Timeline Story 'SEE YOU MORNING' 157 Lübeck's Daydream

“…The expansion of handicrafts isn’t going very well. Individual artisans generally don’t want to bring in outsiders, even if it would increase production and reduce their own labor.”

“Spring planting in various regions has been completed according to the planned crops, with a thirty percent increase in cultivated area.”

“The prospecting teams have been sending back samples one after another. They plan to conduct a unified evaluation after this round of exploration is finished.”

“Regarding the establishment of schools and education, the local populace isn’t very enthusiastic. In our current situation, men farm, women do housework, and there aren’t many full‑time job opportunities elsewhere.”

“Yes, there are things they have no motivation to do on their own. We’ll have to give them a push,” Lübeck said to Müller, who was reporting the situation. He paused, then continued, “Isn’t our population base still too small? No one yet wants to do anything different – anything beyond farming.”

“Heh, it seems so,” Müller thought for a moment. “After all, we have fewer than twenty thousand people.”

“Yes. Then let’s keep our feet on the ground. First, solve food and shelter, the living conditions.”

“Haha, yes.”

After work, riding home in the carriage, Lübeck did not quite understand the practical purpose of the interstellar migration order he had been given. What was the meaning of taking these ten‑thousand‑some people away from Earth? Perhaps it wasn’t about building a new civilization – at least not something he could accomplish in his lifetime. Maybe it was simply about preserving some seeds.

Pushing open the door, Ruth was in the kitchen. The weather had warmed. The cold air coming through the open small window met the hot air from the stove, swirling and intersecting in the beam of light by the window, distorting the brightness like van Gogh’s swirling brushstrokes.

In that bright stream of light stood Ruth’s slender waist, sometimes at the cutting board, sometimes by the stove. Clara was helping her. Ada didn’t want to stay alone in her room and had run to the kitchen doorway, imitating her sister’s actions as if she were helping, looking very content.

Lübeck patted the two children on the head. He was about to give Ruth a hug when he saw Clara standing in front of him, curtsying.

“Welcome home, Papa.”

Lübeck was taken aback for a moment. He looked across at Ruth. She was always so serene and proper – she must have taught the child.

He looked down again at the child’s innocent eyes, quickly picked her up, and kissed her forehead. Across from him, Ruth was smiling at him.

Lübeck smiled back warmly, then suddenly remembered something. He turned his head – sure enough, Ada stood alone at the kitchen doorway, that small, lonely figure perfectly still, staring at him. Lübeck put Clara down, patted her head reassuringly, then went over and picked up Ada, kissing her head as well.

After all that fuss, the fire in his heart that had wanted to embrace Ruth had cooled considerably. The blazing anticipation faded, leaving only a tender, water‑like affection. He walked slowly to Ruth, who had been waiting for a long time, and put his arms around her slender waist and back. Her eyes, which had been shining just a moment ago, now lowered their lashes as she pressed her cheek against him in his gentle embrace.

Holding her body, gradually feeling her warmth, Lübeck kissed her neck, her shoulder, her collarbone.

Ruth let out a soft sigh.

“All right,” she said, pushing Lübeck away. “The children are right here.”

Ah – he had known it would be like this even before they adopted them. He wanted to complain, but how could he say such things in front of the adopted children? So instead, his hand behind her back mischievously pinched her flesh, and he kissed her lips again, saying, “I’ll go check on Emma and the child in the other room, then come back to help.”

Their son Erwin was sitting on the bed playing with building blocks. Emma sat beside him, watching the child while altering his clothes – the boy had grown a lot.

Emma’s large eyes glanced at Lübeck as he came in, then she said nothing and went back to her work.

Those lively big eyes, fair skin, slightly full figure – sitting there upright, though very young, her steadiness and the virtuous air of her labor increasingly revealed a woman’s charm.

Lübeck sat down beside her and put an arm around her waist.

“Our son’s clothes?”

“Yes,” Emma answered. Her long lashes fluttered over her large eyes. Lübeck hadn’t expected that the big child from not long ago would slip into the role of mother so quickly.

While feeling delighted, he also felt a nameless unease. He had led her into the family life of raising children, ending her carefree youth early. It seemed there was a vague sense of indebtedness.

“What dreams do you have for the future?”

“Dreams?” Emma stared wide‑eyed at Lübeck.

At that moment Lübeck realized his question was rather abrupt, so he changed the way he asked.

“Then what are your wishes?”

Emma rolled her eyes, thought for a moment, and looked around.

“I want a big house.”

Lübeck smiled. “That’s possible.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Right now, the population size and food surplus in Zufluchtsland are enough to support a renewal of the city center.”

“Does that mean we’re moving to a big house there?”

“No. The city center plan currently does not include residential construction. There will be some public buildings.”

“Oh.” Emma was a little disappointed. She had thought her wish would come true immediately.

Seeing her downcast, Lübeck went to the outer room and took out the fruit he had planned to bring out after dinner from his coat pocket, then brought it into the room.

“What is it?” Emma looked curiously at the paper package.

“Open it and see.”

“Strawberries,” Emma said, a little surprised.

“Yes. Someone cultivated them – early ripening. Someone sent a little over.”

Emma perked up, easily pleased like a big child. She tasted one – her expression said it was a bit sour. Chewing, she couldn’t wait to take another from the paper package. She was about to stuff it into Lübeck’s mouth, but then turned her head, remembering her son.

Lübeck smiled. “Give it to the child.”

After dinner, everyone was busy with their own things. The little ones were inevitably a bit noisy while helping. Lübeck enjoyed peace and quiet, so he slipped out into the yard.

Spring had hurried past. The warm evening breeze carried the breath of life rising from the depths of the earth to the surface. Gazing at the purple clouds on the horizon, Lübeck pushed open the garden gate and walked onto the path in front of the house, leading into the deep gray‑blue of the night.

He turned his head to look back at the little house behind the fence. Through the window, the dim yellow light scattered over the stone path in the yard. Surrounded by the night, that warm hue made one cannot help but long for the warmth of home.

In the late spring evening just after nightfall, the breeze no longer held a coolness. Lübeck, with his heart still thinking of the warmth of home, did not walk far.

Watching the familiar shrubs, flowers and grass along the path, he walked back and forth in front of his own door a few times. When he again reached the door, in the darkness, Emma stood by the ajar door. The faint light spilling through the gap illuminated her large wavy blond hair, outlined the contours of her cheeks, and the lines of her waist and thighs leaning against the doorframe.

“Lübeck, time for bed.”