Awakening!

Vic got out of the car and stood before the church. This was a very ordinary community church. Strictly speaking, it was a product of the Church of Order's implementation of the Code of Order. After the Church's influence was largely pushed away from the secular sphere, a spiritual vacuum was left in terms of "faith." To satisfy their spiritual needs, the people fabricated new "deities" and spread new tales. In essence, churches like this served much the same purpose as a neighborhood hospital, park, or department store—they were functional public buildings. Vic did not know why Mr. Alfred had assigned this place to him. He lingered outside for a long time; apart from being situated on Mink Street and relatively close to No. 13, he truly couldn't see anything special about it. Until he stepped inside. He froze. Standing there with a watering can in hand, tending to a grape trellis in the courtyard, was a familiar figure. Without the slightest warning, that person appeared before his eyes—the very man he had once revered to his bones, and hated to his bones. He had lifted Vic up to the clouds, only to leave without a word, letting him plummet violently back down. Had he never glimpsed the scenery from the heights, the plunge would not have felt so vast, nor the blow so devastating. Rasma looked up, straightened his back, and looked toward Vic as well. He had not sensed Vic's arrival beforehand. He was long accustomed to keeping only a sliver of consciousness anchored to that third-floor bedroom in the villa, reaching out to investigate only if something stirred there. He mockingly called himself a dutiful caregiver: as soon as the "patient" pulled the bedside cord, he would immediately appear at his station. As for the rest of the time, he was like an ordinary man, an ordinary priest. One could say this was the normal state any follower of Order should exhibit here. No one dared provoke a sleeping lion. Only Karen, and those wearing bracelets engraved with Karen's name, could act a bit freer and more unrestrained upon returning here. "Vic?" "Teacher." "Is it really you?" "It's me, Teacher." The reunion between teacher and student felt awkward and abrupt. And because neither knew quite what to do once the awkwardness broke, both tacitly allowed it to linger. Even back when their relationship was at its best, they had never been truly close, for deep down Rasma's personality was stubborn and extreme. Thus, one couldn't expect a warm, tearful embrace upon meeting again after so long. In the end, it was Vic who broke the prolonged unease. After all, having stayed by that person's side for so long, he had picked up a thing or two. "Teacher, let me help you water them." Vic took the initiative to step forward, reaching out to take the watering can from Rasma's hands. Rasma shifted the can away, declining Vic's offer. "This, you cannot water." "What?" "Look." Rasma continued to water the trellis. Bunches of grapes were growing before their eyes at visible speed. Dalivenro practically handled all the department's landscaping, so Vic had witnessed exaggerated planting techniques many times. Yet what lay before him was completely different. Because the grapes growing here were not fruit, but clusters of intensely dense power of Order. At the same time, Vic heard the sound of flowing water from inside the church. He turned toward the church. From where he stood, he could see the crucifix inside and the sacred statue upon it. Above the statue, streams of water cascaded downward, pooling across the floor before circling back up. The flow and rhythm were identical to the watering from the can in his teacher's hand. This wasn't mere watering and cultivation... It was the final ripening, for the harvest was at hand. What he was watering was his own faith, his own Order, the God within his heart. "Teacher, are you about to succeed?" "Yes, I am about to succeed." "Congratulations, Teacher." "Thank you, my boy." The exchange between master and student was stiff and awkward. Though both tried their best to avoid it and maintain composure, friction still arose repeatedly. Rasma reflected on himself, but in truth, the real cause lay with Vic. Vic's mind was in turmoil, for he vaguely guessed a terrifying possibility. Back when he had first entered the performance hall at Allen Manor to be molded, he had harbored many conjectures about his teacher's circumstances. Looking back now, they seemed far too naive. And right now, seeing his teacher here and witnessing what he was doing, the twisted, complex relationship between both sides became unmistakably clear. His