Grandfather

"Sir, please hand me your car keys," the valet standing by the curb said with a smile, extending his hand. "No need. Just tell me where the parking spaces are." "Turn right just ahead and you'll be right there, sir." "All right, thank you." Karen took out a ten-riel bill and placed it into the valet's hand. "Thank you for your generosity, sir." After parking the car, Karen walked back. At the entrance, staff members were inspecting invitations. This venue was hosting the most prestigious fashion show in Wien—no, in the entire Marklai-speaking cultural sphere—and only genuine high society had the privilege of being invited inside. As Karen reached for his invitation, an attendant gestured welcomingly toward the doors. "Please go right in, sir." Evidently, the staff knew how to read people. Not everyone was subjected to an inspection, as certain figures simply looked the part of the elite. "Thank you." Karen offered his thanks, but had taken only two steps past the entrance when the attendant called out after him, "Sir, I still need to check your invitation after all." "Of course." Karen retrieved the invitation and handed it over. After inspecting it, the attendant apologized, "I'm very sorry, sir. Please, go on in." "Why the sudden change?" "Because you just said thank you to me," the attendant replied sheepishly. "My mistake." "No harm done. I'll still say it next time." "Have a wonderful evening, sir." Karen walked inside. Before the runway lay a sprawling banquet hall, where members of the upper crust were sipping drinks and chatting. Quite a few famous film and television actors mingled among them, each cautiously and humbly smiling along, chiming into conversations with deferential grace. Reporters who had managed to secure invitations were dutifully and unobtrusively clicking their camera shutters from the perimeter. These were seasoned professionals who knew their boundaries; they photographed only the celebrities, taking strict care never to capture any married luminaries behaving intimately with them. Karen selected a larger glass and filled it with ice cubes. A noblewoman strolled over, taking up a pitcher of lemon water of her own accord. "Need a hand?" "No, thank you." Karen picked up the water himself and poured it in; he had no fondness for superfluous flavors. "Which film studio are you with?" "I'm not with any." "What a pity. Are you interested in breaking into the entertainment industry?" "I don't have the energy for that at the moment." Mistaking his answer to mean he simply lacked an opportunity, the woman covered her mouth and chuckled softly. "I could offer you an opening, you know. I recently acquired a rather fine script—a tragic romance set aboard an ocean liner. Interested?" "I don't care much for tragedies, ma'am." "It's beautiful, isn't it?" "Perhaps because I'm not yet at an age where I can appreciate that sort of beauty." "That doesn't matter. You can be appreciated by others." Her hand reached slowly toward the back of Karen's hand. Glass of ice water in hand, Karen turned and walked away, denying her the chance. The noblewoman called to his retreating back, "Perhaps you don't realize who I am." Karen paid her no mind, taking a seat in a corner near the runway. Before long, the fashion show commenced. Accompanied by the swell of background music, models strode out to showcase their figures and attire, filling the hall with a bustling, lively atmosphere. Karen watched the entire show quietly from below, standing up only after the finale to make his way backstage. To his surprise, he spotted the noblewoman again. Catching sight of him, she raised an eyebrow. "Darling." A crisp voice rang out. Eunice turned away a reporter who was preparing for a follow-up interview and walked straight toward Karen. The Allen family was the mastermind behind the fashion show. Even during their lowest ebb within church circles, the family had wielded tremendous influence in secular commerce, especially within Wien. When Karen had first left Allen Manor to move to Yorktown, the secondhand apartment he purchased had been a property developed by the Allen family. However, Eunice's reputation as a celebrated designer in the fashion world was not something bought with family prestige. Both she and Her Highness Ophelia possessed a genuine passion for the craft, and her acclaim was entirely earned through her own merits. Stepping up to Karen, Eunice reached out to smooth away a crease on his shoulder. "I truly didn't expect you to come. I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me a moment ago." "I should have come." "Are you going away on a long journey again?" she asked. "Yes, I am." "Stay safe. I'll be waiting for your return." Eunice knew that whenever Karen was about to undertake a perilous mission, he would come to the manor to see her; and upon his return, if he were severely wounded, he would recuperate there as well. This