CHAPTER 14 #5
"So, you do like her? Or is it more than that?" Atalante shook his glass with lime juice. "You stare at her portrait for a long time every day—sometimes you even can't help but smile."
Da Vinci rubbed his forehead, lowering his voice, "Don't make such assumptions. If you keep this up, I won't need your help with my painting anymore."
The feeling of someone noticing such a private emotion made him uneasy.
"Don't rush," Atalante said with a raised voice. "She's not married yet. Even if she does marry, you can still pursue her."
"If you don’t tell her how you feel, she might just fall for someone else," the young man winked. "Do you want me to help you find a perfect love poem?"
"No—no need," Da Vinci tried to look serious. "Aren’t you learning French and the violin? You should focus on more important things."
"My old friend," the young man said with a sympathetic look, "I'm getting married next month."
"If you take any longer, you might find that while my children are getting married, you'll still be here staring at her portrait."
Da Vinci suddenly came to his senses, realizing something.
Unconsciously, that twelve- or thirteen-year-old boy had grown into a man.
Time… had passed so quickly?
"Do you remember that little timekeeping grid you gave me?" the young man said patiently. "Everyone will die eventually, and they'll forget everything and fly to heaven."
"The longer you hesitate, the less you'll love her."
Da Vinci was silent for a long time, suddenly realizing he had no argument against him.
He had always avoided facing his emotions and found it difficult to deceive himself.
The things he had once said so confidently were now contradicted by reality.
— The intense passion he had for art and science could just as easily be stirred by another person.
When she came back late, he couldn’t help but wait for her by the door, even pretending to be going out to buy a small newspaper just to pick her up.
If she sighed while eating, he couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to her.
He was so cautious and nervous, always awkward around her.
But this feeling was strange and dangerous to him, like a poisonous butterfly—something he desired but was afraid to touch.
After a long silence, the man finally spoke softly.
"Don’t tell her…"
Let me have more time to figure this out.
The young man shrugged and handed him another paintbrush.
"When you come to my wedding, remember to bring a good bottle of wine."
——
Atalante's bride is the daughter of a drug merchant from the Eastern district. The two have a great relationship and even bought a small house near Hedy's workshop.
The wedding wasn't particularly extravagant or grand, but it was filled with warmth and affection.
Hedy generously helped him acquire many jewels and silks, and on the day of the wedding, the bride looked cute and petite like a fairy.
Everyone danced and celebrated at the party, and Hedy couldn't help but feel a little nostalgic.
Atalante, who was once just a little boy, had grown to the point of getting married... and he seemed so happy.
Over the years, Hedy had acted like a big sister, carefully guiding him. The boy was intelligent and kind, living up to her expectations.
Medieval education was simple and brutal, treating children of all ages with a cold and harsh approach.
The Church misinterpreted the Bible, believing that people were born sinful, and children were seen as the epitome of original sin.
To rid children of their "evil" and "misbehavior," play was forbidden, and harsh corporal punishment was considered both reasonable and lawful.
At Oxford University, one of the graduation exam requirements was to "learn how to administer a flogging."
Respected teachers would pay boys with silver coins, tie them to a pillar, and use them for flogging practice. Only those who became proficient could graduate and become teachers.
These children never felt love, were forced to do hard physical labor from a young age, and were subjected to varying degrees of sexual abuse.
In contrast, Hedy had treated Atalante over the past few years in a way that could only be described as angelic.
She was gentle and rational. When problems or mistakes arose, she never scolded him harshly; instead, she continually inspired him to think independently and act cautiously.
Atalante grew from thirteen to eighteen, now gentle and wise, capable of handling most of Hedy's affairs. He had become an excellent manager.
The boy who almost became a castrated singer had finally grown up and was about to become someone else's husband.
As the groom kissed the bride, the crowd erupted in cheers, and they began to sway and dance to the music.
Hedy watched from a distance, feeling a mixture of youth and old age in her heart.
She truly seemed to be growing younger.
In the early years, she might have sighed like an old woman, but after spending so much time in this youthful body, she had gradually found a lighter, more carefree state.