teacher was by no means here to protect the Section Chief's grandfather... For if his teacher were truly doing that, Vic wouldn't have merely been suppressed and marginalized within the Church—in all likelihood, he would have been exiled to the frontier expanse, or even imprisoned on charges of heresy and apostasy. Therefore, his teacher's stance and that of the Section Chief's grandfather were opposed... No, they were adversarial. Vic sat straight down onto the ground, pounding his forehead forcefully. Scraps of the past churned through his mind. He suddenly realized that whether it was the Section Chief, Mr. Alfred, or even Neo... they had dropped many hints to him. They had known all along about his teacher's presence. Absorbing him into their circle might even have been driven in part by that very fact. Did the Section Chief want to use him to stop his teacher? No, that wasn't it. Given the Section Chief's character, he would disdain such a tactic. Perhaps... he simply wanted to use Vic to deliver the most merciless mockery against his teacher. Rasma reached out, gently patting Vic's head, and sighed: "Ah, my boy, you have suffered." Rasma knew that after his departure, this student of his could not have had an easy time. But he had misunderstood. "Teacher, I've actually been living quite well." Rasma said with gratification, "My boy, you have matured." He knew how to conceal his hardships to comfort his teacher. "Teacher, you have labored hard." Vic slowly rose to his feet and brushed off the fresh dirt clinging to his hands. He had already recovered from the massive shock. He felt no resentment over being manipulated, nor dissatisfaction over being kept in the dark. After the violent surge of emotion, he actually felt much lighter. No wonder he had always felt a barrier of estrangement standing between them. Now, he could finally pierce right through it himself. Did he need to weigh and choose between his teacher and the Section Chief? There was no need. Because his teacher, too, had led him time and again in praises and prayers to the Lord. The unique hierarchy of the Church and the unique values it forged could explain away all contradictions and turmoil in the mortal world, because "God" held the final power of interpretation. When you stood behind God, there was no question of picking sides, for any path divergent from God's was heresy. Vic knew that such a unilateral, extreme perspective ran counter to the purpose and themes of the study sessions Mr. Alfred held time and again, but he had to ensure his own mind remained crystal clear. Right? I, Vic, future Whip-Wielder. "Come, my boy, come inside and have a seat." Leading Vic into the office behind the chapel, Rasma said: "I haven't labored hard. In truth, I've lived quite well—a rare spell of peace and comfort. As for you, reaching this stage could not have been easy. You truly are my student, haha. I really never expected that you would become the 'ground' commander for this operation." Rasma was clearly mistaken. The moment he saw Vic appear here, the sole thought in his mind was that the commander of the perimeter legion for this operation was his student. Otherwise, one could not explain why Vic would show up here at such a pivotal juncture. Facts proved that if one could only read outdated newspapers on and off, even a former High Priest could not maintain an accurate grasp of Church affairs in the outside world. For publicly circulated newspapers would never print "who belongs to whose direct lineage," "who belongs to whose faction," or "which faction vanquished another in political struggle." Everything was obscured, beautified, and positively spun. What could reveal substantive content were internal publications—the higher the clearance, the more valuable the information. The trouble was, only minor priests of external churches or petty aberrations, unaware of anything, occasionally passed through Luojia City, and many couldn't even bear to spend money on Church newspapers. Rasma had no channel to access high-value material. Still, he knew Karen was doing better and better, for not only did Karen frequently grace the front-page headlines in back issues of the Order Weekly, but he also enjoyed high exposure in the papers of external faiths and disreputable industry tabloids. Even some priestesses and female aberrations were fond of making Karen scrapbooks and keeping diaries about him; obtaining one often yielded a wealth of information. Rasma knew Karen was climbing higher and higher, and grew all the more anxious because of it. Fortunately, the wavering, helpless, suffocating wait was