"Perhaps we are very young;
"Perhaps we are very small;
"Perhaps, in the eyes of adults, we are still merely children, and will only ever be treated as children.
"However!
"A mind full of self-interest does not mean maturity!
"When we gather together, united as one, we are small no longer!
"Adults will eventually grow old. With all their decay, their selfishness, and their cruelty toward nature, they will be swept into the dustbin together!
"And we—
"We shall ultimately become the masters of this city, and indeed, of this entire world!"
"Delice! Delice! Delice!"
"Delice! Delice! Delice!"
The young students cheered in unison, their youthful faces flushed with excitement in the freezing wind.
Delice took two steps backward and bowed deeply with profound emotion.
Then, amidst the unabated roars of her supporters, flanked and shielded by two bodyguards, she left the podium.
Passing behind the backstage curtains, she stepped into a black Diksa—a car famous for its immense power and large displacement.
A female bodyguard brought over a brown fox fur coat and draped it over her.
"Are you cold?"
Delice shook her head, glancing indifferently at the fur on her shoulders. "Get a different one."
"Understood, Miss."
The bodyguard brought a white fox fur coat instead, adding, "Mr. Oca is hosting a banquet for Mr. Ford. He instructed that you make an appearance once the event here wraps up."
"Mr. Ford?"
"The candidate running for mayor of Rojia City. Mr. Oca thinks very highly of him and hopes to help him unseat the incumbent mayor."
"All right."
"You may sleep for a little while now. I'll wake you when we arrive."
Delice closed her eyes.
Twenty minutes later, the black Diksa pulled into the underground parking lot of the Rojia Splendor Grand Hotel. Awakened by her bodyguard, Delice got out and stepped into the elevator.
A moment later, she walked into a private VIP room on the thirteenth floor.
"Well, look who's here—our angel has arrived!"
The pot-bellied Mr. Oca raised his wineglass and addressed the others around the table: "Come, let us drink a toast to our environmental angel!"
"Cheers!"
"Cheers!"
There were not many people seated at the table; counting Mr. Oca, there were only five.
One was the mayoral candidate, Ford.
Another was Hummel, the chief editor of the *Rojia Daily*.
Another was Haggett, a veteran city councilor of Rojia City.
And the last was Mr. Morf.
Mr. Morf was the head of the Morf Syndicate, an enterprise that had risen from Rojia and now wielded formidable influence across all of Ruilan. Today, the cigarette that smokers in Rojia City were most accustomed to and fond of was Morf cigarettes. Furthermore, the Morf family had invested heavily in the healthcare industry, owning a well-known chain of hospitals across Ruilan as well as several private hospitals under different names throughout Rojia City with the same controlling interest.
"It is a pleasure to meet everyone."
Delice greeted the distinguished guests. Her expression was sweet and gentle, making her look like a well-behaved schoolgirl, completely devoid of the fierce conviction she had shown before her supporters on the street.
Mr. Oca waved a hand and said, "Delice is exhausted. Go rest for a bit."
Delice walked into the adjoining lounge, which offered tea, refreshments, and a cozy bed.
Inside stood a man clad in red robes, his face covered by a pure white mask.
Delice took off her coat, threw herself onto the bed, and spread her arms wide.
The man sat down beside her, placed his fingers against her temples, and began to massage them gently.
"Tiring, isn't it?"
Delice gave a soft murmur. "Mm."
"I know you dislike such exhaustion, but the Berry religion requires your dedication, and the God of Nature needs your devotion as well."
"Mm..."
"I don't particularly enjoy talking to the lot sitting outside either, yet the church's growth happens to depend on them."
Delice cracked her eyes open, a faint smile gracing her lips. "I know."
...
Back at the dining table, Councilman Haggett spoke up: "Today's march stormed the thermal power plant, leaving the eastern district without power for half the afternoon. That sort of thing could easily stir up public backlash."
Mr. Oca waved dismissively. "It couldn't be helped. Young kids are the easiest to incite, but they're often the hardest to control. Cheap tools always come with flaws, don't they? Besides, I've already heard about it; it was just a bunch of overly excited kids getting carried away. Chief Editor Hummel, we'll need your newspaper's help to keep a lid on it."