had become their longstanding, unspoken understanding—tinged with regret, yet anchored in anticipation. "Do you still have time today? Want to grab a cup of coffee?" "How about my office?" "That works." Eunice linked her arm gently through Karen's and led him toward the elevator. The noblewoman who had earlier hinted at keeping Karen blinked hard at the sight. Her reflexive thought was that she and the eldest daughter of the Allen family had set their sights on the very same plaything, but common sense told her that before this man, the young lady carried herself with profound gentleness and devoted grace. "Oh, heavens... I need a glass of ice water too." *** "Do you know her?" "Who?" "Madame Baosili. Her family owns several chemical enterprises." "Oh. She wanted to invite me to star in a film—something about a shipwreck on an ocean liner, I believe." "A horror film?" "A romance, most likely." "Honestly, I'd look forward to that." Eunice tilted her head up, looking into his eyes. Karen brushed her lips with a light kiss. "Once I have some free time down the road, perhaps I'll give it a try." "Then there's no need for Madame Baosili to invest. I will fund your film myself." "Of course. I know very well that you are a wealthy lady now." Eunice had her own apparel brand that enjoyed stellar sales, but her true goldmine was another enterprise: her hosiery business. Although the Allen family had no need to go public or seek outside financing—leaving their ledgers hidden from the world—one needed only to walk down the street to witness how wildly popular the product had become. The Wien Economic Newspaper had even run a front-page headline titled *The Hosiery Empire*. Stepping into his fiancée's office, the decor was strikingly modern, standing in stark contrast to the classical aesthetic of the manor. "What would you like to drink? Ice water or coffee?" "Coffee, please." "Just a moment, darling." "All right." Karen sat down on the sofa. Facing the floor-to-ceiling windows, a single sweep of his gaze took in the decadence and splendor of Wien. Beside him lay several documents. Habitually picking them up, Karen discovered they were marketing proposals for pantyhose. One pitch proposed tying the stockings to the front bumper of a sedan and having a person pull the car forward to demonstrate their tensile strength; another proposed scraping the fabric with a knife to prove they were rip-resistant and of superior quality. Eunice set the coffee before Karen and snuggled down beside him. "Tell me, which proposal should I choose?" "Asking me seems a bit inappropriate." Eunice nodded. "True. You prefer the pleasure of tearing them apart." Karen took a sip of his coffee. "Still, even an ordinary pair costs a hundred riels nowadays," Eunice remarked. "People place great value on durability." "Perhaps you could change your approach. The quality doesn't need to be so indestructible; they can be made easy to run, treating them as consumable, disposable goods instead." Eunice pondered this for a moment. "I think that's a brilliant direction. Truly, that might very well be where the future is headed." "I hope I'm not leading you astray." "How could you? I trust your eye, darling." "What are these?" Karen pointed at a lookbook resting on the coffee table. "New designs." "Do you have samples?" "I do. Let me take a shower first; there's a washroom in my office, as well as a lounge." "I think the view out here is much better." *** "It's not good. Not nearly as good as what Xili makes." Little Kanna held a plate containing a roasted lamb chop. After taking a bite, she furrowed her brow slightly, yet true to her principle of never wasting food, she took a second bite anyway. A black cat lay curled atop her head, yawning lazily. Though the runway show had ended, the models and celebrities were still busy mingling and networking, while the reporters' cameras flashed without pause. Little Kanna asked curiously, "Why do they all have fishnets strapped to their legs? Does that look good?" "Just like how you enjoy collecting scales." "Mmm... I get it. It does look nice. I want a pair too." "You're too young. Wait until you're grown up." Just then, Madame Tangli walked over. Little Kanna promptly offered her the lamb chop. "Grandma, have some lamb chop. It's delicious!" "Thank you, our sweet Kanna." The grandmother accepted the chop with a sigh. "To think our Karen actually permits his fiancée to come out and do things like this." Little Kanna chimed in, "Exactly! She should stay home, be good, and have babies." Purr frowned. "Tangli, have you forgotten what you were like in your youth? And you..." *Smack!* Purr swatted Little Kanna across the head. "Have you forgotten your own gender?!" Little Kanna pouted, looking aggrieved. "Isn't that what you shout about most at home? 