finally coming to an end. Vic answered: "Teacher, you've misunderstood. I'm not the ground commander. I was ordered to advance here ahead of time and make preparations." Rasma asked, "Can you contact your commander right now?" "I can, Teacher." "Put me in touch with him. I have intelligence concerning the vital security of the Church that he must report upward. There cannot be a moment's delay." God knew if there was any further delay, whether that kid would get promoted yet again. Damn it, Rasma wondered if that man's grandson had transferred all of that man's cultivation talent into getting promoted! "Right away, Teacher." Vic walked over to the telephone in the office and opened the thick phone directory beside it. There was no need to flip through it; on the blank page right at the front, the very first entry was the number for the Inmmorese Funeral Home. Clearly, his teacher dialed this number often as well. Rasma asked in confusion: "Your legion communicates by telephone?" "It's more convenient this way, Teacher." The call went through, and from the receiver came the voice of the person who picked up—a voice Vic knew all too well: "Hello, Inmmorese Funeral Home." "Commander, my teacher wishes to speak with you." "Alright. Hand him the receiver." Vic handed the receiver to Rasma. Rasma took the receiver, a thick, ominous premonition rapidly welling up within him. Bringing the receiver to his ear, he said in a solemn voice: "This is Rasma." "This is Karen." …… The kitchen at home was by no means top-notch; Hili's kitchen in Yorktown was far superior to this one. Yet Karen enjoyed it immensely, for only dishes prepared at home truly tasted like home. He first checked the freezer, taking out usable ingredients to prep them. Downstairs, a lady walked into the living room and saw Little Kanna surrounded by everyone, chatting happily. "Kanna, this is Ms. Molly." "Hello, Ms. Molly." Ms. Molly looked puzzled. She had no idea who this white-haired little girl was. As a low-tier aberration, she naturally lacked the ability to detect a pureblood bone dragon. But she noticed the pill held in the little girl's hands, which Kanna nibbled on bite by bite under the pitying gazes of everyone around her. From the faint scent wafting from the pill, Ms. Molly sensed its staggering value! One pill—no, even half of such a pill—would be enough to unleash a bloody storm of competition in a place like Luojia City. Merely catching a whiff of it already induced a dizzying intoxication in her soul. Mary said, "Molly, Karen is back. He's upstairs. Why don't you go say hello before heading down to work in the basement?" Ms. Molly's mouth fell open, freezing in place. Little Kanna held up the pill with both hands, squishing her cheeks between her arms: "Hee-hee." Ms. Molly took a long time to steady herself before slowly walking up the stairs. Her body, normally coordinated to perfection through long practice, now stumbled forward with same-side arm and leg swinging together. Finally, by the entrance of the second-floor kitchen, Ms. Molly saw Karen bustling about inside. "Young Master... you're back?" "Yes. Dinner will take a while yet; you'll have to wait a bit." "I... I'll go to work first." At this moment, it seemed only work could ease her nerves and affirm her worth. "Thank you for your hard work, Ms. Molly. This family has always been indebted to your care." "No, please don't say that! It is what I should do, my duty, my honor." Ms. Molly promptly bowed, then hurried back down the stairs in that awkward, same-side gait. Clack, clack, clack, clack... Her red high heels tapped out a rapid, crisp rhythm. She made it all the way to the basement in one breath and entered her workroom. The client from the nursing home had already been cleansed by Ron and was lying on the steel slab awaiting service. A bit flustered, Ms. Molly pulled out a cigarette, placed it between her lips, and lit it. Taking deep drags, she reached over to feel for the radio beside her and switched it on. Static hissed briefly. The white noise soon faded, giving way to a voice she knew intimately well: "Dear listeners, sometimes human fate is truly wondrous. Some struggle their entire lives and reap nothing, while others simply make one right choice at the very starting point and reap returns far beyond imagination. Indeed, such people make one truly envious. A friend of mine is just like that. She gave up the sights of the outside world and chose to hold her post. Now, I want to tell her: Your perseverance has received the favor of God." …… "Young Master Karen, is there anything I can help with?" Paul asked