A Storm!

Neo waved his hand and hailed a cab, then signaled for Count Recal and Dalivenro to get in with him. The cab driver asked, "Where to, gentlemen?" "Just drop us off outside Mink Street." "Mink Street is quite long. Could you be a bit more specific? Like a street number, so I have a general idea?" "Take whatever detour you want." Neo pulled two hundred-riel bills from his pocket and handed them to the driver. "All right, got it. By the way, sir, did you folks just arrive from Wien?" "That's right. Didn't have time to exchange currency." "Our damn weather here in Luojia lately is catching up to Wien, isn't it?" Neo turned his head to look out the window. Dense storm clouds blanketed the sky; the oppressive heaviness of impending rain that hadn't yet fallen hung thick in the air. "Yes, indeed. The exact same dreadful weather. I've gotten used to it." "I have a cousin in Wien too. He works at a stock exchange in Yorktown, makes good money, and married an aristocrat." "The street right outside the doors of the Yorktown Stock Exchange is full of down-and-out aristocrats sleeping in tents." "Oh, is that so? I see. Haha, here I was envying him." Count Recal, sitting in the back, asked, "Why aren't we going straight to the Young Master's home?" Without turning around, Neo replied, "We set out earlier than your Young Master. He still has things to arrange and deploy. It's hard to say if he's even crossed the municipal boundary yet. When you visit someone's home as a guest, you should at least wait until the host gets there first. "What's the rush to barge in now? "Or are you simply dying to chat with the old gentleman sleeping inside, or maybe help wipe him down?" At those words, Count Recal shuddered at once and waved his hands frantically. "That's terrifying!" Neo chuckled. "Is there any need for that? In seniority, you rank higher than Purr, and Purr watched that man grow up." Count Recal retorted, "Speaking of seniority, the great God of Order ranks among the younger of the main gods, yet who dares bring up seniority in His presence? Besides... that man truly is a senior to the God of Order." Neo nodded. "That actually sounds quite reasonable." Neo then reached back, opened the lid of the bamboo basket Dalivenro was clutching, and pulled out a large, bright red apple. Dalivenro couldn't help but remind him, "Please eat less, sir. I didn't bring many this time." "I thought you brought them for us to eat on the road," Neo said. "It's inappropriate to arrive empty-handed on a first visit," Dalivenro replied. "Bringing a fruit basket looks nicer." Chewing on the apple, Neo agreed, "Your upbringing really shows." *** "Come on, help me carry these." "Right away, Mr. Alfred." Vic hoisted the heavy stack of notebooks onto his back, while Alfred walked ahead with a radio perched on his shoulder. Today, the two were dressed in contrasting styles. Vic wore a solemn, formal suit, whereas Alfred was clad in a tailored burgundy suit. As far as Vic could remember, this was the first time he had seen Mr. Alfred dressed like this. It wasn't unsightly, nor did it lack refinement; rather, it clashed with his previous persona of an "evangelist." "Mr. Alfred, I wanted to say this on the road: you look very sharp today." "Because today, we all must return to our true selves." "What? I'm sorry, I don't understand." "You'll understand soon enough. No rush." After entering the cemetery, the two stopped before a tombstone. "Is he Mr. Hoffen?" "Yes, that's him." "He's a bit different from what I imagined." "To skim kickbacks, the cemetery management requires uniform headstones. What could be different about it?" "It just feels... a bit too ordinary. To think such an incredible man was buried here feels somewhat unfitting." "The Church of Principles doesn't have a First Knight Order, though I'm sure the Church of Order would be more than happy to open ours to them, haha." "That's not the same. The First Knight Order must guarantee absolute loyalty." "What's the big deal? People from the Church of Principles generally aren't good fighters anyway. Even the High Priest once invited Siphus, the Hierophant of Principles, to retire into the First Knight Order after he dies. "Still, while the headstones are all the same model, the coffins certainly aren't. "The coffin the Young Master chose for Mr. Hoffen back then was the premier, most expensive model in the funeral parlor." "How expensive was it?" "Expensive enough that practically none had ever been sold since the parlor opened." Alfred stacked the notebooks neatly before the headstone. He had originally intended to pull some weeds and wipe the stone down, but he found there were hardly any weeds around, and the stone was quite clean. Presumably, whenever Mason brought new clients to "deliver the property," he would take the opportunity to visit his father's old friend's grave. "Look here," Alfred