The oil lamp on the table cast a dim, yellow glow that seed confined to the confessional, as if the space inside and the world outside were two entirely separate realms.
And in a way, they were. If this were the real world, Lu Li would currently be subrged nearly a hundred feet beneath the water.
Beyond the carved screen, a woman with calloused hands picked up a slip of paper and slowly began to write of her troubles.
Olivia Kiken might not have been the most devout of parishioners, but she made a point of visiting the church one day each month.
This was her second visit this month, a visit prompted by tragedy.
Her youngest son had suffered an asthma attack and was coughing up blood. The clinic doctor had told her the illness was advanced; stabilizing his condition would require extensive treatnt, and even then, a full recovery was not guaranteed.
The staggering cost of the treatnt was far beyond the ans of Olivia Kiken, a simple peasant woman who had already lost her husband. In her desperation, she had co to the church to pour out her heart in the confessional.
There was little Lu Li could do to help her.
He had money, but he couldn't pass shillings through the small opening. Or rather, he could have, but the woman in the confessional seed oblivious to any money he might place on the table. She was waiting for the "Lord" on the other side of the screen to help her through the truth written on paper.
More accurately, she was hoping that the God she had always believed in would heal her son.
Lu Li couldn't just write, "Everything will be all right." He truly couldn't help Olivia Kiken. After a mont's thought, he wrote on the paper:
— Perhaps you could be helped by lesser-known doctors who practice folk dicine, or by retired physicians, or even by wealthy individuals known for their charity. You can ask your neighbors about the first two. To find the last, try approaching any affluent people you might know, or go to their hos and tell them of your plight.
It was all Lu Li could offer.
The woman took the slip of paper. After a brief silence, she spoke with unconcealed disappointnt, "Thank you, Lord... As soon as little Kiken is well, I will bring him to church..."
Olivia Kiken rose from her stool and made her way toward the exit. Her indistinct silhouette gradually faded from view.
"Is that it?" Lu Li wondered as the sound of the organ washed over the church. Suddenly, the light beyond the screen began to shift.
Normally, such changes were barely perceptible, but now, as if on fast-forward, the shadows cast by the carved screen danced and shifted, clearly marking the passage of ti.
The change lasted only a few seconds, but the dim light outside had taken on the hue of sunset. A ray from the setting sun slanted across the stool opposite the opening.
— Did you hear? Olivia was run down by Viscount Levais's carriage...
— Who's Olivia?
— The woman who ca this morning. Her child is sick, and she has no money for treatnt, so she ca to the church for help.
— And? How did she get hit by the Viscount's carriage?
— Who knows? After leaving the church, she started asking everyone about good, affordable doctors, but where can you find soone like that? Then, like a madwoman, she threw herself in front of a rich man's carriage to complain about her fate. Viscount Levais's horses shied and ran her over.
— What a terrible story... But surely her son will get so compensation now, and he'll have money for his treatnt?
— Compensation? What compensation would they pay for a madwoman who threw herself under the wheels? If she hadn't died, Viscount Levais would have made her pay for it.
— Ah...
The quiet voices gradually receded, and the confessional grew darker and darker until it was plunged into a complete blackness, broken only by the faint glow of the oil lamp.
Lu Li stood. The encroaching darkness signaled the end of the trial. Whatever its purpose, it seed he had failed.
Picking up the lamp, he turned to leave the confessional, but stopped short.
The steps outside had changed.
The change was obvious: the walls and steps had beco more dilapidated.
Like the crumbling columns of an ancient temple, bearing the scars of ti and decay, the walls and steps had taken on the sa appearance.
But the ruined walls didn't let in more light, as one might expect. On the contrary, the luminescence of the stone had grown dimr, as if the light emanated from within the walls themselves and was fading as they crumbled.
This clearly did not bode well.
"Is failure causing this place to decay?" Lu Li wondered, stepping out of the confessional.
The carved door swung shut behind him. Lu Li glanced back at it for a mont before continuing down the steps.
After descending the crumbling steps to the next landing, he saw another carved door at the bottom of the staircase.
The sa confessional, the sa scent of wood, the sa soothing strains of the organ.
This ti, however, two phrases were crudely scratched into the carved screen:
[Only truth can win the hearts of the people.]
[Ignorance is not a sin; pride is.]
Lu Li compared them to the inscriptions from before. If they were hints, did the first phrase an he was supposed to use "the truth" to help the person seeking aid?
As for the second phrase, its aning still eluded him. Any attempt to connect it to his experience only resulted in ambiguous interpretations.
He sat on the stool. Just as before, a silhouette soon appeared in the distance.
It was the silhouette of a man.
When the figure took the seat opposite him, Lu Li's guess was confird.
"Lord... I have sinned... I beg you, forgive my sins..." the man stamred, his voice trembling. His knees were pressed tightly together, his white-knuckled fingers twisting nervously.
"What have you done?" Lu Li wrote, passing the note through the opening.
"I... I killed a man," the man replied, his trembling voice laced with both fear and a deep, simring hatred.
He began to tell his story:
A gang of hooligans had been harassing his daughter, but he hadn't known a thing about it. Not until the day he saw them drag her into an alley.
The man, having just returned from the sawmill, was blinded by rage and rushed to save her.
It could have ended there. If he had simply warned the hooligans to stay away from his daughter and they had agreed, it would have been a decent outco. But the enraged man grabbed an axe and attacked them.
He couldn't recall all the details, only that when he left, one of the hooligans lay motionless, another's chest was barely rising and falling, and the third had staggered away, crying.
Now, consud by remorse, the man pleaded, "Tell , should I turn myself in to the police? Will I go to hell? What will happen to my daughter? Help your faithful servant..."
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