The Gaze of God

"Twelve?" Upon hearing this number, Old Saman's first reaction was: "So many?" Then, he immediately realized the special significance of the number twelve within the Church of Order. The establishment of the Whip of Order consisted of one captain plus twelve squad members; there were twelve Order Knight Orders in total; and throughout the Church of Order, many other things corresponded to this number. "Are you sure?" Old Saman asked. Karen nodded. "Yes, I'm sure." "Fine, I'll design them. I can have it done before noon. Let me use your desk." "All right." Karen picked up *I Forgot You in Spring*, stood up, and ceded the seat. Sitting down, Old Saman took up the fountain pen and mocked himself, "A man about to die, yet still being ordered to work." "It keeps life fulfilling." Old Saman snapped sarcastically, "Gee, thanks." "You're welcome." Karen walked out of the study and sat down on the bench in the courtyard. He leaned back against the head of the bench, right behind which was a flowerbed rich with floral fragrance. He continued reading his book. Before long, Karen noticed an unfamiliar figure walking into the backyard from the shop's front entrance. Lowering the book, Karen looked at her. Shoulder-length blonde hair, a slender figure, and wearing a red corset-dress that gave her an elegant and dignified air. Subconsciously, Karen compared her with Eunice in his mind—the instinct of any creature with a mate. After comparing, he found that his own Eunice had a better figure and an even better demeanor. Noticing Karen's appraising gaze, the woman offered him a warm smile. "Hello, sir. I assume you must be my employer? Dora and Doreen often tell me their older brother is very handsome and keep offering to introduce me, but you always seem so busy that we haven't managed to properly meet." Karen stood up and shook her hand. "Hello, I'm Karen. My apologies, I've been rather busy lately." "You may call me Daishan. I tutor Dora and Doreen in composition, mathematics, and art." "Oh, then you're truly versatile." "Mainly because you offer such a generous salary, Mr. Karen." "I'm confident you're worth it." Daishan headed to Dora and Doreen's room, and Karen sat back down to continue reading. He reached the part where the author suspected his wife of infidelity. This section was written in such an abstract way that Karen felt the author himself must have been deranged at the time. People in such a state were usually paranoid as rats, conjuring up countless scenes that never existed in reality. The depiction of murdering his wife was somewhat chaotic. It started with a morning quarrel: the author asked his wife where the milk was, and she answered that it was at the door and hadn't been brought inside yet. Then she added: *Don't you have hands to bring it in yourself?* Following that sentence came the author's disjointed description. The phrasing grew terribly awkward, and the logical thread shattered into pieces. One moment he grabbed a knife, the next an axe, then a metal trophy, until in the end no one could tell what the real murder weapon was. Yet all the chaos abruptly ceased the moment that one sentence appeared: "She died." After that sentence, the author's prose instantly became exceptionally rigorous, and the narrative logic surged to an exceedingly high standard. Next, he began disposing of the corpse, followed by handling inquiries after his wife's "disappearance" and sparring with the police. Karen rubbed his eyes. The book wasn't thick, and the story was rather brief. If one stripped away all the cumbersome, hysterical adjectives crowding the first half, it could have been even thinner. To publishers, however, the madness in the first half was precisely what drew readers in, so nearly all of it had been kept. Indeed, while the subsequent disposal of the corpse was written with great precision, it was far less gripping to read. Karen began flipping through the pages until he reached the end. The final volume consisted of essays unrelated to his wife. Nor was there the slightest remorse; instead, he praised dandelions. Karen closed the book. Unnoticed, the sun had already risen high in the sky. Walking into the kitchen, he saw Xili preparing lunch. Karen picked up an apron, tied it around his waist, and said, "Let me make lunch." He casually picked up a kitchen knife, weighed it in his hand, and smiled. ... "Sigh..." Old Saman finished the blueprints. Ten drawings in total, all completed, divided into two parts: coffin manufacturing and array