Chapter 83 [City of Redemption] The boy led Wen Yin through...
The boy led Wen Yin through the corridor and stopped in front of a wooden door.
He pushed the door open and stepped aside to let Wen Yin in.
"This is it," the young man rubbed his hands sheepishly. "It's a little small, but the priest instructed us to clean it up."
The room was indeed not big. It was adjacent to Gasiel's master bedroom and seemed to have been a small study used for storing books and quiet contemplation.
There was a simple wooden bed against the wall, covered with thick cotton quilt.
Although the furnishings were simple, it was good enough for Wen Yin, who had just been picked up from the snow and ice.
"It's great here, thank you." Wen Yin expressed her gratitude sincerely.
The boy scratched his head and began to introduce himself shyly.
"My name is Hermida. I'm the priest's apprentice. I usually help with odd jobs and run errands."
"It's getting late now. You can rest first. I'll show you around the church tomorrow."
After Emida arranged everything, she gave Wen Yin some instructions on where to get hot water and where to eat, then said goodbye and left.
Wen Yin was the only one left in the small study.
She felt the traces of Gasiel's life everywhere around her, and her eyes felt slightly sore.
After a long time, Wen Yin squatted down and buried her face in the soft quilt.
-
Wen Yin slept very restlessly that night.
She fell into a bizarre dream.
In the dream, Gasiel was standing beside her bed, no longer the gentle priest, but the most familiar figure in her memory.
The golden hair seemed to carry a lingering divine glow, while the pale golden eyes were fixed on her.
There was pain surging inside that she could understand, and a stubbornness that wanted her to empathize with it.
He stood there silently, staring at her all night long, like a beautiful sculpture full of resentment.
Wen Yin cried in her dream, struggling to reach out to him, wanting to hug him, wanting to explain.
"Gasir...Gasir..."
But in the dream, he just stood there stubbornly, refusing to get any closer, letting her tears soak the pillow and letting her cries become broken in the silence.
-
Wen Yin woke up with slightly red and swollen eyelids, and the heaviness brought by the dream seemed to still linger in her chest.
After she finished tidying herself up, she opened the door and was met by Hermida.
Hermida greeted her warmly and took her to briefly introduce Aunt Martha, Sister Lina and others who helped in the church.
Wen Yin kept searching for the white figure with her peripheral vision, but never saw it.
"Hermida," she finally couldn't help but ask softly, "The priest...isn't he here?"
Hermida: "The priest left early this morning. He went to the neighboring village to preside over the 'holy sacrament'. There's a small village over there, and the believers have been waiting for him for a long time. He probably won't be back for about a week."
One week... Wen Yin felt inexplicably depressed and empty in her heart.
Hermida seemed to suddenly remember something and patted her head:
"By the way, before the priest left, he specifically told me that since the weather is nice over the next few days, I'd like you to take out some of the books in his study and air them out to dry."
"The snowstorm a few days ago collapsed a small part of the roof, and some of the book boxes got damp. This is a good opportunity to clean them up."
Wen Yin nodded. "Okay, I'll do it carefully."
So Wen Yin started the daily work of drying books.
Every morning I carry the books to the yard and let the sunlight dissipate the moisture between the pages.
In the evening, collect the books one by one and put them back carefully in their original places.
In her free time, she would go to the kitchen to help Aunt Martha wash vegetables, light the fire, or help Sister Lina sort out the donated clothes.
She was meticulous in her work and gentle in her treatment of others. Within a few days, everyone in the church liked this diligent and quiet girl very much.
Time passed quickly, several days passed, and Gasiel still did not come back.
That afternoon, Wen Yin was helping to pick and wash vegetables for dinner in the kitchen. Aunt Martha, Lina, and two other women who often came to help were busy and chatting at the same time. The topic unconsciously turned to the priest who had been out and had not returned.
"Father Gasiel is so kind-hearted. He went to such a remote village as soon as we heard he was needed," a woman said with emotion.
"Yes, the priest is so gentle and patient with everyone. I've never seen him lose his temper or say harsh words to anyone." Lina's tone was full of admiration.
At this moment, Mary, a woman who was peeling potatoes next to her, suddenly lowered her voice:
"Come to think of it... Has the priest, such a good man, never considered starting a family? He doesn't look very young either."
This topic seems to have aroused everyone's interest.
Aunt Martha wiped her hands and lowered her voice, "I think I heard an old priest who came here a long time ago mention it... that Gasiel was willing to take over the priesthood in memory of his late wife."
"Dead wife?!" Lina and Mary exclaimed almost at the same time. Even Wen Yin, who had been listening quietly beside them, suddenly stopped picking vegetables.
