time comes, I'll buy you an even more expensive one, a sapphire? How about it?"
The blonde Boy shouted from where he stood. The girl turned and blew him a kiss, winked, and then turned the corner onto another street without looking back, leaving the port.
The old gentlemen who had watched the whole thing raised their eyebrows, exchanged glances, and smiled.
Finding it dull, they pulled their gaze back to that quiet princess.
Yes, that girl who looked like a little princess seemed to have finished her painting.
She put away her palette and brushes, lowered her legs, and adjusted her skirt.
The Boy nearby, bored, shooed away a seabird that had landed next to him, and when he turned his head, he noticed her.
"Nice painting."
The girl was not far from the young Boy, so they didn't need to speak very loudly.
The Boy strolled over, his sketchbook and paint box tucked under his arm. He looked the girl over a few times and examined the oil painting with the scrutinizing gaze of a fellow professional.
"Who is this?" He suddenly saw his girlfriend in the painting.
And that strange man she was kissing.
The girl brushed back her hair, her red lips parting as she spoke in a voice like the warbling of a kingfisher, "Her boyfriend."
"I'm her boyfriend," the Boy said, shaking his head.
The girl packed up her things, placing her art supplies into a bag and picking it up.
"You're late. Come earlier next time, and I can change a few strokes to make it look like you're kissing him."
The girl's pleasant voice couldn't hide the sheer malice in her words.
The Boy saw where the girl's light green fingernails were pointing.
Damn it, she was referring to that middle-aged man.
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