Amy usually opened her eyes at exactly six-thirty every morning. After that, she would sprawl across the bed in a starfish shape and space out for a while before climbing down to wash her face, brush her teeth, comb her hair, and—still in her pajamas—make breakfast.
—That was her daily morning routine.
Today’s routine was the same, except breakfast was a little different.
Since lettuce was her only self-sustaining food source for now, Amy had been diligently eating it in every way possible to save money—vinaigrette, salad dressing… One time, she even tried tomato ketchup.
She never wanted to remember that taste again.
Though the salads were edible, eating them for several meals in a row had become boring. Amy wanted to try something new.
This time, she cooked the lettuce.
The boiled lettuce turned soft and limp, still green but no longer crisp. She had rarely seen such… such a good-tempered lettuce.
For seasoning, she used salt, sugar, and vinegar as usual, but this time she also added something called “oyster sauce.” According to Charlie, this mysterious condiment came from an ancient Eastern land, made by boiling oysters to extract their juices, then condensing and blending them with other ingredients.
With oysters as its base, it sounded promising. Even if it tasted bad, it shouldn’t be that bad.
After tossing everything together, Amy’s nameless lettuce dish was ready.
She took a bite, and it was surprisingly good.
Though softer in texture, the lettuce still retained its freshness, and the seasonings gave it a fuller, richer flavor. Especially the oyster sauce—thick and savory. Maybe it was her imagination, but Amy thought she really could taste the hint of oyster.
Ah… oysters.
When would she be able to savor you again?
Thinking of that flavor, Amy finished the plateful of lettuce.
Her morning routine wasn’t over yet.
After breakfast, Amy washed the dishes, grabbed her watering can, and went out to water the fields—her most important daily task, more important even than eating. If her crops ever stopped growing because she forgot to water them, she was sure she would cry right there in the field.
The lettuce was thriving, the tomato blossoms had already turned into tiny fruits, while the cauliflower seeds remained hidden under the soil, unchanged.
With the addition of cauliflower, Amy’s watering workload had increased.
Her beginner’s watering can was small and heavy, with very limited capacity. She had to refill it halfway at the well, then drink some maple syrup to restore her stamina.
Maybe it was time to upgrade the watering can, Amy thought. Her farming skill had already leveled up anyway.
As she pondered whether to upgrade the axe, hoe, or watering can first, a voice suddenly called from outside the farm gate:
“Amy, your wooden box is finished!”
It was Ryan.
Amy hurried to open the door. “Hi, good morning, Ryan. I didn’t expect you to finish the box so quickly—you’re fast.”
“Of course. And not just the box, I’ve got something else too.” Ryan carried the wooden box inside, then lifted another rectangular object. “Ta-da! Look—your mailbox.”
Amy’s eyes sparkled. “Wow.”
It was a perfect, standard mailbox made of raw wood, with hand-carved decorations on the panel and handle, showing off its natural grain. Ryan said he’d also added a special anti-corrosion treatment, so the mailbox would withstand wind, sun, and rain.
“Just register with Leslie, and she’ll log your farm’s address,” Ryan explained. “That way mailing things will be easy from now on.”
Amy grinned from ear to ear. “Got it. And thank you for reminding me. Honestly, I wouldn’t have thought of installing a mailbox otherwise.”
“This is what I should do. Besides, even if I didn’t tell you, Leslie would eventually. She’s just too busy—she has to handle everything in town.”
“And you’re helping take some of that burden off her shoulders. Ryan, you really are kindhearted.”
Ryan’s face flushed red. “Not really… just average, I guess.”
“No need to be modest.” Amy turned back. “By the way, how much for the two boxes and the mailbox? I’ll go inside and get the money.”
She was genuinely pleased with them. Even if it meant dipping into her fishing-rod fund, she wouldn’t complain. At worst, she could pick up more shells at the beach.
For these boxes, she was willing.
“No need!” Ryan quickly caught her arm, then let go just as fast. “Y-you don’t need to pay me. Just a couple of boxes—no trouble at all.”