said, pointing to a patch of open ground ahead. "Back then, I stood right here holding a golden retriever, watching Lord Diss and Mr. Hoffen join forces to seal the evil god within." Vic asked, "You were standing right there back then?" "No, kneeling." Vic stared at him in silence. Emulating the ritual his Young Master had invented, Alfred took a cigarette case and lighter from his pocket, stood a row of cigarettes before Mr. Hoffen's headstone, and lit them all. Then he sat down, leaning against the tombstone, and said: "I forgot whether you smoked or not, but a little incense won't hurt. Cigarettes from the Church of Thunder have potent effects and keep the bugs away too. "All those notes of yours were meant for the Young Master, but I was the first to read them. My journey from an aberrant demon to where I am today relied primarily on the Young Master's spiritual guidance, but it was also inseparable from the wisdom and nourishment I drew from your notes. "I am deeply grateful for your gift, even if I never received your prior consent. "So I've come to make up for that. I wish to be your student. I hope you will accept me. "I will leave these notebooks here for now and come back to collect them after some time. If they are still here when I return, I will take it that you have agreed and intend to formally pass them down to me." Having finished speaking, Alfred stood up, patted the dust from his clothes, then switched on the portable peanut-tube radio he had brought along and pressed play. Instantly, an upbeat, fast-tempo tune rang out. Alfred cupped his hands over his mouth, beatboxing along to the rhythm as he began dancing and swaying. Vic awkwardly raised his hands, wanting to join in, yet feeling out of his element. Vic was on good terms with Leon and knew that Leon consistently used the Minister's special ritual to offer sacrifices to his family members at home—lighting candles, burning paper money, and laying out food offerings. Clearly, what Alfred was doing now didn't belong to the Minister's set of rites. It felt somewhat undignified. "Mr. Alfred..." "Hush." "All right." After three consecutive songs concluded, Alfred stopped. He rested one hand gently against the headstone and smiled. "It truly feels like a dream." Looking around, one could faintly make out the shimmering pillars of light in the distance. All of this was so similar to back then. The legions of Order arriving, numerous Temple Elders arriving... No, the scale this time was vastly larger than before. The higher-ups of Order, whether from the Holy See or the Temple, were surely watching for reports from this place right now. Yet the mindset was completely different. Last time, the Young Master had been kept in the study by Lord Diss, while Alfred had knelt here in trembling terror, watching Lord Diss condense a godhead fragment to seal an evil god... This time, the Young Master had returned on his own initiative, and he had returned as well. Vic said, "Mr. Alfred, because we've returned this time, things will be different. We can offer Mr. Diss the greatest assistance." Alfred shook his head and replied: "Actually, it's no different. For Lord Diss, as long as we don't drag him down, that is the greatest help. "Do you think the Young Master returned to help Lord Diss fight? "I imagine even if the Young Master were leading Kevin by the leash, he wouldn't think that way. "The Young Master simply wants to show Lord Diss that who he once was is no longer a vulnerability." "I can sense that your reverence for Mr. Diss is immense, not in the least inferior to your devotion to the Minister." "That is true. I believe in Lord Diss just as I believe in myself." Saying so, Alfred rested a hand on his hip and laughed. "After all, I once fought Lord Diss to a draw!" The wind blew past, sweeping up fallen leaves and bringing a touch of bleak desolation. Alfred pointed to Vic and said, "Come over here and help me set up the strongest defensive formation over these notebooks. We can't have anyone stealing them." Vic asked, "Doesn't that count as cheating?" "No, this is Mr. Hoffen's goodwill toward me." Once the formation was complete, Alfred let out a long breath. He reached out and rolled up Vic's sleeve, exposing the wristband underneath. Inscribed on the wristband was the name: *Karen Inmerales*. For people like them, sneaking into Luojia City wasn't difficult, because the outer perimeter defenses of Luojia City were entirely under their Young Master's command. Secretly letting their own people in beforehand couldn't have been easier. Yet the reason Luojia City was a forbidden zone for the Church of Order was that while believers of other churches and even aberrant demons could come and go freely, Order believers alone were strictly forbidden from prying into this place. Even Rasma, the former High Priest staying here, had no substantive contact with the outside