as he brought the purchased groceries into the kitchen. Karen smiled. "When dinner is served, I'll need your help eating more." "Of course, no problem at all, haha! I've missed your cooking, Young Master." Karen continued to bustle alone in the kitchen, politely declining the offers of help from his aunts. When dinner was nearly ready, Mina and Chris hurried over, and Karen had them help carry the dishes to the table. "Wow, you made so many dishes," Mina marveled. Chris nodded. "Yeah, we'll never finish all of this." "Because there are still many guests who haven't arrived yet." "Who are they, brother?" "All of them are my friends, invited to the house as guests." "Then I need to tell Mom. She needs to tidy up beforehand." "No need. They're all our own people, no need to stand on ceremony. I've portioned out and set aside dishes in the kitchen; when they arrive, we'll set up another table for them." Just then, Karen noticed that the head seat was empty—the seat reserved exclusively for Grandfather. "Mina, there are no utensils set at Grandfather's place." "But, brother, Grandfather, he..." "Set them out." "Alright, brother." Just then, the telephone rang. Karen waved to Mina and Chris, untying his apron as he said, "I'll get it." He lifted the receiver. "This is Rasma." "This is Karen." A brief silence brewed on both ends of the line. An invisible tempest formally raised its curtain at this moment. Inside the church office, Rasma turned toward his student and asked with sheer incredulity: "Karen is the ground commander for this operation?" "Yes, my dear Lord Rasma." Rasma ignored the answer from the receiver, glaring fixedly at his student instead. Vic puffed out his chest and answered: "Our Section Chief is in command of the legion deployed in this operation!" "Hahahahahahahahaha!!" Rasma burst into laughter, laughing until tears nearly spilled from his eyes. He had truly lost his composure, for nothing could be more ridiculous. The Church was launching an operation against his grandfather, yet half the command of that operation belonged to his grandson! If word got out, wouldn't the Church of Order become the laughingstock of the entire ecclesiastical world? Having laughed his fill, Rasma licked his lips. "Is your grandfather awake?" "Not yet. I just got home and finished making dinner. I'll go wake Grandfather in a little while." "Boy, do you think your wings are fully grown now?" "No, not at all. Compared to her, I am still very weak." "You will pay the price for your naivety and arrogance. You should not have returned; you should have hidden away. Yet you have rendered everything your grandfather did for you utterly wasted." "My home is here. I was always going to return." "You Inmmorese people love to keep 'home' on your lips. Your grandfather was the same. That is why, despite having such formidable talent, he ultimately failed to make greater contributions to the Church—because in his heart, there was only the small family, only love for his household." "You are mistaken, Lord Rasma. The small family and the greater whole are not truly different, nor is personal love different from universal love. Personal love springs from humanity, and universal love grows from personal love. Even when the small family is sacrificed for the greater whole, it is nothing more than to allow more small families to flourish. The two were never opposed to begin with; it was you who forced an opposition, insisting they could not both be held. If my grandfather did not harbor love for the Church and for Order in his heart, my dear Lord Rasma, you would not be alive today." "I am grateful to your grandfather." "Mm, as you should be." "Yet I do not agree with his choices. His actions toward the Church were defiant and defiling; not even God would forgive him." "I forgive him." Standing beside Rasma, Vic whispered as a reminder: "Our Section Chief forgives him." "You forgive him?! What the hell do you think you are?!" Karen moved the receiver a bit away from his ear, for the roar was deafening. Vic silently crossed his arms, performing penance on his teacher's behalf. Once the volume on the other end dropped, Karen spoke into the receiver: "Lord Rasma, please tell Vic beside you that dinner is ready, and he can come eat." With that, Karen hung up. Rasma took a deep breath and said, "I am going to rectify all of this." Vic said, "Teacher, you are 'all of this.'" "You are his subordinate?" "Yes. I am his follower." "You are his follower?" A strange expression crossed Rasma's face. "Haha, do you know that he is using you?" "No, he is saving me." "Even without him, once