"Really? Aunt Martha! Did the priest really... have a wife?"
Lina's voice was full of surprise and distress.
Aunt Martha nodded and said regretfully, "That's what the old priest said. He must be right, but he only mentioned it once."
Mary clasped her hands in front of her chest: "Oh my God...so that's how it is!"
"That's why the priest's eyes are always so gentle, yet filled with an indescribable sadness..."
Lina was also deeply touched: "No wonder he keeps just the right distance from everyone..."
"Although that lady unfortunately passed away young, being remembered by someone like her for so long is, in a sense... a kind of happiness."
"Yes," Aunt Martha sighed, "so the priest always gently rejected those girls who showed interest in him later."
Their conversation reached Wen Yin's ears word for word.
My deceased wife...
She unconsciously repeated it softly, and suddenly felt a sharp pain in her fingertips.
Wen Yin took a breath and subconsciously retracted her hand.
"What's wrong?" Aunt Martha, who was sitting opposite her, noticed her unusual behavior and asked with concern.
Wen Yin looked down and found that it was the sharp thorns on the wild vegetables that cut her hand.
Tiny drops of blood instantly oozed out from the fingertips.
"It's okay," Wen Yin twisted the bleeding fingertips, looked up and smiled at Martha, "It's just a scratch."
But Martha looked past her, with an expression of surprise and embarrassment on her face.
"Father? Are you back?"
Wen Yin was originally immersed in the indescribable loss brought by the word "deceased wife". When he heard Martha's name, he instinctively turned his head.
At the kitchen door, Gasiel was standing quietly.
He seemed to have just returned, and the coldness from outside was still on him. The hem of his pure white priest robe was stained with some unmelted snow.
He was standing against the light, with the warm winter sun shining from behind him, casting a blurry and dazzling halo around him.
Wen Yin couldn't see the details of his face clearly, only his pale golden eyes looked particularly deep in the shadow of the backlight.
He just stood there, his eyes calmly sweeping over everyone in the kitchen, and finally, he landed on Wen Yin, who had just turned back with a depressed look on her face.
Wen Yin stared at him in a daze.
She didn't know if it was the pain in her hand or some other strange emotion, but as she looked at each other, she felt a pang of sadness in her heart.
Before this, she thought he had simply forgotten her.
It doesn't matter. She can get to know him again and accompany him, even as a stranger. As long as she is by his side, she believes that time can give birth to new possibilities.
But now...
The word "deceased wife" was like an unbridgeable gap between her and him.
What if Gashir already has a lover in his heart that is deep enough for him to never forget?
Then does she still have the qualifications to hope for a reunion?
A thin layer of moisture rose to the corners of her eyes. Wen Yin blinked and hurriedly looked away.
Gasiel stepped into the kitchen, carrying with him a lingering chill.
He didn't look at Wen Yin, but walked straight to the open space next to the stove and took off the heavy sack on his shoulder.
The bag opened, revealing potatoes and radishes with the aroma of earth.
"A thank-you gift from Oak Village," he turned to Martha and said in a gentle voice, "Please take care of it."
Wen Yin lowered her eyes, and her gaze happened to fall on the hem of Gasiel's robe.
The soft fabric was soaked with snow water and had a dark color.
The scent of the wilderness and snow, mixed with the unique cold fragrance on his body, forcefully invaded her senses.
Martha quickly stood up and waved her hand, indicating that this was her job.
After finishing his instructions, Gasiel turned around and was about to leave.
Wen Yin saw his pair of wet boots turn towards the door, but then stopped in the next second.
A cool breath approached.
"Wen Yin."
He called her.
The sound was not loud, but it was like a bell suddenly ringing in the silent night, making her heart numb.
"I'm still getting used to it these days."
Wen Yin raised her head almost in response, and a grateful smile quickly appeared on her face.
"Thank you for your concern, Father. I'm fine." She responded quickly, her voice brisk, her eyes quickly sweeping across the other person's face.
He was thinner, and his jawline was sharper.
The golden hair was messed up by the wind and snow, hanging down in front of the forehead, with a breathtaking handsomeness in the side light.
Those pale golden eyes were still calm, but upon closer inspection, they seemed to hide an imperceptible fatigue, deeper than in memory.
This instantly overwhelmed the pain she felt for her wife's death with an even more intense heartache.
"Everything is fine."
Gasiel's gaze paused for half a second at the corner of Wen Yin's eyes, then he turned around. Only when his footsteps faded away did the women breathe a sigh of relief.
"Father... he probably didn't notice that we were chatting just now, right?" Lina muttered softly, with a sense of luck.
