The God-Creation Project!

The address "Senior" caught Gaspol slightly off guard, and then the corner of her mouth curved into a faint smile. Yes, she was smiling. She tried to suppress it, but failed, and instead let out a chuckle: "Hehehe..." Beside them, Mavaglio's eyes went wide. From the moment his fiancée had moved into his house until now, this was the very first time he had seen her smile. How could an aloof Holy Child ever truly understand factional struggles? From the day he received the inheritance of that "esteemed master," his status had been absolutely transcendent, like a statue standing in a civic square. Not having to participate in the game of power meant comfort and safety, but at the same time, it meant losing the qualification to compete for the game's prizes. Everyone else, however, was a competitor in this game. Gaspol had climbed up to this position step by step through her own hard work, so there were things she could never give up—at least, not willingly. Yet when she learned that she was to take over as Regional Chief of the Yorktown Region, her pressure was actually vastly greater than Karen's. She knew very well what Yorktown Region's current situation was like. Who could have imagined that the region which fired the very first shot in the Whip of Order's resurgence and seizure of power had now become a model region of harmonious cooperation between the Whip of Order and the Regional Administrative Office? Head Bishop Bern was no pushover like his predecessor, Wolflen. Gaspol knew Bern's methods and competence, and he shared a clear, explicit alliance with Karen. As an outsider parachuted in from above, if she didn't want to become a puppet on strings or a rubber-stamp machine, she would have to resort to political infighting to gradually expand and strengthen her power. Yet the difficulty was immense—so immense that over these past days, even someone as resilient as she believed herself to be had begun to waver. First, the probability of winning was too low, and the cost was too high. Second, once she lost... her political career would be over, and she would end up banished to some desolate department to warm a bench. In this vast church, across a system of thousands of branches and ten thousand twigs, countless people rose and fell every day. So many dreamed of climbing higher and higher, forgetting that the higher up one went, the sparser the branches became, and the vast majority plummeted along the way. Therefore, Karen's address of "Senior" could truly be called heavenly music. It signaled Karen's willingness to cooperate. He could grant her the respect due a superior and cede a portion of authority to her—provided, of course, that she also respected his factional interests. This was the best possible outcome. Moving forward, as long as she recommended him to the society and stamped him with the seal of the Academic Faction, then from the faction's perspective, her tenure would already be a success. Karen observed Gaspol's expressions and reactions. At this point, it was safe to say he had succeeded; she had no intention of inciting an all-out power struggle. This approach had actually been suggested to him by Sus. That was bureaucrats for you—their pious faith might not be so high, or might have even decayed a bit, but they were without question the people who understood the rules most thoroughly. "Karen, you've enrolled?" Gaspol dispensed with official titles as well. Karen smiled and nodded. "Yes. After getting involved in work, I gradually discovered many areas where I was lacking, so I applied for enrollment on an in-service basis, hoping to use this method to raise my competence." "I greatly appreciate your attitude toward work and study. I enrolled earlier than you, but I still know quite a few professors and deans at the school, and many of my former classmates stayed on as instructors. In the future, when you plan to attend classes, you can let me know in advance. I'll accompany you and introduce you to some friends." "That couldn't be better. Thank you very much, Senior." A tacit understanding of cooperation was thus reached. It seemed Mavaglio had exaggerated; his fiancée wasn't so difficult to deal with after all. "Please sit, Karen." "All right, Senior." "Just call me by my name. We're not at school, after all." "Understood, my Lord." As Karen sat down, he asked, "My Lord, what would you like to drink?" "Coffee is fine," Gaspol answered reflexively. "I'll have ice water," Karen said. Then he looked up at Mavaglio standing beside them and asked, "What are you still standing there for?" "Oh, right." His head buzzing, Mavaglio went into the kitchen to brew coffee and get ice cubes. Only when he carried the tray out did it suddenly hit him: *I'm the master of this house, aren't I?!