I, your teacher, depart from here, I can make up for every bit of grievance you suffered over the past years! You could still hold an exalted status and a magnificent future within the Church! What he gave you was what you deserved all along!" "What he gave me, you cannot give." "He won you over so that today you would confront me, dissuade me, binding you to his chariot to constrain me! My boy, my student, my successor, can you still not see clearly even now? You are merely an instrument he uses against me!" "No, Teacher. You are not worthy." Rasma: "..." "Teacher, he is someone worthy of following. He will lead us to usher in a new era, a new epoch. He did not send me to constrain you; I understand now—he wanted me to save you." Rasma reached out, forcefully immobilizing Vic's body, and pressed his palm against Vic's forehead to examine him. Immediately, Rasma asked in confusion: "You haven't been mind-controlled?!" Vic did not resist, merely continuing: "Teacher, you could never imagine who you are opposing, nor could you imagine who truly stands behind him!" Without Karen's approval and Mr. Alfred's confirmation, no one was permitted to disclose the Section Chief's true identity. Vic could only attempt to dissuade his teacher in this manner. Yet obviously, to Rasma's ears, this dissuasion sounded like one thing: his student had gone mad! "Heh, of course I know who stands behind him. Doesn't he just think that with his grandfather around, he can act without restraint? I will use reality to teach him that he has taken things far too lightly. He should not underestimate the foundation and the will of the Church." "Teacher, the one who is truly naive is you." "Vic, I believe that once this matter concludes, time will restore your calm and sanity." "I believe so as well." Inside the church, the statue began to blur, then rapidly grew colossal, forming an incomparably imposing dharma idol. On the trellis, all the grapes detached from the vines and converged toward Rasma, merging into his body. Rasma raised his head, his aura surging wildly, and over his chest, a godhead fragment had already coalesced. What he had said was true—he had indeed deliberately suppressed his pace. This was to give face to Diss. At the same time, he had deeply hoped that one day in an old newspaper, he might read that Karen—this rising political star of the Church of Order—had suddenly gone missing. Unfortunately, reality had not unfolded as he had hoped. In that case, he could not be blamed. A holy aura rolled outward like a tidal wave. Wreathing Rasma's body were threads of shimmering gold. He clenched his fist, and the immense dharma idol behind him clenched its fist as well. A solemn Door of Order manifested in midair. After several years, the Door of Order had appeared in this region once more. Rasma looked at Vic. "I will bestow upon you the blessing of becoming a temple elder, my student, my boy. Moreover, the current High Priest owes me a tremendous favor; I will have him repay it to you as well. This is what I owe you. Now, your teacher has work to do. I will show you what true power really is." Rasma's figure vanished from where he stood. He appeared in the sky, where his colossal dharma idol wrapped both arms around the Door of Order. Diss's greatest threat to the Temple of Order lay in his ability to bypass all defenses and plunge straight into the temple's depths via the reception of the Door of Order. This was a rule established from the day of the temple's founding, a courtesy granted to temple elders. Yet its founders had never anticipated that in later ages such an entity would arise, using it to threaten the temple and hold the entire Church hostage. Now, the Door of Order was sealed by Rasma, effectively cutting off any possibility of Diss threatening the temple through this avenue again. Vic stood in the church courtyard, looking up at Rasma in the heavens. He was so solemn, so divine. Reason dictated that as a student, he should feel immense pride from the bottom of his heart at this moment, yet he could feel none. He merely let out a helpless sigh: "Ah, Teacher, you aren't even equal to a dog by our Section Chief's side..." …… Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! The instant the Door of Order was locked, beams of colossal, majestic light plummeted from the firmament, descending upon Luojia City. "One, two, three, four, five, Siti, seven, eight... twelve, meow!" On the windowsill, Purr counted with great excitement. The truth was, to resolve the Mink Street incident, the temple had spared no expense, mobilizing far more temple elders than previously