Aunt Martha patted her apron, looking a little uncertain: "I hope not...but the priest was at the door just now..."
She was interrupted by Hermida who suddenly stuck her head in from the door.
The boy's eyes sparkled with excitement. "What are you talking about? I just saw the priest come back and he was listening at the door for quite a while."
Lina and the others looked at each other, a hint of embarrassment flashing across their faces.
They exchanged glances, and finally just smiled awkwardly, tacitly agreeing not to continue the previous topic.
-
Perhaps it was because she hadn't slept well for days, or perhaps it was because her mood was too fluctuating, but Wen Yin's body, which had not been well cared for, finally couldn't hold on. As expected, she fell ill late at night when Gasiel returned.
She curled up on the small couch, feeling a chill, but her forehead was surprisingly hot.
Outside the window, heavy snow falls silently, isolating this winter night into a lonely white.
It was late at night and everyone was asleep. She didn't want to disturb anyone with this little discomfort, especially... the person next door.
Wen Yin struggled to stand up, groped her way out of bed, and poured herself a glass of already cold water.
The cold liquid ran down her throat, bringing her a brief moment of clarity. She lay back on the bed and pulled the quilt tighter.
In the room, the small candle she had lit before going to bed was still burning tenaciously. The dim light cast a blurry and fragile shadow of her curled up on the wall.
And behind this thin wall is Gashir.
Gasiel, who had already forgotten everything as she wished, and even had another deceased wife in his heart.
Thinking of the word "deceased wife" and Gasiel's gentle alienation, a mixture of grievance and deep sadness caused by illness surged in my heart.
Wen Yin's nose felt sore and her vision instantly became blurry.
She buried her hot cheeks deeply in the pillow with the fragrance of soapberry.
-
Separated by a wall.
Gasiel did not sleep.
He stood quietly in the shadow of the room, his figure almost blending into the darkness. Only the faint light reflected from the snow outside the window vaguely outlined his tall and lonely figure.
Through the wall, he could clearly hear the rustling sound of someone tossing and turning on the bed due to discomfort.
His fingertips twirled unconsciously, and his mind kept appearing the image of Wen Yin looking back at him, her amber eyes filled with mist, confusion and pain.
My deceased wife...
He heard every word the women in the kitchen whispered to each other.
He knew what she was sad about.
Isn't this exactly what she could have foreseen when she left?
Forgotten.
was replaced.
Gasiel wanted to make this abandoned person feel what loneliness and doubts had been eating away at him day and night for more than thirty years.
But why, when she really showed that expression, the feeling in his heart was not the expected joy.
But was it another more turbulent kind of restlessness that almost broke through the calmness he had carefully maintained?
There was another rustling sound from next door, and the sound of a cup being put down.
He stood facing the wall in the cold darkness for a long time, like an ascetic torturing his own desires.
Until the sound from the other side gradually weakened, leaving only the sound of sick breathing.
Finally, Gasiel exhaled very slowly.
The breath condensed into a faint white mist in the cold air and quickly dissipated.
Gasiel turned around and opened the door of his room in the darkness.
-
Wen Yin, who was delirious from fever, did not hear the slight sound of the door opening and closing.
The chaotic burning sensation enveloped her, making her consciousness a little groggy.
Just as she curled up in discomfort, a pair of cool hands gently supported the back of her neck.
The slightly cool rim of the cup pressed against her cracked lips, and the warm, bitter, medicinal liquid slowly flowed in.
She resisted subconsciously, frowned and tried to avoid it.
“Ahem… no…”
Those hands held her steadily with unquestionable strength, and the voice was low and gentle.
"Drink it, and you'll feel better."
Perhaps it was the familiar tone in the voice, or perhaps it was the familiar smell of the person in front of her, Wen Yin finally obeyed and swallowed the unpalatable medicine.
After feeding her the medicine, the hands seemed to want to put her back on the pillow and prepare to leave.
But at the moment of evacuation, Wen Yin seemed to have a premonition of something.
The high fever stripped away all her pretense of rationality. The grievances she had suffered in the past few days, the sorrow of learning about the existence of her deceased wife, and the despair of his seemingly strange and distant attitude towards her, suddenly burst out at this moment like a flood that broke through a dam.
“Don’t go…”
Wen Yin didn't know where she got the strength from, but she hugged the figure who was about to leave tightly, burying her hot cheeks in the other's slightly cool but solid arms.
The familiar scent of the fabric, a mixture of cold fragrance and wind and snow, made her tears flow even more violently.
"Gasir...Gasir..."
She called his name over and over again, her voice broken, nasal and full of grievance.
