Chapter 33 Jadeite Gem (4)

◎Fragmented past and barren warmth◎

Two men, wrapped tightly from head to toe in long black cloaks, walked out of the small door of the Orange Blossom Church where vegetables were transported. The knight guarding the door looked at them silently. One of them shook out a small parchment pass. The knight took a look at it and said nothing.

The two set out on the wet and muddy roads of the lower city.

This huge tumor growing on the body of Florence is full of fishy-smelling water. The working people have exerted imagination beyond all artists in architectural structure. Small houses can be squeezed into the gaps between buildings. A few wooden boards are casually placed on the eaves, and a piece of oilcloth is propped up to provide a shelter. People with tenacious vitality live in all the cracks, like earthworms and maggots in the soil, greedily absorbing the sunlight and rain that leak out from the layers of rotten buildings.

Damp and sticky moss grows from the ground all the way to the walls and houses. These little things, which are grown lushly by livestock manure, are a stubborn disease that can never be eliminated in the downtown area. When you step on them, you will feel a slippery, disgusting and soft texture.

Thieves, slaves, criminals and prostitutes live here. Many of them have died, and even more are hiding in small, dark houses, spying through the tiny cracks at the two people who still dare to walk on the street.

Raphael walked in front. The blood that was surging in Ferrante's head had slowly cooled down. He looked at the buildings around him that were gradually becoming low and chaotic, and suddenly realized what was happening - His Holiness the Pope of Florence was going deep into the epidemic area alone, and he had no protection around him.

This fact made Ferrante's blood run cold. He didn't dare to imagine what would happen if something happened to His Majesty - not only about health, there were too many evil deeds in the lower city that could take a person's life. The nobles didn't set foot here not only because it was dirty, but also because there were many desperadoes living here.

These desperadoes don't mind betraying their beliefs if there is enough benefit.

Ferrante suddenly took a step forward and grabbed Raphael's wrist through his cloak: "Crown... please go back! This place is not suitable for you to set foot here, if..."

Raphael glanced at Ferrante from under the wide hood that covered most of his face, with a gentle smile in his eyes. He seemed very patient after coming out of the Orange Blossom Church. This patience was different from his previous gentleness. He seemed to really regard Ferrante as someone he could trust, and tried to get him closer to him.

This was not an easy task for Raphael.

Only sincerity can be exchanged for sincerity. He painstakingly weighed the weight of every bit of sincerity and gave it to Ferrante. In exchange, he would take away Ferrante's life, freedom and everything in the future.

What are a person's life, liberty, and reputation worth?

Raphael didn't know, but he hoped he could afford the price.

"Hush..." The young Pope curled his lips, "Call me Rafa. Now, I am your elder brother, remember this."

His attitude was as firm as his footsteps. He took Ferrante through the rugged steps, steep slopes, and over low houses with ease. The terrain here was very complicated. The steps might be on the roof of someone's house. People who saw this kind of terrain for the first time would always hesitate for a long time and get lost here unknowingly. But Raphael seemed to have run here countless times before. He could even climb to a high place and take a shortcut by walking on the roof without any obstacles.

He walked faster and faster. The low, solid walls and the rotten and damp wooden corridors were his path. He climbed in through the open window, walked through the public corridor, and went down the iron stairs hanging outside the wall. His skillful posture was no different from that of anyone who lived here.

Ferrante followed him closely, like a ghost, lightly and silently following Raphael's footsteps as he climbed over every obstacle. As he jumped and ran, he seemed to have returned to the time before he went to the Papal Palace, running on the narrow road with a group of dirty children, causing a burst of curses.

After being far away from the Orange Blossom Church, Raphael stopped. He pressed his aching right knee and broke free from those distant memories. Ferrante approached him: "Corona... Raphael?"

Ferrante's voice was trembling, and he felt a little guilty when he called out the name.

"Hmm," Raphael hummed a low sound, stood up as if nothing had happened, and looked around, "Ah, I'm actually here."

Unlike other twisted and dilapidated buildings, the buildings here are relatively neat and even decorated with dirty glass. On the dark door of the first floor hangs a blackened wooden sign with a simple rose painted on it.

Ferrante's face hardened.

Rose Room.

Raphael noticed his expression, stretched out two fingers to pinch his chin, and carefully observed those ocean-blue eyes, as if trying to find some emotion in them. After a long time, he released his hand: "You know where this place is. You grew up here. Of course, your information was opened to me the day you entered the Papal Palace."

Ferrante didn't say anything. Of course he knew about this, but Raphael had never mentioned it, so he pretended it didn't exist.

As the son of a prostitute, even among illegitimate children, he is the most despised one.

He waited for Raphael to say something.

