Chapter 159 “Who’s Forcing Who?”

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In the time period that followed the onset of the Deep Sea Age, human beings were not the sole intelligent life forms to have endured from antiquity and gone on to construct their own unique civilizations. Beyond the realm of humanity, various other races also existed, each with their own thriving city-states, complete with distinct cultures and societal norms. Among these races were elves, beastkin, and orcs, to name just a few.

For Duncan, this knowledge was far from novel. He had learned about these different races through the textbooks of Nina, whose academic materials he was familiar with. From a young age, Duncan had been captivated by the idea of these “other races,” but it was the elves who intrigued him the most. Often the subjects of fantasy lore and mythical tales, elves carried with them an air of enigma and wonder. What captivated Duncan even more was that these mythical creatures were not just the stuff of storybooks; they were real and coexisted with humans in his world.

The illustrations in Nina’s textbooks offered a visual guide to what elves were supposed to look like, and these images closely matched Duncan’s own preconceived notions. Elves were typically depicted with long, pointed ears and svelte, graceful bodies. Their faces were almost impossibly beautiful, to the extent that it was challenging to differentiate between males and females based solely on appearance.

From these limited details, Duncan had formulated an initial, albeit somewhat superficial, understanding of elves. He imagined them as a species that not only appeared elegant and captivating but also enjoyed incredibly long lifespans, potentially extending into the millennia. However, this youthful imagination had never led him to ponder what aging would look like among elves.

His realization of his own naiveté came sharply into focus when he met the proprietor of the “Rose’s Doll House” shop. But not just any elf; she was a plump, kind-hearted, elderly elf woman. Aside from her iconic pointed ears, green irises, and the faint traces of youthful beauty that still adorned her visage, she looked much like any other elderly woman you might encounter in daily life.

Suddenly aware that he was staring, which is considered rude, Duncan hastily shifted his gaze away, scratching his chin awkwardly as he spoke. “This is the first time I’ve ever seen an elf,” he admitted, without any concern for seeming uninformed. Elves were, after all, a rare sight in the city-state of Pland.

In this era, each major race had its own designated city-state. Given the logistical challenges posed by the Deep Sea Age, the average citizen rarely strayed far from their homeland. Only audacious ocean explorers and trading convoys were the exceptions journeying between the city-states. But even they seldom settled in lands predominantly occupied by races other than their own. In virtually all major city-states, the native race accounted for over 99% of the population.

Given these circumstances, an individual residing in their own city-state who doesn’t engage in extensive travel could easily live an entire lifetime without ever meeting someone from another race—even if that other race had a community just on the opposite side of the city.

“That’s quite normal,” the elderly elf woman said with a chuckle. “I would be surprised if there were more than a hundred elves living in the entire city. This includes the dozen or so who have secluded themselves in the Mathematical Institute without venturing outside for two centuries. Now, how may I assist you today?”

As the elderly elf woman prompted him, Duncan was jolted back to the reason he had initially entered the shop. His eyes darted to the plethora of dolls that adorned the store—from the window displays to the counters and even the spaces leading up the stairs. “I came here to purchase some doll-related items and maybe ask a few questions about them. But honestly, I was a bit overwhelmed when I walked in,” he confessed.

The elf woman nodded sagely, “Ah, it sounds like you’re new to this hobby. Are you interested in female dolls, and is this for your own personal collection or perhaps a gift?”

“Female dolls, and for my own collection,” Duncan replied with an air of nonchalance. But as the words escaped his lips, he felt a strange tingling sensation. He hesitated before asking, “Is this hobby considered odd?” The question made him feel increasingly self-conscious.

“Absolutely not,” the elf woman reassured him without even a flicker of judgment crossing her face. Her composed demeanor was likely born out of centuries of experience in managing her doll shop. “It’s a sophisticated interest. Are you looking for clothes or accessories for your doll?”

Duncan considered briefly. “I think I’ll start with a wig.”

“Right this way,” the elderly elf guided him towards a specific corner of the store. “What’s the scale of your doll? One-fourth? One-third?”

Duncan hesitated before responding, “It’s actually life-sized.”

The elf woman paused mid-step, turning to face him with a surprised look. “That’s highly unusual. A life-sized doll must be an extremely valuable possession, isn’t it?”

“The doll’s monetary value is actually not something I’m certain of,” Duncan admitted, fighting back the awkward sensation that crept up his spine as he maintained a solemn expression. “It was a gift.”

“That makes you the recipient of someone’s generous favor,” the elf woman chuckled, her eyes twinkling. She then proceeded to open an ornate wooden box near a circular counter. “Life-sized dolls are rare, and their accessories even rarer. Here we have wigs and various hair ornaments.”

Duncan cleared his throat as he leaned in to examine the items more closely. “I’m not sure if the giver is generous or not. He’s a ship captain. The situation is a bit complex,” he mumbled.

His gaze fell on the assortment before him. Each wig and ornament was exquisitely crafted and impeccably cared for, mirroring the level of dedication and craftsmanship that had gone into making them.

Carefully, Duncan began visualizing how each piece might look on Alice, the doll in question. However, his thoughts ground to a halt midway through this mental exercise.