"Don't leave me..."
She was afraid that this was just a dream, so she could only use all her strength to grasp this moment of warmth.
Gasiel froze completely.
He could clearly feel the heat of the person in his arms and the scorching temperature of her tears, which almost burned through his heart.
Gasiel clenched his hands at his sides, loosened them, and clenched them again, with veins visible on the back of his hands.
In the darkness, he closed his eyes and his Adam's apple rolled violently, as if he was swallowing some extreme pain and struggle.
After a long time, so long that Wen Yin's crying gradually turned into low sobs, he very slowly raised one hand, gently placed it on the top of her sweaty head, and stroked it very lightly.
“…I didn’t want you.”
His deep voice echoed in the darkness, so hoarse that it was almost out of tune, with an almost morbid persistence.
"Go to sleep."
Gasiel did not leave, but sat on the edge of the bed in this hugging posture, holding her hot body tighter in his arms.
Wen Yin found an indescribable sense of security in his arms. Finally, she could not resist the effects of the drug and fatigue. She clutched the slightly damp collar of his shirt on her chest and fell into a deep sleep.
Gasiel lowered his eyes, staring at the defenseless sleeping face of the person in his arms, with an unremovable dark tide in his eyes.
After a long time, he slowly closed his arms and buried his entire face in her sweaty neck.
Breathing deeply and greedily the scent that belonged to her.
"I don't know if this is a punishment for you..."
"I'm still punishing myself."
-
Wen Yin woke up in the cool morning light.
The burning sensation had subsided. Although his limbs were still sore and weak, his mind was clear and the temperature of his forehead had obviously returned to normal.
She slowly sat up with the help of her arms and looked around the quiet study.
The snow outside the window stopped, and the sunlight shone on the snow, reflecting a dazzling white.
The memory of last night is like a broken lens, blurry and confusing.
She seemed to have had a very long dream.
I dreamed of...Gasir, who remembered everything.
She shook her head, trying to dispel these unrealistic fantasies.
Those touches and whispers were nothing more than hallucinations caused by the high fever.
It seems that my body is still strong enough to survive this sudden cold.
She breathed a sigh of relief, feeling a little relieved and a little lost.
Just as she was about to get up and find some water to drink, there was a gentle knock on the door and Aunt Martha came in with a bowl of steaming porridge.
"Awake? Feeling better?"
Martha put the porridge on the bedside and looked at her with concern.
"Last night, Hermida said you were coughing, and we were a little worried. But it seems you're fine now, and you look much better."
Wen Yin took the bowl of warm porridge and smiled gratefully: "Thank you for your concern. I should be fine. I just caught a cold. I will be fine after a good night's sleep and sweating."
Aunt Martha saw that she had indeed recovered a lot of spirits, and she felt relieved: "I'm glad you're okay."
"Yeah." Wen Yin nodded slightly.
-
Because of this illness, Wen Yin received temporary preferential treatment.
Everyone told her to rest well in her room and not to come out to help.
She enjoyed the quietness, but also felt a little bored.
During the day, she only caught a glimpse of Gashir once, through the crack in the door.
He was walking across the courtyard, talking in a low voice with an elderly believer. His silhouette appeared exceptionally tall and calm in the sunshine after the snow, yet also carried a sense of aloofness that seemed to keep people at a distance.
He didn't look at her, as if the entanglement in that vague dream last night was really just a fantasy of her illness.
Wen Yin withdrew her gaze, gently closed the door, and returned to the small couch.
With nothing to do, her eyes fell on the simple bookshelf by the wall.
Some religious texts and ordinary books are neatly placed on it, and they look like they are often read.
She casually pulled out an old-looking handwritten book bound in ordinary hardcover and opened it casually.
However, just one glance and her heart skipped a beat.
The handwriting on the paper was thin, powerful, and had a unique style. It was exactly the same as the handwriting that she remembered Gasiel writing.
Time seems to flow backwards at this moment.
Those moments in the little house in Gila Town, watching him record his daily life... all the memories of him writing at his desk have become vivid because of the familiar handwriting.
He retained his old writing habits.
This realization caused a subtle ripple in Wen Yin's heart.
She closed the book somewhat uneasily, her fingertips unconsciously brushing behind her ears, as she always felt that there seemed to be something strange there.
It was as if something had lightly branded it.
After hesitating for a moment, she walked to the blurry old bronze mirror in the corner of the room, tilted her head slightly, and looked at the place where her ear and hairline met in the mirror with the light coming in from the window.
The mirror was blurry, but she could still clearly see that there was a small, not very obvious, ambiguous red mark.