The Pope's fingers shifted direction and pressed on his head, pulling Ferrante towards him. In the unpleasant air of the downtown area, he heard Raphael's soft voice: "There is nothing to be ashamed of. The woman I once regarded as my mother also works here. If possible, I hope she is my mother. For this, I am willing to accept anyone's contempt and disdain. I even envy and hate her future child. What a good mother he will have--"⑨

Ferrante heard Raphael whispering in a silent voice: "So you know, before you were born, there was someone who envied you like this."

Ferrante's eyes widened.

Raphael patted his head: "Your eyes are so similar to Leah's. I felt familiar with you when I first saw you."

Leah, how long has it been since he heard his mother's name?

Ferrante looked at Raphael stupidly. The blond, purple-eyed Pope reached out his hand, put it on his forehead, and smoothed up Ferrante's soft, curly black hair, revealing his deep sea-blue eyes and high nose bridge. He carefully examined his outline, and his cold fingers rubbed Ferrante's lips and cheeks, as if he was observing an expensive and rare work of art.

The touch of feathers made Ferrante shiver unconsciously, and like a baby bird approaching the only source of heat, he turned his face to gently greet Raphael's touch.

"You have the same gentle eyes as hers," the Pope whispered, "long eyelashes, lips ..."

The fingers pressed on Ferrante's eyeball through the thin eyelids. Ferrante closed his eyes involuntarily, and faint traces of water appeared at the corners of his eyes. The hand wiped away his tears, slid down, and pressed on his lips.

"You and Leah are so alike..."

After his vision became clear again, Ferrante opened his eyes. Raphael was in a trance for a moment. From those eyes with a thin layer of water in them, he seemed to see the eyes of the woman who was connected to this young man by blood, the eyes always flashing with tearful tenderness.

Raphael had a very miserable childhood. As an orphan without a father or a mother, he was adopted by an old thief who was kind enough to do something. It was called adoption, but they just gave him a meal so that Raphael would not starve to death.

The criminal chain in the downtown area can almost be said to be very mature, even to the point where the son follows in his father's footsteps. Old Aaron is a thief. He doesn't have very good skills and can only do small jobs to barely make ends meet. When he gets older, he can no longer go out to steal, so he has to adopt Raphael - the child is small in size and agile, and Raphael is cute, so he can easily sneak into many places to steal. After they depended on each other for a few months, old Aaron passed away, and Raphael inherited his dilapidated wooden shed, joined a group of homeless children, and continued to make a living by stealing.

There are many homeless children in the downtown area, and Raphael is the least noticeable one among them. He obeyed old Aaron's words before his death, cut his hair into a mess, tried not to wash his face, and no longer went to the downtown area. Although it was easy to do business there, it was very dangerous for him.

He lived like this, alternately eating and drinking, and then one day he met Leah who was soliciting customers at the door.

A skinny waif, a prostitute selling her smiles.

Their story was so sad and boring. Perhaps it was because of her instinctive desire for warmth that Leah would occasionally help this orphan who was too young. She would put half a piece of steaming rye bread in his dirty hands and watch the skinny child wolf it down.

Now Sistine I is rich and powerful, and all believers prostrate themselves at his feet, willing to present all rare and precious flowers to him, even if they had to polish the petals with gold and inlay the stamens with gems. However, when he was young and hungry and cold, he could only secretly pick a not-so-full flower from the door of someone else's house, carefully protecting the flower with curled edges, and crossing half of the lower city to give her this shriveled and not-so-beautiful wild flower.

Raphael once secretly called her mother in his heart.

He didn't know who his parents were or why they abandoned him. He hoped they were dead so he could convince himself that it was just a trick of fate and that they actually loved him very much. Leah did not comment on this speculation.

Because of malnutrition, it was difficult to tell his age. Leah guessed that he was about three years old, or maybe a year older. After they became familiar with each other, Leah would take him to her room, let him sleep on her legs, gently pat his back with her hands, and whisper something. Raphael didn't care what she said. He fell asleep in the smell of Leah's cheap spices.

, outlining the shadow of the mother in the brain.

He once really wished that Leah was his mother. When it rained, his wooden shed leaked, and he squatted under Leah's eaves. Sometimes he would be let in, and sometimes not - mostly when there were guests coming, he would carefully shrink his body and curl up in the most secluded corner of the eaves to avoid being seen. Most of the guests who came here did not care whether the person they were going to bed with was an adult or whether she was a woman.

He listened to Leah's vague and hoarse cries in the rain, hoping that the rain would get heavier and heavier, preferably a lightning bolt would strike and split the house and the people inside into pieces. Then he would jump into the ruins, holding Leah's hand and running forward, without the need for direction or roads. They just ran and ran forward, running in the rain and running in the wind, running all the way forward, running out of the lower town and out of Florence.

It is said that there is an endless sea at the edge of Florence, so they can run all the way to the sea, jump in, or stay there - it's all up to him, he is willing to follow Leah's choice.