reported. Excluding Rasma, there were twelve descending out in the open! "No matter how many there are, Siti is the sixth, hehe, meow." Kevin stood up and pushed the window open with a canine paw. He gently nuzzled Purr with his dog head. Understanding, Purr climbed onto his back. "Stupid dog, I'm so excited, meow! This time, I'm really not afraid at all!" Kevin proudly raised his dog head and lifted his front legs like a noble warhorse answering the knight upon its back. In the last epoch, he could only watch helplessly as she, who was like an elder sister, walked into the depths of the sea. In this life, he possessed sufficient power to protect this new... white moonlight, who was like a little sister. Now, all that was needed was Karen's order. And then, he would let this world experience once more the shock that belonged to a deity! …… The taxi had driven in circles for a long time, running through the two hundred riels and tacking on another fifty. At last, it pulled up in front of No. 13. With a cigarette between his fingers, Neo leaned his head out of the car window, looking toward the most majestic and formidable of the distant beams of light. "Puff..." After blowing out a smoke ring, Neo laughed: "Hey, Ukonga! Quick, call me Daddy!" …… Karen sensed the commotion outside, but unhurriedly carried the freshly stewed fish soup to the table, even pouring vinegar into each dipping dish one by one. Then he walked to the kitchen door, where a cord hung with a bell attached to the top. He remembered the scenes from when he used to be at home, ringing that bell whenever dinner was ready to call the family to eat—truly filled with warmth and contentment. He took hold of the cord once more and shook it. As the crisp chime echoed out, Karen called out: "Dinner is served!" The family and the staff came up from the first floor to the second. Everyone sat down according to habit, gazing at the lavish spread of dishes and voicing their wonder. Uncle Mason marveled in delight: "Haha, Karen, you even prepared canned herring especially for me!" Right at that moment, the sound of a door closing came from the third floor above, followed immediately by footsteps echoing across the ceiling overhead. At first, no one paid it any mind. Then Aunt Mary suddenly asked, "Who's up there?" Everyone looked around to count heads, finding that all the family members were seated right here. Even if Mina had mentioned guests would arrive later, they would appear on the first floor first, not the third. Immediately, looks of disbelief washed over everyone's faces. Every single person turned their eyes toward the corner of the third-floor staircase, holding their breath in nervous anticipation and hope. Karen had already walked to the foot of the stairs, waiting in advance. Up on the third-floor windowsill, Kevin—who had just been standing valiant and majestic—suddenly whipped around to face the bedroom door. Upon seeing that figure, the noble god unconsciously lowered its proud, bald head: "Woof~~~" That silhouette finally appeared at the stairs and began descending. Aunt Mary's tears burst out uncontrollably. Leaning into her husband's embrace, she wept while pounding his chest, complaining: "Wuuu... I told you the old master plays favorites! Favorites, favorites! Favoring the eldest son, favoring his eldest grandson—it's too obvious, it's just far too obvious!" Mason wept along with her, chiming in: "Yeah, biased... His grandson comes home, and he wakes up." Karen drew a deep breath, smiled, and spoke toward the top of the stairs: "Grandfather, everyone is here. We've just been waiting for you." …… The cemetery. As the notebooks before the headstone flipped open and rustled rapidly, threads of golden radiance began to encircle the tombstone. Mr. Hoffen was dead. He had even been awakened once after death. In the eyes of Order's faithful, he was as thoroughly dead as one could possibly be, no longer even qualifying as spiritual material. Yet some people are alive, but already dead; some people are dead, but still live on. He lived on inside the books he had written. He was Diss's partner, the old friend who had walked beside Diss since their middle age. He had once "read away" the God of Principles' private notes; he had been revered as an admired "teacher" by formation masters like Piro; he had abandoned status and fame within the Church. He was an ordinary Order servant. Crack! A hand burst through the coffin lid and pierced through the layer of earth, reaching outside the grave. From within, came a cursing shout: "Brat, you still have another grandfather lying right here!"