“That won’t do.” Amy looked at him playfully. “Even if we’re friends, you can’t be a part-time charity worker.”
“Alright.” Ryan gave in at last. “I don’t want money—just give me a bottle of maple syrup. I really love the stuff.”
“That’s easy.” Amy said generously, “I’ll give you two bottles.”
Ryan grinned happily. “Amy, you’re really my—”
But before he could finish, a loud voice called from outside:
“The traveling merchant Simon has arrived—open sesame!”
Amy: “…”
There was no need to ask. She knew instantly—it was the traveling merchant she had been eagerly waiting for.
But she hadn’t expected his entrance to be this dramatic.
Ryan looked equally exasperated. “That’s Simon. He’s here to go door-to-door buying things.”
Amy nodded and went to open the door.
Simon was a young boy, maybe fifteen or sixteen, wearing a ginger-colored newsboy cap. He wasn’t even as tall as Amy.
“Simon is me, and I am Simon, the famous traveling merchant! Oh, noble and beautiful lady, is this our first meeting?”
Amy greeted him kindly, as she did with all new acquaintances. “Yes. I’ve only just moved here, so this is our first meeting. Nice to meet you, Simon.”
“Nice to meet you, noble and beautiful lady. May I ask what I should call you?”
“Just call me Amy,” she smiled.
“Very well, Miss Amy! Such a beautiful lady…”
At that moment Ryan coughed twice. “Amy, where’s the maple syrup? I can get it myself.”
“Oh.” Amy snapped back. “No need, I’ll get it for you.” She gave Simon an apologetic glance and went inside to fetch it.
Only then did Simon notice Ryan. He waved. “Hey, Ryan. What are you doing here?”
“I brought something for Amy,” Ryan replied.
Simon tilted his head. “What kind of thing?”
“Something she needed, of course.” Ryan’s tone was proud. “Amy’s my good friend.”
Simon considered this. “Miss Amy said she only just moved to Hot Spring Town. And already you’re friends? She must really be a nice person.” He smacked his forehead. “Then I want to be friends with Miss Amy too!”
Ryan shot back bluntly, “She won’t want to be friends with a little brat.”
Simon bristled. “Who’s a brat? Even if I am, you’re only two years older than me—what gives you the right to say that?”
At that moment, Amy came out carrying two bottles of maple syrup, interrupting their “friendly” exchange.
“Here you go, Ryan. Your syrup.”
“Thanks.” Ryan immediately forgot Simon, took the bottles, and looked down at them with a smile. “This is the best maple syrup I’ve ever tasted.”
Really?
Amy wondered. Her gathering skill was only level 1, so the sap she collected was just average. And yet everyone already praised it so highly. What would it be like once her gathering skill maxed out?
She looked forward to finding out.
Simon turned to Ryan. “Since you’re here, Ryan, got anything to sell?”
“No.” With that, Ryan bid Amy goodbye and left without so much as a glance at Simon.
Was it her imagination, or did the two seem… hostile toward each other?
Amy shook her head. She really couldn’t figure out young men.
Once Ryan was gone, only Simon remained on the farm. Amy cleared her throat. “Simon, Nancy mentioned you before. She said you buy all kinds of things from the townsfolk. I happen to have some shells at home—want to take a look?”
“Of course, of course!” Simon nodded eagerly.
Clatter—
Amy dumped the pile of seashells she had picked up from the beach onto the ground.
“That’s all of them.”
Simon crouched and rummaged through the pile. After a moment, he looked up. “Miss Amy, to be honest, these are just common shells you can find anywhere along the shore. Even in large quantities, they aren’t worth much…”
Amy’s heart sank—then lifted again as he continued, “But! You managed to find my favorites: the cap snail and the gypsum seashell! That’s fantastic. I’ll pay you a good price for them!”
“…Next time, could you lead with the good news?” Amy muttered, though she was relieved.
In the end, Simon packed up all the shells and conchs, paying Amy a total of 281 gold.
After he left, Amy sat down to tally her accounts.
That 281 gold, plus what she had saved before—she finally had enough to buy a fishing rod.