* Still, since he had brought it all over, Mavaglio placed both cups on the coffee table. Gaspol asked Karen, "Are you on good terms with my fiancé?" "Yes. Mavaglio is a good friend of mine, something of a confidant." Hearing Karen's answer, Mavaglio felt a twinge of genuine emotion. Gaspol remarked, "How nice. He probably doesn't have many friends. Having a friend like you means he won't be lonely." Mavaglio looked at Gaspol and said, "You make it sound as if you have plenty of friends yourself." Karen chimed in, "We belong to the Whip of Order. The nature of our work dictates that we can't have many friends. If we did have many friends, it would actually be a dereliction of duty." Mavaglio: "..." Hearing this explanation, Gaspol lowered her head and took a sip of her coffee. Previously, her only interaction with Karen had been in the tribunal. At the time, Karen gave her the impression of someone young yet exceptionally unyielding. Because both of them belonged to the Whip of Order camp back then, she held a favorable impression of him—one unrelated to romantic interest, purely a high degree of respect for his competence. This was her first private meeting with Karen. How to put it? She felt very comfortable. In fact, Sus had felt the exact same way. Being Karen's superior was definitely comfortable—provided one didn't mind losing years off one's life and being demoted. "I've already arranged for someone to come by this afternoon to ask about your preferences for your office and living arrangements. I thought you might feel that assuming duties prematurely would look bad, but having certain things prepared in advance will make it easier for you to carry out your work once you officially take office." "Yes, you're very thoughtful. Thank you." "It's only what I should do." Karen looked up at the time and asked, "Do you have time right now?" "Is there something you have in mind?" "If you wish, I can arrange afternoon tea for you and Head Bishop Bern right away. Of course, if you'd like to receive some department heads and directors now, I can arrange that immediately as well." "Do you have an appointment with Head Bishop Bern?" "No appointment is needed." "Oh, all right. It seems your relationship with Head Bishop Bern really is very good." "He's an elder, and he has always looked after me." After sitting a while longer, Karen stood up and placed a call to the Head Bishop's office. Once he hung up, Karen said to Gaspol, "The Head Bishop has extended an invitation to you." "Then let's pay him a visit." Gaspol stood up, preparing to leave with Karen. Mavaglio blinked and pointed at himself. "Um... can I come?" "What would you go for?" Gaspol replied crisply. "Your department is independent." She was going to build good relations beforehand. If she brought her Holy Child fiancé along, the Head Bishop would have to salute him and address him as 'my Lord' before even having tea—wouldn't that look like a show of force? "Fine." Mavaglio shrugged. He didn't actually want to go that much anyway. Yet watching Karen leave with his fiancée, the Holy Child rubbed his chin. He suddenly felt that things weren't developing quite right. Had the outside reinforcement he called in just defected to the enemy? ... Once inside the car, Karen started the engine. He rarely drove himself these days, but for an initial private encounter like this, having a subordinate drive would be inappropriate and make speaking freely inconvenient. After all, today's interaction would certainly influence the direction of their future working dynamic. Gaspol didn't sit in the back; she took the front passenger seat. Outside, a light drizzle was falling, and the sky was overcast. "Yorktown's weather is awful. When my transfer notice came down, my former colleagues all sympathized with me, saying I was coming to experience *The Gloomy World*." *The Gloomy World* was a novel set against the backdrop of a bankrupt merchant's family in Yorktown. Told from the perspective of the female protagonist, the merchant's daughter, it chronicled the family's decline in an atmosphere that was deeply oppressive, even bleak. "It is precisely because bad weather is so frequent that the citizens of Yorktown appreciate bright sunshine more than people elsewhere." "Heh, yes. Karen..." "Please, go ahead." "I never imagined before that we would work together." "I only hope you won't be misled by some of the rumors about me circulating outside. In reality, I'm someone who strictly follows the rules. You should be familiar with my current situation." "Your situation isn't an issue. You're still young." "Thank you. Perhaps I should take advantage of my youth to accomplish more achievements now. Furthermore, so are you—for the position of Regional Chief, you are undoubtedly young as well." "Mhm. I believe our cooperation will be very pleasant." "I think so too. When I learned you were coming, I began looking forward to carrying out my work under your leadership." Gaspol gently rubbed her fingertips together and said, "There are some things I probably shouldn't say to you." "If you wish to confide, I'm all ears. Haha," Karen smiled. "I hear this mode is very popular in the Dinge Region." Karen knew Gaspol was also intentionally extending goodwill. The easiest way to bridge the distance between two strangers was to share some personal secrets from one's private life. Barring any surprises, Karen guessed she was about to bring up her marriage to Mavaglio. "When the higher-ups arranged for me to be engaged to Holy Child Mavaglio, I was stunned—far more than when I learned I was coming to