Hummel, chief editor of the *Rojia Daily*, chuckled. "No problem. The power outage in the eastern district won't receive major coverage. What's more, I intend to follow the narrative we've already laid out regarding the city's aging infrastructure. We'll steer public opinion so the residents in the eastern district believe the blackout was caused by poor maintenance and negligence of the power grid, putting the blame squarely on the old mayor."
Mr. Morf spoke up as well: "I'll personally touch base with the other newspapers and radio stations in Rojia City. Considering the advertising money we spend with them each year, I doubt they'll be so foolish as to step out of line."
"Splendid, isn't it?" Mr. Oca patted his round belly and turned to the mayoral candidate. "Ford, look around you. The entirety of Rojia City is backing you. What possible reason could you have not to win?"
Ford nodded vigorously, though a trace of hesitation lingered in his voice. "The old mayor still enjoys immense support in the industrial district. He began as a district councilor elected from there and worked his way up step-by-step to the mayor's seat. The workers and their families have always been his ironclad voting bloc. In past elections, they didn't even bother tallying the industrial district's ballots—they just credited them straight to him."
"Mr. Ford, you needn't worry about that. We have our ways. The wheels of history are turning, and those stubborn old relics and their tiresome rust are doomed to be crushed beneath them. As for dealing with the old mayor's ironclad base, we've already devised a foolproof plan.
"First, starting the day after tomorrow, students from several universities and vocational colleges across Rojia City will be mobilized for an environmental march. Their destination will be City Hall and other major government buildings. According to our plan, they will surround the area and stage a sit-in, temporarily paralyzing the municipal government's operations."
Hearing this, Ford interjected, "I acknowledge Delice's influence, but university students aren't middle schoolers. Mobilizing them won't be that simple."
"Difficult? I don't think so. I've already signed private agreements with the student union leaders at those universities. As long as they contribute their efforts to the environmental cause, several prestigious universities in Wien will grant them direct admission for advanced studies based on that stellar, glowing credential. Universities in Wien, Ford! For students in Rojia—no, for students across all of Ruilan—that is an irresistible temptation."
"And then?" Ford pressed. "If that's all, I don't believe it will be enough."
"That is merely the first step—a warm-up, really. The municipal court is about to hear the lawsuit filed by workers suffering from pneumoconiosis against the factories. Barring any surprises, they will lose the case. We have already contacted them, and not just them, but another ten workers who were crippled or injured on the job. Once they lose in court, they will be united to launch a fresh wave of protests. Mr. Morf has already greased the wheels with several key labor union leaders."
Ford glanced at Morf, who nodded in confirmation.
Yet Ford said, "Still, the old mayor commands great prestige in the industrial district. They won't direct their anger straight at him, and any protest will likely be quelled as soon as the old mayor steps forward."
"Naturally, I am well aware of that. I have great faith in the old mayor's abilities—otherwise, how could he have made this campaign so difficult for our dear Mr. Ford? Therefore, at an opportune moment—say, after the old mayor makes promises to the workers and persuades them to disperse—one of the protesting workers and his family, heartbroken and overwhelmed by grief and fury that justice cannot be served, will choose to commit suicide."
"This..." Ford froze. "Would they really?"
A flicker of disdain and contempt showed in the depths of Oca's eyes.
Still, it was precisely because Ford was so easily controlled that they had chosen him. If the man had been overly shrewd, the rest of them sitting here would be the ones worrying.
"They will be willing. Chief Editor Hummel and I have already selected the household. In the family we chose, the husband is disabled; he will drink poison. His mother will hang herself. His wife, carrying their child, will jump from a building. Chief Editor Hummel believes that only a tragedy of this magnitude can fully ignite the public's fury. We will select a funeral parlor to host a grand funeral for this poor family, turning that funeral into the spark that detonates the storm!"
Chief Editor Hummel chimed in with a reminder: "The funeral parlor cannot be too large or overly luxurious, or it will backfire. A mid-sized parlor will do just fine. It will also make it easier and more natural for reporters framing their shots."