arrangement. This was even after he had simplified many details, knowing full well that the expert beside Karen who helped run the refrigerator could understand the omitted details without needing tedious explanations. Alfred pushed open the study door and entered, picking up the coffee pot to refill Old Saman's cup. Pointing at the blueprints on the desk, Old Saman said, "That's all of them. Gather them up." "Understood. Thank you for your hard work." Alfred carefully collected the blueprints. Picking up the fresh coffee, Old Saman took a sip and said, "Show me that notebook of yours again." "I can read it to you, but I cannot show it to you." "What's the catch?" "What I read to you is what you are permitted to hear. What you aren't, I omitted." "Heh, isn't something written down meant to be read?" "Yes, you are quite right, but it depends on who reads it." "I can't read it?" "You cannot." "Why not?" "Because you are still alive." "Meaning I can read it after I die?" "Yes." "Tsk... that makes no sense." "It makes complete sense." "Are you going to bury that notebook with me as a funerary object?" "That would be no problem." "You'd part with it?" "I have transcribed over twenty copies. Gifting you one as a burial item is nothing." "I'm really curious: how could someone like you be willing to serve as another person's manservant?" "Aren't we all servants of God?" "That's not the same." "There is no difference. The Young Master would never make me die, whereas the God Pamires demands your death tonight." "It wasn't God's demand—it was my own demand of myself!" Old Saman raised his voice. "God is very busy—so busy that He never speaks to actively demand we do anything. Yet our every word and deed caters to God's standard." "You know, a while back, I thought you were mad." "I happen to have a recorded quote here very similar to what you just said, which I haven't had the chance to read to you yet." "Oh? What is it?" "When others laugh at me for being a madman, I laugh back at them for never seeing clearly at all." "Are you... mocking me?" "People of different faiths invariably view one another as hopeless madmen." "Why does your tone sound a bit different today?" "Is it different? I have always addressed you with honorifics." "Heh, I see. Knowing I'm going to die tonight and realizing proselytizing is hopeless, you can't even be bothered to flatter me sincerely anymore." Alfred smiled without answering. "What is that kid Karen doing right now?" "The Young Master is in the kitchen." "I'll go find him." Old Saman stood up, stretching his limbs as he walked out of the study. Alfred held the blueprints to his chest and muttered to himself, "Who keeps feeding bait to a fish already hooked?" Pushing open the door, he entered the bedroom and walked to the alcove. Kevin was sprawled there, catching up on sleep. Lately, the dog had been so busy running the refrigerator and crafting formation beads that his paws barely touched the ground. After Karen got up this morning, he had gone to replace the energy crystals in the refrigerator, and now he was catching up on rest in his bed in the alcove. Seeing Alfred arrive, Kevin had no choice but to open his eyes resignedly. "Take a look at these." Alfred spread the blueprints before Kevin. Kevin placed a paw on them and tossed his head at Alfred. Alfred immediately opened the small cabinet in the alcove and took out a pair of spectacles to place on the golden retriever. Alfred, who upon seeing Karen eat with bamboo chopsticks had immediately ordered ten pairs of silver chopsticks, naturally had long since ordered a pair of gold-rimmed glasses for the golden retriever from an optician. Kevin nodded his canine head repeatedly as he examined the blueprints. "Woof." "I think so too. His craftsmanship is truly remarkable." "Woof." "Yes, of course I know this isn't your field of expertise, but with your vision and experience, you can quickly figure it out. Besides, we have the blueprints right here." "Woof." "The number twelve was personally set by the Young Master." "Woof." "This isn't the first time such a coincidence has occurred." Alfred took a newspaper from his coat. It was today's freshly delivered copy of *Order Weekly*, which Karen hadn't yet had time to read. The upper half of the front page reported that at noon yesterday, the Church of Order officially declared war on the Church of Samsara. The lower half stated that on the morning of yesterday, the Church of Samsara submitted an instrument of surrender to the Church of Order. "Look