The mental image of Alice—a doll imbued with an aura of elegance, beauty, and mysterious enchantment—someday becoming bald and requiring a wig to restore her dignity was too jarring a concept to fully entertain. The sheer incongruity of it was overwhelming, and he was struck by the realization that he was the one who had initially conjured up this peculiar notion.

Regaining his composure, Duncan decided to go all in, guided by a “go big or go home” mentality. His eyes settled on a luxurious golden wig that seemed to exude elegance and sophistication. Accompanying the wig was a set of matching silver hair ornaments, the kind of opulence one would expect to see among the upper echelons of society. Doll accessories, he mused, were clearly not made for the budget-conscious. As he looked at the high-quality wig and ornament set before him, Duncan couldn’t help but ponder how Alice, the doll, would react to such a gift. Would she weep at the revelation, overwhelmed by the existential weight of her “hair loss”? Or perhaps she would flee, unwilling to confront this new reality? Despite the uncertainty surrounding Alice’s hypothetical reaction, Duncan found himself growing increasingly pleased with his choice.

While continuing to peruse the shop, Duncan decided to seize the opportunity to gain some expert advice. “Do you mind if I ask for some guidance on how to maintain a doll?”

“Of course not,” the elderly elf woman replied warmly. “Dolls, especially those of high quality, do demand a certain level of meticulous care.”

“So, what would you recommend if the doll’s joints, particularly at the neck, tend to loosen easily? The ball joint connecting the neck to the head keeps giving way, causing the head to fall off frequently,” Duncan elaborated, using his hands to mimic the motion of a head detaching from a neck.

The elf woman responded with expert precision, “Loose joints could be due to wear and tear or perhaps deformation in the ball-and-socket mechanism. If it’s not because of poor maintenance or rough usage, it might be an issue rooted in the original design or material quality. In cases where the head detaches regularly, mere repair work might not be enough. You might need to consider a full replacement of the joint.”

She paused thoughtfully before adding, “Given that your doll is life-sized, replacing a joint would be a significant undertaking. You might require professional assistance for such a task. If you wish, you could bring the doll here, and we can help with the replacement, charging you only for the parts.”

Duncan was dubious about the practicality of this advice. The situation with Alice was rather complex. Alice wasn’t just any doll; she was an anomaly, labeled as 099. Her physical integrity was just one of many concerns, and he was unsure whether her joints could even be replaced through conventional means. The mere idea of suggesting to her that she undergo a ‘surgical procedure’ to replace her neck joint seemed a surefire way to terrify her into “running away.”

Thus, opting to change the subject, Duncan queried about the techniques involved in implanting new hair into dolls. The elf shop owner patiently explained various methodologies and intricacies involved. After completing her explanation, she noted, “Given that your doll already has her own hair, adding more can be challenging if you’re striving for a seamless look. Unless performed by the original creator, the results may not be ideal. And since you’ve also raised concerns about the head joint, perhaps it would be best to consider commissioning an entirely new head sculpt.”

For a moment, Duncan was rendered speechless. The elderly elf’s advice was well-intended but seemed to open up a new array of complexities he hadn’t even considered. Yet, as he pondered her words, he began to realize just how intricate and demanding the world of doll collecting and maintenance could be—a revelation that left him both intrigued and overwhelmed.

The elf shop owner’s enthusiasm was palpable as she assured Duncan, “From your expression, you seem somewhat hesitant. Please, let me put your mind at ease. Our shop has upheld the highest standards of craftsmanship for centuries, and we’ve never had a customer leave unsatisfied. Not a single long-term client has ever lodged a complaint against us.”

Duncan found himself inwardly amused at the idea. The “long-term clients” the elderly elf referred to had likely passed on ages ago, their bones long since returned to the earth, making them rather incapable of filing complaints. However, he chose to keep that observation to himself and offered an awkward smile, scrambling for an appropriate response. “It’s not that I doubt your skill,” he began cautiously, “It’s just that, if her head gets replaced, then she’s fundamentally altered. She won’t be the same doll anymore, right?”

Duncan’s words were more a spur-of-the-moment reflection than a deliberate argument, but they seemed to elicit a radiant smile from the elderly elf, whose eyes twinkled with what looked like newfound respect. “Ah, your way of thinking is quite mystical, even bordering on the philosophical,” she said warmly. “Many people regard dolls as mere objects, even if they hold some affection for them. It’s rare to find someone who contemplates their existence so deeply.”

Feeling both flattered and a tad embarrassed, Duncan cleared his throat and responded, “Ah, you’re making me blush now…”

“I’m only stating the truth,” the elderly woman said, a sigh accompanying her words as if reflecting upon the long history of her craft. “Dolls, especially those that mimic human form, should not be trivialized as mere objects. They demand care, attention, and even a form of emotional investment. There’s an old saying among dollmakers—that a well-cared-for doll possesses its own soul. One should entertain the possibility that they have feelings, preferences, and aversions of their own.”

As she spoke, Duncan’s mind was flooded with a vivid mental image of Alice’s usual innocent and cheerful “hehe” laughter. Struck by the resonance between the shop owner’s words and his own experiences, he nodded in emphatic agreement. “You’re absolutely right,” he confirmed, feeling an unexpected sense of validation and a deeper connection to the mysterious world of dolls and their keepers.

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