"Right, right, very astute of you. In any case, once the funeral begins, every shred of public emotion will be set ablaze! As the original champion of the industrial district, the old mayor will bear the brunt of the outrage and become the person most reviled by his former voters. Once this affair is trumpeted across the newspapers, radio broadcasts, and flyers, it will reignite the students' passion. Having done it once, they will mobilize on an even larger scale. The righteous fire burning in their chests will help us stoke the political furnace of Rojia until it turns white-hot. At that point, Mr. Haggett will rally a group of city councilors to back you, and you will step into the old mayor's shoes to calm the demonstrations. Under those circumstances, I believe we won't even need an election—the old mayor will likely buckle under the weight and resign early."
*By then,* Oca thought to himself, *even if we ran a pig against him, the pig would win.*
"Oh, right. Mr. Morf will be providing food and water for several protest contingents, as well as reimbursing the costs of banners, uniforms, and props. Here, we must once again thank the great and generous Mr. Morf."
"A toast to Mr. Morf!"
"To Mr. Morf!"
Ford stood up and raised his glass to Morf. "Thank you for your support."
Morf did not drink right away. Instead, he said, "Regarding Rojia City's tobacco regulations and the medical device bill..."
"Rest assured on that front," Ford pledged solemnly. "Smokers have the freedom to choose, and the healthcare sector ought to enjoy full, open competition. I have always firmly believed that."
"Good." Morf clinked his glass against Ford's.
Finally, Oca stood up, his fat belly bumping against the table and making it wobble. "To our new mayor, Ford—cheers!"
"Cheers!"
"Cheers!"
When the banquet ended, everyone took their leave, leaving Oca sitting alone at the table.
The red-robed, masked man stepped out of the lounge and remarked, "What a gathering of filthy creatures."
Oca chuckled. Pointing to his own face, then at the empty chairs, he said, "Yet in the eyes of the world, we represent the light."
"A pity the Church of Light perished long ago, or they surely would have recruited you."
In myth and legend, the God of Light had once 'awakened' the God of Order. For a church's true deity to be embedded into the mythological narrative of another great church was testament enough to how colossal the Church of Light's power had once been. Yet a thousand years ago, the Church of Light had suffered a devastating blow in a great catastrophe, ultimately withering into extinction under the deliberate suppression and encroachment of the other major churches. That catastrophe was said to have been connected to the 'descent of an evil god.'
Oca patted his stomach and quipped, "The light endures forever—it simply turned into banknotes."
With that, Oca stood up and instructed the red-robed masked man, "When the time comes, making sure that chosen family takes their lives peacefully will require your touch, Priest Alotta."
"I am certain you are fully capable of hiring assassins for the job."
"No, no, no. The Berry religion reveres nature. I believe that only if a priest of the Berry faith brings about the deed with his own hands will everything appear truly natural."
"Understood."
"My thanks. I trust that as long as we continue our sincere cooperation, the ban on the Berry religion preaching in Wien will be lifted before long."
"I trust Mr. Oca will keep his word."
Hearing this, Oca placed both hands over his chest. "Praise nature."
Priest Alotta turned to leave, but Oca stepped forward and asked, "I hear you are about to meet an esteemed guest shortly. Would you be so kind as to introduce me?"
"He is not a follower of mine; his wife was."
"Makes no difference to me. I only need an introduction."
"Very well."
...
In the reception parlor.
"This way, sir."
"All right, thank you."
Piaget walked into the parlor. The red-robed, masked Alotta, who had been seated inside, rose to greet him: "Praise nature. It is the God of Nature who has brought us together, Mr. Adams."
"Greetings. You may call me Piaget, Father."
"Very well."
"Oh, good heavens, Mr. Adams—no, Piaget, my dear friend! I never expected to meet you here!" Mr. Oca strode inside.
This man was the son of Ruilan's Minister of Energy and Industrial Development!
"Hello. Do we know each other?" Piaget asked, puzzled.
"I was acquainted with your wife. Both she and I are followers of the Berry faith; we share the same devotion to praising nature. Why didn't your wife come along today?"
"My wife passed away over a month ago."
"..." Oca.
Priest Alotta folded his hands over his chest and said solemnly, "She has returned to the embrace of nature."
Thanks to that awkward opening, Mr. Oca was forced to sit quietly to the side for a long while, listening obediently to Piaget and Alotta converse without daring to interject.
Once their conversation concluded and Piaget prepared to leave, Oca stood up. "Mr. Piaget, shall I have my driver see you home?"