Now at the age of twenty-five, people occasionally wondered why she wasn't married yet, but there were no malicious speculations.
Watching the newlyweds dance in the center of the floor, she felt a stir of long-forgotten emotions.
Youth really is a wonderful thing.
After Atalante moved out, the courtyard became much quieter, and the creaky sound of the violin finally disappeared.
Hedy's business was running smoothly, and through it, she had made connections with merchants and officials from various countries.
Due to the lack of advanced communication tools, people didn’t realize the relationship between the female merchant and the Medici lady, but they still held her in both awe and friendliness.
Perhaps it was because she had been so busy for so long that she picked a bright, sunny day to go out boating with Leonardo.
The most important water system in all of Italy, the Po River, had a name that felt like a familiar nickname.
The irises on both sides were in full bloom, and waterfowl perched on dry branches, pecking at their feathers.
As Leonardo rowed the boat, he began to sing, his voice deep and pleasant.
Hedy leaned against the side of the boat, watching the shimmering golden light, and her mind wandered back to many things from her past life.
At this age in her previous life, she too seemed to have endless vitality and love.
In addition to acting, she had also learned to paint, play the piano, and write poetry.
"At this moment, the sunset creeps into the land like a fox, and in an instant, it sets the grass on fire." She smiled softly and recited, "Do you see the beauty in the leaning tower, floating like a jellyfish in the frozen residential area?"
Leonardo gradually stopped singing, rowing the boat as he listened to her recite the poem.
Her articulation was always soft and gentle, and the control of her tone was exquisite.
That pleasant voice, flowing with the poetry, was as beautiful as the Po River itself.
Hedy was lost in a trance, her fair hand still gently stirring the rotating fallen leaves at the edge of the water.
She then remembered an old poem by an American poetess, and her smile softened even more.
“There is a love called love at first sight, sudden, clear, and determined.”
Her voice was low and magnetic, as if she were telling a story.
“Then there is a slower kind of love, perhaps even more beautiful: a quiet yearning, a faint entanglement, now near, now distant, hazy and unclear…”
Leonardo looked at her, resting against the boat's edge, his gaze warm and smiling.
Atalante had indeed been right about some things.
Over the past few months, he had refused to acknowledge these feelings.
But when he gazed at her, his heart would be lit and burned like a candle's flame.
This… must be love.
He was in love with her.
The scenery along the Po River was beautiful, with farmers and their children fishing by the banks.
When they disembarked to explore, a farm woman, who had once been a maid, suddenly recognized Leonardo and excitedly expressed her admiration for his artwork. She also offered them a large cup of malt beer and freshly baked small fish.
The farmer, clearly having heard of Leonardo's name, eagerly pulled his young son over.
"Sir, are you in need of any apprentices at your workshop?!" he called out, raising his voice. "My son might be a little young, but he can help carry water buckets!"
Hedy instinctively looked at the three- or four-year-old boy and noticed the bruises on his arms.
The little boy looked innocent and angelic, with fair skin and slightly curly hair, almost as if an angel from a fresco had descended to Earth.
If only he weren't wearing such tattered clothes, or if his elbows and legs weren't marked with the welts of being whipped by thorned twigs, he would have looked even more adorable.
In this era, there was no distinction between child labor and other work; people struggled just to survive.
This child would stay here, stumbling through farm work, and would inevitably get a beating from his own parents.
Hedy sighed and exchanged a glance with Leonardo.
He hesitated for a moment, but then agreed.
"What is your name?"
The little boy looked at them shyly, his eyes watery and innocent like a baby bird.
"Da... Daoreno," he replied softly.
Hedy nodded and then asked the farmer’s name. She learned that he was a tenant from a nearby vineyard.
When the woman learned that they had a spare seat at the table, she looked visibly relieved.
The farmer repeatedly thanked them and even gave them a freshly caught pike.
On the way back, Hedy couldn't help but laugh a little—
It felt a bit like they had become a family of three.
The little boy clearly hadn't expected that he wouldn't have to sleep beside the grain stack and would have his own bedroom and bed. He looked both awkward and somewhat embarrassed.