world aside from reading discarded newspapers. Consequently, Rasma's news from the outside was intermittent and generally lagged behind. All of this was because, although Lord Diss lay sleeping, he kept one eye open, watching over Luojia City. Alfred had no issue; returning posed no problem for him. But for others, like Vic, their identities were somewhat inappropriate. To avoid unnecessary trouble—or rather, to avoid being suppressed as a provocation—Vic and the others each wore a wristband engraved with Karen's true name. This served to signal to Lord Diss that they belonged to his grandson. "All right, now I need to head to the radio broadcast building." "Understood. I'll accompany you." "No, no, no. You need to go somewhere else alone. Remember, once you step out the gates, tell the driver to take you to the church at the lower end of Mink Street. That is a critically important mission objective. I need you to secure it in advance." "Understood. What if I encounter resistance?" Alfred pondered for a moment and said, "You may eliminate them first." "Understood." A smile spread across Vic's face. Ever since the Great Purge concluded, his hands had been itching for action. "Go on, young man. The time has come to prove your devotion to the Young Master. Didn't you say you want to become the Whip-Wielder one day? Then it depends on whether you can truly hold this whip. "Wield the whip..." Vic picked up the cue immediately: "For Order." "Go lash the heretics!" *** After Alfred and Vic departed the cemetery, the stack of notebooks left before the headstone—shrouded in layers of heavy defensive formations—suddenly began flipping open on its own, without any wind. As the pages turned, the formations covering them dissolved as well. Gradually, each notebook floated into the air and began revolving around the headstone. The writing inside slowly took on a radiant golden hue. A curtain of golden light draped the tombstone in an aura of sanctity, setting it entirely apart from the surrounding graves. A translucent phantom figure flickered into view within the light. He appeared to be reading, taking notes, researching, laughing, brooding, weeping... Recorded within was his life, his joys, angers, and sorrows; And simultaneously, It was her life as well. *** Church of Principles, Holy See. Siphus sat in his chair, watching numerous copies of himself busily reviewing documents all around. "Heh, doesn't seem that hard after all." Siphus stroked his beard, admiring "his own work" and feeling quite pleased with himself. Just then, a man dressed in opulent robes hurried in, brilliant light shimmering across his body as he directly bypassed all nearby barriers and formations. He was the Child of God of the Church of Principles, inheritor of the branch god Satirol, and supervisor of material collection within the church. In the previous epoch, Satirol's duty had been safeguarding precious research materials and records for the church's other branch gods. With Siphus's rhythm interrupted, all of his clones suddenly fell into disarray and began scribbling erratic approvals all over the documents. In particular, the clone directly facing him began drafting an "Edict of Declaration of War Against Order." Spooked, Siphus leapt to his feet and swept his hand, destroying all of his clones while simultaneously erasing those documents. "*Sigh*..." Not only had he failed to slack off, he had even increased his workload. "How the hell did he manage to do it? Dammit!" "Teacher." The Child of God bowed to Siphus. In truth, within many divine churches, the figurehead of the Holy See possessed an exclusive internal title. But certain titles couldn't easily be spoken aloud in the outside world like High Priest, Gatekeeper, or Gardener, so "Hierophant" was used as a substitute. For instance, within the Church of Principles, Siphus was addressed as "Teacher." Such a title would never be used when speaking among peers of the Hierophant rank, as that would clearly mean letting the other party take advantage. There were even more outrageous examples. In the Moon God Church, the figurehead was addressed internally as "Moon Mother," abbreviated as "Mother." Others were referred to as "Father," "Beloved," "Husband," or "Wife." Siphus asked testily, "In such a frantic rush—what on earth happened?" "Teacher, our Lord's personal notes have been sensed." "What?!" Hearing this, Siphus yanked out a tuft of his own beard. Disregarding the pain, he ordered at once, "Dispatch people immediately to retrieve them! At all costs, regardless of any obstacles, bring them back to me!" Those were the personal notes of the God of Principles—not a divine artifact, yet a singular existence surpassing the vast majority of divine artifacts! Previously in the Garden of Life, upon seeing Norton summon Basse, Siphus had exchanged a few words with the High Priest. Siphus had asked: *Wasn't it said that Basse died long ago?