'Have babies, have babies, have babies!'" "Shut your mouth, meow!" Madame Tangli glanced at Purr and said testily, "You don't even keep a proper eye on them." "Why don't you keep an eye on them yourself?" "I am an elder." "My seniority is even higher than yours, meow!" Leon walked over and interjected, "You seem to have come to the wrong place. Our assembly point is next door." "Where is Karen?" "I don't know, but the Minister will arrive when it's time." Inside the parlor of the adjacent building, quite a few people were already gathered. Count Recal was holding a wine bottle by himself, drinking straight from the neck; Madame Gandiro and Morindi sat side by side, carving delicate patterns into crystal stones; Old Saman had a pipe clenched between his teeth, blowing out rings of smoke with measured puffs; Bern cradled a thick stack of documents, reviewing and signing them; Neo was lounging across a sofa, glancing over a black-market stock report while casually reaching out to pluck a freshly grown fruit from the potted plant Dalivenro held in his lap. Wiping it against his shirt, Neo took a bite. "This one isn't as sweet as the last one." "The last one was my father." "And this time?" "This time it's my grandfather." "Your father had better nutritional value after all." "Yes, I think so too. That's why I've made him into living fertilizer to nourish the plant." "Nicely done." Vic arrived late, dressed in a brand-new suit. Neo swept an eye over him and laughed. "Tell me, did we gather here today to attend your college graduation party?" "Mr. Alfred picked it out for me. Doesn't it look good?" "It looks good—just a little too well-behaved. Hardly suits your reputation as an executioner." "I actually think interrogating suspects dressed like this would be far more effective." "To give the suspects whiplash from the contrast?" "To give it to myself. I would enjoy it much more." "Right, you're getting more twisted by the day. If you ever find your mental state completely breaking down, feel free to come find me. Don't be shy." "I will." Neo turned his gaze toward Buken, who was seated in the corner. Buken's eyes were closed as though he were napping, but as soon as Neo looked his way, he subtly straightened his back. Neo bypassed him, however, calling out to Dikenuo instead: "When did you return from the Garden of Life?" "Yesterday." "Are the operational plans finished?" "They are done and submitted to the Young Master." "How many?" "Twelve." "So few? I thought there would be a hundred." "I screened out those with low success rates or high casualty projections. I'm not fond of meaningless numbers." "And what about this time?" "What do you mean, this time?" "The plan for this time—the one for going to Mink Street." "I didn't make one." "Didn't have enough time?" "I simply didn't make one." Dikenuo spread his hands. "You'd have to tell me first: who is the enemy?" Was it the Temple, or the one in deep slumber? Without an identifiable enemy, what kind of plan could anyone formulate? "Fair point." Upon entering the parlor, the grandmother walked straight over to Neo and asked, "My grandson's condition is looking rather grim." "Who told him to gorge himself so much? If the Church of Order hadn't felled the Tree of Life, we could have strung him up on it—given enough time, I bet he could hollow out the entire Tree of Life." "But now, white silk is coming out of him, wrapping him up entirely, and he has fallen into a deep sleep." "It's not life-threatening." "I know it won't kill him, but when on earth will he wake up?" "Philomena already came to ask me about that. I told her to put Richard in the pastry shop. That should accelerate his absorption and awakening." "What kind of principle is behind that?" "The blessing of the Goddess Miers. Trust me, it works." "Why doesn't the God of Order protect him?" "The God of Order has already protected him plenty—you simply don't know it." Madame Tangli frowned slightly, evidently missing the joke. Though she was Richard's family, she remained in the dark about Karen's true identity. Neo asked, "Are you going to Mink Street as well, Madame?" "Karen doesn't want me to go. Even though I'd very much like to, thinking I could still be of some help, just like the rest of you." "None of us can truly be of much help. Our usefulness isn't even on par with a dog's, honestly." Bern looked up, nudged his glasses higher on his nose, and said, "There is really no need for us to go. Guarding the home front is enough." Neo chimed in, "Indeed. We can just send you word when the time comes. You're better off staying home to look after your grandson. It would hardly do if the Goddess Miers led his faith astray—as you know, the Church of Order has always dealt very harshly with apostates." "Hmph." Madame Tangli let out a cold snort and turned to walk out. She had come solely to check on Richard, having never intended to pressure her grandson into letting her come along. *Creak...