"No need. I drove myself."
"Is that so? How wonderful. Oh, right, Mr. Piaget, where is your wife's grave? I would like to pay my respects."
"At Oak Cemetery in the eastern district."
"I see. And how was the funeral? Did everything go smoothly? My apologies—I never received word, so I was unable to attend. What a pity."
Piaget looked at Oca and said, "Followers of the Berry faith believe in keeping funerals as simple as possible."
"..." Oca.
The brief embarrassment was quickly overcome by the thick fat on Mr. Oca's face. He hurried to cover: "Naturally, I know that. What I meant was, I have an uncle living in Rojia City who is currently on his deathbed. I wanted to ask whether you know of a funeral parlor here that offers reputable, proper service. Having grown up showered with my uncle's affection, I wish to give him a dignified send-off."
"Your uncle hasn't passed away yet?"
"Er... soon. You see, according to our Wien customs, certain preparations can be made in advance. It brings the dying person greater peace of mind before their departure."
"Ah, I see. I hope your uncle pulls through and recovers."
"Thank you, thank you."
"As for funeral parlors, I know of a very good one, though it might not suit someone of your stature, Mr. Oca."
"No, no, my uncle is a humble man at heart, practically half a follower of the Berry faith himself. What is the name of this parlor?"
"Inmeles Funeral Parlor, on Mink Street."
...
"May the merciful Lord receive her into the Heavenly Kingdom, where there is no illness, no calamity, and no suffering. May the Lord's light shine upon her forever, and upon us all."
Clad in priestly vestments, Diss led the gathered relatives and friends in prayer.
Then, Paul and Ron took up shovels and began filling dirt into the grave where the coffin had been lowered. Afterward, fresh flowers would be planted around the headstone.
The little girl's mother walked up to Aunt Mary and said gratefully, "Thank you, thank you so much."
The girl's father walked over to Uncle Mason and bowed deeply to him.
It had been a very meticulous, flawless funeral.
Having attended other funerals before, they could clearly tell how much genuine care had been put into this one—especially considering the price. This was the only way the couple could express their gratitude.
Furthermore, there was that boy named Lunt. While greeting guests at the memorial service, he had stood beside them bowing the entire day, and earlier, when scattering salt over the deceased, he had wept inconsolably.
What a kind-hearted boy.
Aunt Mary and Uncle Mason gently comforted the grieving parents, while Karen helped Diss pack up their belongings.
Just then, a man dressed in a black suit approached and asked, "Excuse me, is this the Inmeles Funeral Parlor?"
Diss pointed toward Karen, then walked away clutching his scripture book.
As a rule, Grandfather did not handle business operations or management.
Karen offered a warm smile. "Yes, it is. How can I help you?"
Walk-in inquiries like this always put one at ease—far better than sitting on a bench outside a hospital operating room, and certainly much safer.
"I'd like to ask about your service menu."
"Of course. Here are our brochure and price list." Karen pulled them from his bag, handed them over, and asked, "Whose funeral will this be for?"
"It'll be a few more days yet."
"Ah. Hopefully our services won't be needed."
Waiting a few more days implied a relative in critical condition, so Karen gave the customary polite response.
"No, they will be," the man replied, then asked, "By the way, can your parlor handle multiple people at once?"
"Could you be more specific?"
"Like when an entire family dies in a car accident and has a joint funeral service. Has your parlor ever hosted something like that?"
"We have."
In truth, Karen had no idea.
"Good, that's what I needed to know. I'd like to reserve a tentative window of time. Is that possible?"
*An entire family? A tentative date? Reserving a window?*
"Yes," Karen replied, "though it will require a deposit."
"That's fine. Money is no issue; what we care about is the service. Today is the ninth. We want to reserve the four days from the fourteenth to the seventeenth. Can you do that? During those four days, I don't want your parlor taking any other arrangements. Just name your price for the deposit."
"No problem," Karen agreed.
The parlor had nothing scheduled for those four days anyway.
"Good. Let's sign the agreement shortly."
"Certainly. Though I must admit, I'm quite curious—a funeral for an entire family... have they already passed away?"
If they were critically ill, how could an entire family fall fatally ill at the very same time?
The man shrugged, smiled, and said:
"They are a very close family."
Chapter 33