The color is very light, but the shape... looks very much like the mark left by someone sucking hard.
In her dream last night, the feeling of that hot breath on her neck, that deep and hoarse voice that seemed to be ringing right next to her ear... came up to her again unexpectedly.
Wen Yin froze in front of the mirror. Only the tiny red mark behind her ear seemed to carry lingering body temperature, making her heart beat wildly and almost burst through her chest.
After a long time, she managed to calm her breathing, carefully straightened her slightly messy clothes, took a deep breath, and opened the door.
-
The corridor was deserted and silent, with only the faint sound of chanting coming from the prayer room.
Her eyes involuntarily turned to the closed door next door.
That was Gahil's bedroom.
An irresistible impulse drove Wen Yin to push open the unlocked door.
The furnishings in the room were simple, almost rigid, in keeping with the austerity expected of a priest.
But Wen Yin captured some almost imperceptible details.
The ink bottle placed in the corner of the desk was the special style she remembered him using.
An old robe casually draped over the back of the chair had frayed cuffs that matched perfectly with her memory of a small, unconscious gesture of his.
Even the scent of a specific kind of ink mixed with cold fragrance in the air resembled the smell in her memory.
Wen Yin's gaze finally fell on the leather notebook in the middle of the desk, which looked the oldest.
With trembling hands, she opened it.
What caught my eye was neither scripture nor doctrinal notes.
It's a painting.
Page after page, densely packed with portraits of her, carved with charcoal, ink, or perhaps even fingernails or something sharp.
There is her silhouette, slightly lost in thought, as she holds her chin to her hand and looks into the distance;
There were her coquettish and angry eyes after being teased by him;
There was the moment when she left resolutely in the shattered sunset, with tears falling from the corners of her eyes;
Those expressions and gestures that she had long forgotten were captured with extreme precision and frozen on this rough page.
The paper became soft due to frequent turning, and the edges of many portraits became blurred due to countless fingertips rubbing them.
There were even traces of dried-up water stains on some pages, like silent tears.
Wen Yin's eyes felt a little sore.
Until she turned to the page near the back, she saw that there was no longer just a portrait, but also densely written text.
The handwriting is sometimes neat, sometimes chaotic, as if recording the writer's completely different moods.
Her eyes were fixed on the last line, written with such force that it almost ripped through the paper:
[In the 32nd snow season, she finally returned.]
【Sentence me to eternal damnation with the appearance I most desire.】
The notebook in my hand almost slipped.
It turns out... he remembers everything.
Remember what she looked like, remember their past, remember that separation.
The so-called "deceased wife" rumor may just be an excuse for him to reject others and close his heart.
And his gentle aloofness during the day was just a thin layer of ice, covering up the hot magma and deep pain that had been surging underneath for more than 30 years and could almost swallow her up.
He was always watching her, in his own way.
But she, like a fool, thought that he had forgotten her long ago, and even felt sad for the false death of his wife.
The huge shock mixed with the surging heartache overwhelmed Wen Yin like a tsunami.
She had to hold onto the edge of the table to barely stand, the only sound in her ears being the beating of her own heart.
Just when her mind was shaken and she could hardly think.
A strong feeling of being watched suddenly seized her.
There were still tears in Wen Yin's red eyes that hadn't fallen yet, and she subconsciously turned around.
Gahir stood quietly at the door.
No one knew when he appeared, still wearing the pure white priest robe, with an upright posture.
His golden hair cast a blurry halo in the backlight coming through the window, immersing most of his face in shadow and making it difficult to see clearly.
He lowered his eyes slightly, his gaze falling on the open notebook in her hand, which was filled with all his secret delusions and pain.
Before Wen Yin could recover from the sudden eye contact, Gasiel moved.
He did not walk towards her, but slightly sideways, stretched out his hand, slowly and calmly, raised his hand and gently pushed the old wooden bolt on the inside of the door into the slot.
“Click.”
There was a soft sound, so clear in the silent room that it made one's heart tremble.
No surprise, no questioning.
Gasiel stood quietly by the door, against the light, like a silent god descending into the confessional.
But the deep aura that permeated his body was no longer concealed at all.
The door lock that he had locked with his own hands made Wen Yin understand instantly.
That appearance of gentleness and compassion, that seemingly unreachable distance, is nothing but a carefully maintained illusion.
Thirty-two years have not eliminated any obsession, but have only suppressed the blazing flame into a cold undercurrent.
At this moment, the undercurrent finally broke through the dam.
She stood before his private evidence, his mark still lingering behind her ear.
The air was stagnant, silently declaring:
The trial has begun.
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