the Yorktown Region to serve as Regional Chief." "That's completely normal. It's precisely because the higher-ups trust you that they entrusted you with such a mission." Karen didn't criticize the marriage from the standpoint of marital freedom. He knew very well that just as Mavaglio hated how being a Holy Child left him with no family and no friends yet would never renounce the status, Gaspol detested this religious arranged marriage yet would never rebel against it. Back in the house, she had referred to Mavaglio right in front of Karen as "my fiancé." This woman had clearly accepted the arrangement. She would certainly rationalize it to herself, so speaking along these lines would make her feel at ease. "Yes. Every Lord Holy Child is a precious asset to the Church. Sometimes, my personal thoughts and inclinations don't truly matter. After all, in my faith, I am willing to dedicate everything I have to Order." "And it's precisely because of people like you that our Church of Order can remain forever powerful, and the radiance of Order can shine ever bright." "However, the one with more rebellious feelings is actually our Lord Holy Child. Heh." Karen thought to himself: *You've already driven the poor guy to use a syringe, and you still have the nerve to say he has rebellious feelings?* "The Holy Child is still young. In reality, a Holy Child is also human, not a god. I believe he simply needs some time to process and understand, and after that, everything will become comfortable." "What about you, Karen?" "Me? Do you mean my personal life?" "Yes." "Mine is an arranged marriage as well. A senior who once guided and helped me chose the young lady for me." Karen hesitated over whether to add a sigh afterward. One could cater to others in moderation, but there was no need to shortchange oneself. "Do you get along well?" "I just returned from vacation at my fiancée's home. When I left, I was truly reluctant to part with her. So I feel that when two people are together, we should do our best to look at each other's merits first." "And their shortcomings?" Gaspol asked. "Just ignore them?" "No. I've never advocated for boundless tolerance in marriage. Whether out of respect for the marriage or the expectation of walking together for the long run, if something about the other person makes you uncomfortable, you should bring it up calmly. It's best for the two of you to sit face-to-face, talk it over, and resolve it—reflecting on yourself while making reasonable requests of your partner. Only then can a marriage be lasting, happy, and fulfilling. "The consequence of boundless tolerance and endurance is that, at a certain point, when you can no longer bear it, an explosion occurs. A minor disagreement that could have been easily resolved right at the start by sitting down together gets nurtured into a malignant tumor. "Sometimes, so-called patience in romantic life isn't greatness; it's simply laziness and irrationality." Gaspol shook her head and said, "But what if the other person refuses to listen to reason?" "Then your communication methods aren't skilled enough, and your life wisdom is lacking." "Is that so..." "Also, when pointing out what makes you uncomfortable to your partner, you must first examine yourself to see whether you have the same fault under equivalent conditions." As if thinking of something, Gaspol asked, "Karen, there's something I want to ask you. You're a man too." *She's not going to ask me about the syringe, is she?* "You may ask." "Never mind, forget it." Gaspol leaned her head back against the headrest. Karen glanced at her. He could sense that this Chief Judge... though a bit older, probably had little to no romantic experience. That was to be expected. When selecting a wife for a Holy Child, the higher-ups certainly had rigid requirements. "Sigh, it's frustrating." Gaspol supported her forehead with a hand. "Sometimes, I don't even know how I want to treat him. Can you give me some advice?" "My advice is: don't view him as a Holy Child." "You want me to treat him as a husband?" "Not necessarily as a husband either. I think as long as you don't treat him as a Holy Child, you'll reap unexpected rewards. You will be able to let go of your inhibitions, and he can become... lively." "Hehehe, lively..." Gaspol laughed. "How did you manage to use that word to describe the Lord Holy Child?" "Because under Order, all men are equal." The smile on Gaspol's face instantly vanished. She turned her head toward Karen and asked very seriously, "Karen, have you joined certain factions?" "Those are words I read in the *Light of Order*. I know what you are guessing. Please rest assured: once you officially take office, you will see many declassified files from the past, and you will understand my stance toward certain factions hidden within this region." "It's best you don't involve yourself too deeply with those organizations and factions. It won't do your development any good." "I understand. Thank you for the reminder." The car came to a stop. Traffic ahead was blocked completely solid. Karen patted the steering wheel and explained, "Yorktown has two cultural traditions: one is Wien bean paste, and the other is