here." Alfred pointed to the smaller bold text beneath the bold headline announcing the war: "'Because the existence of the Church of Samsara disrupts the inherent order between life and death, our Church of Order declares war upon Samsara!' "When the Young Master returned last time, he recounted to me what happened back then and mentioned this exact sentence he spoke. The Young Master has always believed that this sentence exists in the *Light of Order*, that he read it in the book and remembered it from that impression. "Yet in truth, the *Light of Order* barely mentions the relationship between the God of Order and the God of Samsara, nor does any record exist of the God of Order ever speaking such words. I surmise the relationship between the two gods wasn't particularly good." Kevin nodded. "So, words that never existed in the *Light of Order* were spoken by the Young Master—and in the divine decree declaring war, the Church of Order cited them as the overt casus belli." "Woof?" "When the divine decree was proclaimed, the Young Master was listening right there in the conference hall. Hearing that justification probably made him even more convinced he had read it in the *Light of Order*." "Woof." "I know. I'll tell the Young Master after the funeral is over." "Woof, woof?" "Impossible, utterly impossible. The Young Master could never be the Holy Child of Order—otherwise, why would Master Diss scold his own daughter-in-law every day, and why would the Young Master curse himself every couple of days?" "Woof." "I am more inclined to believe that because the Young Master chose the path of Order, when a truly magnificent being walks upon this path, unique flowers belonging only to him will bloom along both sides of the road." "Woof, woof." "In fact, at the very beginning, I took the Young Master to be you. I thought he was an evil god, which was why I decided to follow him. But gradually, I realized that before the Young Master, an evil god is merely a dog." "..." Kevin. "My apologies, no offense meant. What I mean is, an evil god could inspire me to follow and serve, but the Young Master can inspire me to genuinely comprehend his every word and deed. That is something you cannot do." "Woof." "All right, keep examining the blueprints. Have Purr help you make a list of required materials, and I'll purchase them on the black market. Let's strive to craft all twelve coffins in the shortest possible time." "Woof?" "Where to put them? This funeral parlor doesn't seem large enough, and digging another basement underneath would be too massive an undertaking. Above all, there are too many factions in York City; an array of this scale actively running would be far too conspicuous. "How about placing them at Allen Manor? As I recall, isn't there an auditorium there? That would be just right." Kevin nodded his head and raised a paw. Alfred lifted his hand and high-fived the dog's paw. ... Lunchtime arrived. Karen prepared a full spread of dishes, including several hearty specialties. Old Saman, who hadn't intended to eat lunch, simply happened to pass by the dining room door. After taking a few steps past, he backed up, stopped, and stared wide-eyed at the sumptuous meal on the table. Only now did he realize that the hot-oil noodles, dumplings, and hot pot the kid used to make for him had mostly just been casual make-dos to placate him. "Has their portion been sent over?" Karen asked Xili. "It's been sent, Young Master. I'll be eating over there too." The cooked food was divided into four portions. One portion was sent to Dora, Doreen, their mother, and their tutor, where Xili would also eat; one was given to Purr and Kevin; one was for Pike and Dinkum. The remaining portion was laid out on the table. Alfred came in, washed his hands, and sat down. Karen also took a seat. Both dished up rice, took up chopsticks, and began eating. Oh, and beside them sat another bowl filled with rice, with chopsticks stuck upright into it at Karen's request. "Hmph... ahem!" Old Saman cleared his throat at the doorway. Karen and Alfred continued eating, acting as if they heard nothing. "Ahem, cough, cough!" Karen looked toward the door with a smile, pointed at the bowl of rice with the upright chopsticks, and said, "Come in and eat. This bowl was prepared for you all along." Old Saman came in and sat down at the table, his expression turning somewhat sullen as he looked at the feast. "You did this on purpose!" "The food is always better than usual when there's business. It's custom," Alfred explained. Karen