* The door swung open. Alfred pushed a small cart inside, bearing a complete collection of Mr. Hoffen's notebooks. Neo rose, walked over, and asked out of curiosity, "Why did you gather those together?" "I consider myself half a student of Mr. Hoffen. I'm taking them back to pay my respects at his grave." "Does it really call for such ceremony?" "If I lay these notes before his grave and pick them back up, that will make up for the remaining half of my student status. Mr. Hoffen won't object." "I'm certain he won't raise any objections." At last, Karen walked in. Everyone set down what they were doing and rose to their feet: "Young Master." "Minister." "Hey." Karen smiled faintly. "Everyone, please allow me the honor of inviting you to be guests at my home." *** The carriage came to a stop at a highway junction. Up ahead stood a milestone indicating that continuing forward was the boundary of Luojia City. Outside the carriage, eight officers clad in black armor saluted toward the occupants within. "Greetings, My Lord." "Greetings, My Lord." They were a full-strength regular legion that had just rotated back from the desert front. Little Kanna opened the carriage door, and Karen's voice drifted out from inside: "Surround Luojia City. No unauthorized action without my command." "Yes, My Lord!" Having received their orders, the eight officers vanished on the spot. Immediately, dense black clouds converged on Luojia City from multiple directions. The radio station's hotline was overwhelmed with furious calls, for its weather forecast had promised a rare, splendid day. A ring of golden light condensed outside the carriage. Karen stepped down and watched as Ukonga emerged from within the halo. Ukonga said, "You know, I've waited for this moment for a very long time." Karen nodded in response. "So have I." "This time, there should be no need for you to command the legion to intervene. We will take care of everything." Karen smiled. "A cheering squad is always needed, isn't it?" "Ah, how touching. All of a sudden, I can feel your filial devotion." "As it should be. But when do we officially make our move?" "When our former High Priest condenses his godhead fragment. Soon. He should have sensed it by now." "All right, I understand." "Did your High Priest give you any special instructions?" "He did." "Care to tell me?" "He wants me to act as an envoy to speak with him. After all, any fierce clash that might occur would, in the end, be a loss to our Church." "Your High Priest is sending you to your death. Heh, if talking worked, it would have been settled long ago." "I am willing." "I intended to talk you out of it, but from the looks of it, you won't listen to reason." "No matter how dangerous, someone has to do it." "Has it occurred to you that his seat as High Priest might not last much longer either?" "At least today, he remains the High Priest." Ukonga rested a hand on Karen's shoulder, and when he drew it away, a golden rune remained where his palm had rested. "Go on in first. If he tries to kill you, I might strike early." "'Might'?" "Doing this much for a former roommate is already generous enough, wouldn't you say?" "Indeed. Thank you." Ukonga's figure dissolved into the ring of light, which vanished along with him. At the same time, around the perimeter of Luojia City, eight colossal pillars of light erupted from eight directions—a spectacle uncannily reminiscent of that fateful day. Karen gently brushed at nonexistent dust on his shoulder and said, "Come on down." Kevin trotted down from the carriage with his leash held in his jaws, passing it into Karen's hand. With her backpack slung over her shoulders and Purr perched atop her head, Little Kanna said with excitement, "Ooh, are we finally going to see Grandpa?!" Purr remarked, "You've got your generations mixed up." Little Kanna replied, "The generations in our family have always been a mess anyway!" The dark clouds encroaching from all sides, paired with the eight towering pillars of light, cast an aura across the midday sky that looked almost identical to a dying sunset. Holding the leash in his left hand and Little Kanna's hand in his right, Karen stepped past the milestone, crossing into what had been, in recent years, the ultimate forbidden zone within the Church of Order. *** No. 13 Mink Street, a detached villa. A third-floor bedroom. The peculiar glow of the "sunset" filtered through the window, bathing the elderly man sleeping peacefully upon the bed. At the courtyard gate appeared Rasma, dressed in the vestments of a priest. He looked around, then let out a sigh. "Dis, don't blame me for being a bad friend. I deliberately held back my pace, but who knows what happened out there—they actually launched it ahead of schedule. I have no choice left but to formally condense my godhead fragment." Immediately afterward, Rasma sensed a faint fluctuation of emotion from within. Barely perceptible though it was, he caught it all the same. "Haha! Dis, are you nervous, or are you afraid?"