But this is just the fantasy of a crazy and lonely child.

He imagined that the guest would have a stroke and die in extreme madness, imagined that a flower would grow out of their head and burst their brain, imagined that they would roll down the stairs and die... He had arranged countless ways of death for everyone who came to see Leah. The most evil devil might not be able to defeat the imagination of the hateful slum child. Even the ghosts crawling out of hell would have to bow down before Raphael at that time.

But guests still came and went, and his fantasies remained fantasies.

After the guests left, Leah would open the window and pull Raphael in from under the eaves. There was a damp and strange smell in the room. Raphael was very familiar with this smell during that time, and he was extremely disgusted with human nature afterwards.

"I was only three years old when I met Leah," Raphael said lightly, "She took care of me for a while, and then left here. I tried to find out her whereabouts, but it was not an easy task."

There were too many people in the lower town. People were born and died every day. They fled, fell into poverty, and looked for temporary places to stay in the winding paths and rooms that were more crowded than a honeycomb. Raphael was just a child and he couldn't find out anything.

Leah was sold to another rose house, and Raphael didn't know where she went until she left the downtown area.

“…She’s at the dock, where the river passes and there are a lot of people coming and going.” Ferrante’s voice was hoarse.

"Oh, no wonder," Raphael nodded, "I always avoid that place... During that time, there were many street children being trafficked, and they were all transported out through the docks. The children were careful not to go near the docks."

He seemed to want to laugh, but couldn't, and just stared into Ferrante's eyes.

Ferrante looked into his eyes and saw that for a moment, those lavender eyes seemed to be filled with crystal tears.

"I'm so sorry for her," Raphael turned his head, put his hands away from Ferrante's face, took a step back, and murmured, "...I'm so sorry for her."

He stopped looking at the eyes that looked exactly like Leah's and walked in another direction. Ferrante followed him and heard the Pope change the subject: "I heard that you will also participate in the blessing ceremony at the Holy Grail Church?"

“Yes, I can sing a whole hymn, and such children will be needed for the prayer ceremony, and I can get two or three copper coins.” Ferrante answered honestly.

Raphael looked up at the direction, chose a small path and climbed up: "I remember you were in... the Holy Grail Church? How are the monks there?"

Ferrante was silent for a moment.

Raphael got the answer he wanted from this silence. He sighed and said, "Is this why you are so persistent in finding a saint who meets your imagination?"

Ferrante's pupils shrank.

They were walking up a flight of stone steps, and the pope turned and looked down at him, his unspoken thoughts seemingly invisible to him: "You look at me as if you were a saint, but I'm not."

The Pope, who is the incarnation of God on earth and holds the title of absolute saint, said shocking words in a place where no one knew: "I am not the saint you want."

"You asked that little girl to expose François in front of me, hoping that I would punish evil and promote good, but in the end, did you really get the result you expected?"

Ferrante couldn't help but take a step back when he heard the first word. He didn't expect that the matter had been discovered.

Raphael was not angry. He turned around and walked up again: "You hope to see the wicked doomed, hope to see the good people happy, and hope that the saints will wash away the sins of the world, but Francois still returned to Calais to continue his luxurious life, and those innocent people who were released are still struggling in painful lives."

Ferrante's expression changed and he shook his head, trying to leave or ask Raphael to stop talking... He didn't want to listen anymore!

But Raphael never softens his heart before achieving his goal: "Don't you understand yet? I am not the saint you want. I am just like you. I crawled out of the mud and did despicable things for my own purposes in the desires of the secular world. If you want a saint, you shouldn't look for it in me."

Ferrante stood there stiffly, watching Raphael walk further and further away. After the Pope walked for a distance, he finally realized that his guards were gone. He looked back and found that the black-haired boy's eyes showed the despair and anger that he was very familiar with.

Raphael smiled silently and sadly.

"But I can give you a saint, the perfect saint you want," said God's spokesman on earth. "Come, dear."

He found himself still unable to resist the voice, even though it had just cruelly shattered his fantasy.

The young man with black curly hair froze for a while, then finally lifted his feet and silently followed Raphael's pace. The young Pope seemed very gentle at this time. He held Ferrante's hand and led him around the complicated terrain, avoiding those wandering people, and finally stopped on a barren hillside.

The author has something to say:

Raphael, the master of brainwashing, crushes Ferrante, reshapes him, puts his own mark on him, and then you can have a puppy of your own!

Sistine I's Notes: I went hiking today. My knees hurt, walking was tiring, and I had to talk a lot, but it was worth it because I picked up a curly-haired puppy.

Fat Pigeon’s Diary: November 15th, drizzling, a nucleic acid test, a hotpot meal, and some coquettish behavior, trying to trick readers into handing over the nutrient solution. I wonder if those who secretly read Fat Pigeon’s Diary can hear Fat Pigeon’s inner voice.