Seduced by My Childhood Sweetheart’s Brother

Colin walked with me hand in hand, strolling along the mountain paths just like when we were kids.

He shared stories about skilled folk artists I had never heard of, talked about his different interpretations

of watercolor paintings, and reminisced about the paths we walked together in our childhood.

Under the blue sky and bright sun, surrounded by picturesque scenery, we were like characters from a

painting.

In the park, there were tandem bicycles. Upon noticing my longing gaze, Colin rented one and took me on Property of Nô)(velDr(a)ma.Org.

a ride, freely traversing the enchanting nature.

We collaborated wholeheartedly, struggling to pedal for a long time until my legs were unbearably sore. It

was only then we gave up and lay down on the grass to rest.

Following that, we stumbled upon a narrow stream. Its water was a clear mirror, reflecting every grain of

sand at the bottom. Several rounded stones, some dark red and others pure white, discreetly divided the

stream.

I naughtily took off my shoes, held them in my hands, and disturbed the rare tranquility. I watched as the

slender fish swam between my toes.

While having fun, I refused to listen to Colin’s advice to get out of the water. I ran even deeper into the

stream, splashing water that wet the hems of his pants.

With a stern face, Colin lifted me out and threw me on his back. He cupped my feet in his hands, wiping away the cool water droplets. He said that autumn water in the north was freezing, and girls were prone

to getting sick from the chill.

Then, he carried me on his back, walking a long, long way. He kept talking about the scenery here, the

disparity between fantasy and reality, and the original aspirations a successful artist should have.

Colin’s voice was rather pleasant, like a radio announcer telling a story. I lay on his back, quietly listening

to him and feeling that time was peacefully still. His broad back was my entire world at that moment.

This way

This was a secluded paradise, far from the hustle and bustle of the world. It maintained the most

primitive ecological environment, where the maple leaves were like flames,

r upon layer. With

exquisite mountain peaks and winding roads like an art gallery, every inch of the landscape was

stunning.

As the scenery continued to unfold, I suddenly felt an urge to return to simplicity and go beyond the

mundane. If possible, I wanted to stay here forever, merging with these mountains, water, maples, and

stones.

Perhaps due to Colin’s comforting words earlier, my heart unexpectedly found peace in mother nature

accompanied by countless strangers.

“Colin, this place is so beautiful. How did you discover it?”

“You think this is beautiful? There’s a better place ahead. Want to go and see?” Colin’s voice was

deep and melodious like a cello.

When the car stopped in front of a small village, I was once again amazed. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t have thought that such a magnificent scene existed in this world.

If what I saw just now was a fairyland on earth, what lay before my eyes now was one from a painted

scroll.

“Colin, where is this? It’s even more beautiful than a painting.” I exclaimed in delight.

“This is Western Loch Village, also known as the Painter’s Haven.”

“Painter’s Haven? Do painters live here?”

“No. It’s the beauty of this place that attracts painters and artists alike to come here for inspiration. Many of them live in this village now. Unfortunately, no matter how wonderful their brushes are, they’re unable to paint the complete beauty of these peculiar mountains and clear waters. Nature’s splendor can’t be expressed with a few strokes. That’s why I brought you here to see it for yourself–to imprint it in your mind. Maybe someday, it will give you inspiration.”

As I stared blankly at everything in front of me, I felt an itch in my hands. “Do you want to paint? Let’s eat first. We’ll paint the sunset later.”