demonstrations." "They all have purple hair," Gaspol observed. "It should be the purple-haired civil rights movement led by Mr. Luther." Gaspol said, "Mr. Luther? I often see reports about him in the *Order Weekly*, but he seems to be just an ordinary person." "Yes, an ordinary person." Karen had once harbored the same doubt: on what grounds could an ordinary person frequently make the news in the *Order Weekly*? It wasn't until later, when he and Neo discovered that mad plan undertaken in cooperation between the Church of Order and the Church of Principles. Of course, he would never mention this matter to Gaspol. A stage had been erected ahead, where Mr. Luther stood delivering a speech. Beside him stood many purple-haired people—his followers—all dressed in suits and leather shoes. Though many of the garments were cheap, low-end goods, they had made sure to present themselves decently and civilly. His stance had always been to eschew violence and seek the legitimate rights of purple-haired people in Wien through civilized means. But Karen felt that Wien's ruling authorities would rather see them riot, smash, and loot than see them dressed decently and coalescing into a true political entity. Right then, Karen noticed someone walking past his car. The man wore a gray overcoat, with one hand tucked inside the coat, and his eyes held hatred and murderous intent. That posture made it easy to imagine he was clutching a gun beneath his coat. Was he looking to commit an assassination? Immediately after, Karen noticed two individuals following behind that "assassin." They didn't wear robes, but Karen directly sensed the ripples of spiritual energy on them; they were two priests. Karen had known for a long time that the Church had continuously assigned people to secretly protect Mr. Luther. The two of them had certainly detected the assassin's intent, but to Karen's surprise, though they followed him into the crowd, they did not move in advance to subdue him. After a short while, the assassin emerged again, his gaze hesitant and wavering. Clearly, having originally intended to assassinate, he had abandoned the plan this time. The reason was simple: he was merely an ordinary person, and it was entirely natural for someone to temporarily lose their nerve and change their mind. But next time, he might summon enough courage—perhaps even tomorrow. Once the assassin left, Karen saw those two priests walk out as well. Karen released a mental probe, extending it outside the car to eavesdrop on them. This was an impolite, intrusive act, but governed by two principles: first, they could not detect his probe; second... it was not initiated by someone of lower status against someone of higher status. Karen perfectly satisfied both conditions. Immediately following that, Karen overheard their conversation: "Damn it, why did he back out of the assassination?" "Who knows? Maybe he didn't drink enough before heading out." "How long do we have to wait? The higher-ups are pressing hard." "What's the use of rushing? The higher-ups ordered us not to intervene. It has to be carried out spontaneously by extreme Marklay nationalists in Yorktown. If we could make a move, we could have carried out the assassination long ago." Karen's brow knitted slightly. The Order priests who had always protected Mr. Luther were now actively waiting for him to be assassinated? And the higher-ups were pressing hard? Karen pressed a button, and a recess opened near the handbrake. He then retrieved a magic crystal from beneath the seat and placed it inside. Soon, a detection array activated. To the northwest. Karen immediately turned his head in that direction. Gaspol had already noticed Karen's actions, but she didn't interrupt, turning to look along with him. In that direction stood a department store, and atop the department store stood a line of figures. Karen spotted Order robes and Principle robes. This joint department, likely just like Mavaglio's department, was independent of both the Region and the Whip of Order. Therefore, unless they sought assistance, neither the Region nor the Whip of Order could learn of their operations in advance. Up ahead, at Mr. Luther's urging, the protesting crowd spontaneously cleared the road to allow traffic to resume. These purple-haired people cordially greeted the passing vehicles. Some motorists supported them and offered words of encouragement, while others spat toward them and cursed, "Purple-haired pigs!" Yet no one retaliated. Instead, they gently pointed to themselves to explain: *No, sir, we are complete human beings just like you. We possess the same personhood and dignity.* Karen restarted the car and drove forward. Gaspol spoke up, asking, "Did you notice something? Is there an issue with this demonstration and this Mr. Luther? I saw people wearing Principle robes on top of that building." "My Lord, after you return from having tea with Head Bishop Bern, I can explain it to you." "Mhm, all right." Karen pursed his lips and continued driving with a natural expression, but in his heart, a terrifying conjecture arose: This utterly mad god-creation project seemed to be nearing its finale. Could they... really create a deity?