told Old Saman, "Eat up. Your body hasn't undergone embalming anyway. Not long after lying in the coffin, you'll soil the inside regardless, so adding this food won't make a difference." "Oh, true enough." Having finally found an excuse to persuade himself, Old Saman picked up his chopsticks and began eating. By the time Karen and Alfred finished and laid down their chopsticks, Old Saman was still refilling his bowl and battling on. "If you kid had made me such lavish spreads earlier, I might have given you some more good stuff. You lost out, you really lost out." "What else of value could you possibly have at home?" "Not at my home. In a sealed space." "A sealed space?" Puzzlement flickered in Karen's eyes. "A sealed space belonging to the Church of Order?" "Aye." "You wanted to break into it?" "Heh heh, just thought about it, but never acted on it." Karen had once entered a sealed space through another Rax copper coin using the mask his grandfather gave him, so he knew how dangerous that place was. Old Saman got up to ladle soup, but Alfred took his bowl and did it for him. While waiting for the soup, Old Saman added: "Your captain has a secret." "I know." "You know?" "Yes." "You know everything?" "Presumably so." "Including why he came to the cemetery every day recently?" "He came to keep an eye on you, stopping by Elisa's tombstone to rest." "Heh..." Old Saman offered a meaningful smile, deliberately ensuring Karen saw it clearly. "What else do you know?" "Never mind. I'm about to die anyway, so I won't talk too much—wouldn't want to die in unrest." "I don't like playing riddles." "He might have already told you, or he might not have yet. But after all, it's not my place to blab, is it? Besides, I can at least see that he won't do anything to harm you. At crucial moments, your captain is still dependable." "You can share what you know." "I won't. Unless you Awaken me after I die. But alas, my realm is quite high; you wouldn't be able to Awaken me. Hahaha." "Heh heh." After lunch, Old Saman had Mrs. Lake touch up his makeup. Because her husband was an Inquisitor, Mrs. Lake clearly had a greater tolerance for such people and events, treating it purely as routine work. Once everything was ready, at a quarter to two in the afternoon, Old Saman lay down inside the coffin in the center of the mourning hall. The memorial service officially commenced. More mourners came than Karen had anticipated. Many were neighbors living beside the cemetery. Both the Wienese and Ruilanese shared a similar habit of not viewing cemeteries as gloomy or eerie, but rather enjoying strolls through them like parks. Consequently, over all these years, Old Saman had accumulated quite a bit of goodwill. Yet while many came to pay their respects, virtually none offered condolence money; clearly, their connection only went as far as taking a final look. Derius did not appear again. The Captain, however, arrived halfway through and handed a small pouch to Karen, filled with Order coupons, not forgetting to inform Karen that he had already deducted the point coupons owed to him. This marked the complete forfeiture of Karen's medical fees. After paying respects to Old Saman lying in the coffin, the Captain took his leave. The memorial service concluded at dusk. With all the guests gone, Old Saman was able to get up from the coffin. Having completely let go of all inhibitions, he even joined them for dinner. After dinner, Old Saman lay back down into the coffin, and Pike and Dinkum carried it onto the hearse together. Karen took the wheel himself, starting the hearse and driving toward Ivy Cemetery, where Old Saman had already dug his own burial chamber in advance. As the hearse drove on, Old Saman, feeling rather bored lying in the coffin, noticed Alfred writing something in that notebook of his again. Curious, he asked, "Transcribing something new again?" Alfred shook his head. "Enriching the lore of God is what any believer ought to do, is it not?" "You're so devout, but the God you believe in might not even see it, you know." Looking at Old Saman, Alfred said with utmost seriousness, "Yet I can assure you that the gaze of God has long fallen upon you, and it has already determined your destiny." "Sure, sure. You're quite the charlatan." Old Saman yawned. He continued, "Ah... I'm sleepy. How nice. In just a little while, I'll be sleeping forever." "Yes, how nice," Alfred echoed, closing the notebook. On the newest page of the notebook, he had just written a few numbers and symbols: [ 2/12 ]