* Norton had countered: *Wasn't it said that the God of Principles' personal notes were lost long ago?* At that moment, Siphus had felt deeply aggrieved. The guardian beast Basse, symbol of Order's wisdom, was still around, but the God of Principles' personal notes... were truly lost! The reason for the loss was utterly absurd. Originally, the notes had been enshrined right in the center of the Principles Temple Plaza, where all Principles believers—from Temple Elders down to divine servants—could go to observe and study them. Generations of Principles forebears had drawn enlightenment there; understanding even a fraction of it was enough to benefit a person for a lifetime. In truth, it hadn't been stolen. Unless someone stormed the Principles Holy See, no one could have stolen it. It was... read away. According to the doctrines of Principles, whoever could truly comprehend it would come to possess it. Then, several decades ago on a certain day, those notes had abruptly vanished. The Church of Principles conducted rigorous investigations from top to bottom for who knows how long, yet they couldn't even determine who had "read it away." Chiefly, the object had no physical form, leaving them with no way to search. Furthermore, that person had kept it hidden the entire time, seemingly disinclined to show off or proclaim it. This had infuriated the elders in the Temple to no end. Who asked you to embody the Church of Principles' spirit of seeking only truth rather than fame and fortune at a time like this?! Looking troubled, the Child of God said, "However, Teacher, we cannot send people to that place..." "What place can't we send people to? For this, our Church of Principles is willing to mobilize all our forces—" "Luojia City." "Er..." Siphus frowned immediately and sat back down. "The place where the Church of Order had that incident several years ago?" "It is currently a forbidden zone for the Church of Order as well." "Then... let's wait a bit longer. It shouldn't be long now. Once Order finishes sorting out its domestic affairs, I'll go pay a visit and ask about it in person. Even if it means swallowing my pride and speaking sweet words to that High Priest." "Yes, Teacher." "Step down." "Your student takes his leave." Siphus pursed his lips, slapping his own forehead. "How could it appear there?" *** "Oh, bloody hell, Ron, it stinks so bad! Why didn't you have the nursing home nurses wash our guest first?!" "Mr. Mason, you know she asked me to the movies next week. I'm looking forward to her feeding me popcorn by hand." "Isn't she already married? With children, no less!" "Yes, and in my eyes, that only makes her more beautiful, doesn't it?" "Good heavens, you're going to get me killed. When we get back, Mary will definitely grab me by the ear and scold me!" "Please rest assured, sir. I'll clean the gentleman's body in a bit." "You also have to wash this hearse! Look, the car is all filthy and stinking. How are we supposed to pick up the next guest like this?" "No, sir, I saw it—Madame Mary gave you the car-wash money this morning. You were already planning to wash it today. Ah, I see! You want to pocket the car-wash fee for yourself!" "I'll split half with you. Drive the car down to the river and wash it." "Deal. That's just enough for me to buy a toy as a gift for her child." "You could buy a hat for her husband too." "That's a wonderful suggestion!" Mason shook his head speechlessly. He reached over to adjust the car radio, only to hear static. "Oh, damn it, the radio's busted." "You can apply to Madame Mary for repair funds to fix the radio." "No, I'll apply for engine repair funds." "You're truly a ruthless swindler, sir." *Screeech!* Mason slammed on the brakes. Ron, sitting in the back, lost his balance and made intimate contact with their new guest. "*Ptui, ptui, ptui!* Sir, are you getting back at me?" "No, no... I think I just saw a familiar silhouette. It looked... looked like... Karen." "Isn't Young Master Karen in Wien? I heard he's living the good life now. The Allen family is a famous conglomerate in Wien!" Mason put the car in reverse, craning his neck toward the rearview mirror. In the mirror: By the side of the road, A young man was leading a dog with his left hand and holding a lovely little girl with his right, with a black cat sprawled atop the little girl's head. Mason leaned closer to the rearview mirror, trying carefully to make out whether it was truly Karen. After all, it had been a very long time. *Bzzt... bzzt...* The car radio that had just been broken seemed to return to normal at that moment, kicking into gear. From it came the announcer's rich, magnetic, and charming voice: "Dear listeners, welcome back to our daily program, *Luojia Story Club*; "Please allow me the great pleasure of informing you all, "The prologue of our story has finally come to an end..."