Chapter 626 – Carnival Ocean

"Clap! Clap! Clap!"

The rhythmic applause crashed like stormy waves against the coastline—sharp, ferocious, and unrelenting. One after another, the thunderous echoes split the air, reverberating like the shattering of clouds and the cracking of stone. Boom! Boom! The vibrations pulsed through veins, igniting a fire in the soul, obliterating reason. It felt as though time and space had been torn apart—two separate worlds, divided by the threshold of Pioneer Village.

It seemed unbelievable. Yet, it was happening.

Renly stood at the center of it all, his face illuminated by a brilliant smile. Slowly, he lowered his hands, reached for the guitar slung across his back, and pulled it to his chest. With effortless precision, he plucked at the strings. A cascade of crisp, vibrant notes burst forth—light and fluid, yet carrying an undercurrent of power. Like a school of sardines dancing in an ocean of applause, the music rippled outward, taming the roaring waves. One by one, the restless tides settled, surrendering to the rhythm, swaying with the melody.

It was as if the music had always existed—woven into the fabric of their souls, whispering through their blood, deeply rooted in their being. The melody shimmered like sparks in the air, blurring vision with its brilliance, surrounding Renly's tall, commanding figure. The audience, captivated, yielded to the hypnotic pull of the guitar.

And then, he sang.

"He lives in the mountains, far from the world,

We have never crossed paths, yet even a dime from him

Has left behind a treasure trove."

Renly's voice was warm, rich with nostalgia, his lyrics a poetic narrative. A tranquil scene unfolded in their minds—rolling emerald hills, a weathered wooden cabin, worn but brimming with memories. It was the home of a grandfather, the sanctuary of childhood summers, the refuge from the city's suffocating pace. A place where exhaustion found solace.

Gradually, the applause quieted—not by force, but by an unspoken understanding. The audience instinctively softened their voices, swaying with the melody, following its gentle rise and fall.

"As I came to understand my grandfather's life,

The insurmountable mountains became gentle hills,

And I found the meaning of a simple life."

The song carried them across landscapes—dense forests, towering peaks, endless seas—before finally leading them home. A warmth blossomed in their chests, a quiet joy spreading through their veins. Thought ceased to exist; there was only feeling.

Open your arms.

Open your heart.

Lower your guard.

Embrace life.

Embrace simplicity.

Embrace beauty.

The emotions surged, colliding in an electrifying burst. Joy. Lightness. Freedom. The air pulsed with a vibrant energy, searching for release. And then—

"I have found the essence of life,

It was always right before my eyes,

All I had to do was open them,

Open my heart."

Almost involuntarily, they obeyed.

Eyes opened wide.

Hearts unfurled.

Hands clapped.

Feet stomped.

Tears welled.

And in that instant, the missing piece—the void they hadn't even realized existed—was found.

The melody surged. The beat accelerated. A thunderous roar of applause erupted once more, shaking the very foundation of Pioneer Village. The sound bounced off the walls, reverberating into infinity, merging with Renly's voice.

"Long ago, I swore to live as my grandfather did,

Through rain and snow, through wind and cold,

This is the simple life I have chosen."

The applause became a storm, a tempest crashing over them. It was winter's frost, the ocean's fury, the sky's fury. And yet, they pressed on—undaunted, unwavering, their spirits soaring alongside Renly's resolute voice, charging forward with unshakable determination.

"Whether rich or poor, young or old,

We all walk the thin red line of fate,

And when our time comes,

May we whisper—this was my simple life."

Tears blurred their vision. Hot, relentless, unstoppable.

This was their life.

Every day, they wrestled against society's crushing weight, against the suffocating confines of an unforgiving world. They knew—oh, how well they knew—that dreams did not fill empty stomachs. That dreams did not pay rent. That dreams, for all their beauty, were luxuries they could scarcely afford.

Reality had no place for dreams.

Not in war-torn lands.

Not in New York's forgotten corners.

Not in the lives of those barely scraping by.

The Grim Reaper's scythe hovered ever near, yet still, they dared to dream. It was foolish. It was ridiculous. It was hopeless.

But without dreams, what remained?

Without dreams, life was merely existence—an empty shell drifting through time. Pain was inevitable, struggle unavoidable, but dreams made the suffering bearable.

Without dreams, life lost its meaning.

So they held on.

Through wealth and poverty, through youth and old age, through storms and hardship. They carried their dreams forward, through sheer force of will. And at life's end, they would see its colors—magnificent, radiant, breathtaking.

Simple life.

Life, simple yet infinite.

Emotion swelled, a tidal wave crashing in Timsey's chest. Tears streamed freely down his face, his body trembling—not with sorrow, but with something else. Something exhilarating. Something uncontainable.

He wanted to jump.

He wanted to cheer.

He wanted to high-five the stranger next to him.

And so he did.

He laughed through his tears, clapping like a madman, his gaze fixed on Renly. He wasn't alone. The room pulsed with life, a symphony of voices singing in unison.

"Clap! Clap! Clap!"

The entire Pioneer Village trembled with the force of it, the sound a tidal wave threatening to shake the earth itself.

"One night, I found a treasure chest in the attic,

My grandfather's war ID lay neatly inside,

His memories preserved in letters and photographs,

A neatly folded flag in his honor,

And only then did I understand the thorns of a simple life."

The music softened, and with it, the storm calmed.

Renly's voice carried the weight of generations—the echoes of grandfathers who had walked before them, of craftsmen who had built the world with their hands, of warriors who had fought for freedom.

But today's world was losing that spirit.

Not just the war stories.

Not just the golden age of music.

But the resilience. The perseverance. The unyielding pursuit of freedom.

Now, people had more, yet felt emptier. The void within them remained—unfathomable, unfillable. Just like popular music, their lives were catchy, polished, enjoyable—but hollow.

And so they searched.

For something real.

For something lasting.

For something simple.

And then, Renly answered.

"I have found the essence of life,

It was always right before my eyes,

All I had to do was open them,

Open my heart."

The final chorus ignited like wildfire.

"Oh-oh-oh! This is the simple life I have!"

No leader. No conductor. Just raw, unfiltered emotion. The walls, the city, the sky—they could not contain it.

"Oh-oh-oh!"

It soared higher and higher, breaking through barriers, reaching into the heavens.

Renly strummed one last chord.

Then—silence.

He stood there, watching them.

No words.

And yet, the applause thundered on.

Burning. Boiling.

So simple. So pure.

And so utterly magnificent.