King's Bridge Monastery
Cultivator Ogne was doing his cleaning, sweeping the small open area in front of the stables of King's Bridge Monastery. Not far away, outside the courtyard wall, grew a crooked maple tree whose branches always reached into the courtyard, even though it was now almost bare.
Once the ground became damp, the leaves would stick stubbornly to the surface, making them a real pain to clean up. It would take at least an hour to clear them, and few people were willing to spend that much time on such a trivial task.
But Ogne was willing to spend far more than an hour on it.
Head down, he swung the broom, flicking the leaves up one by one and pushing them aside. The ground at his feet became neat and tidy.
He had already been toiling away for three hours today.
The clean ground brought him a little bit of joy.
Even if that tidy patch was limited to the area around his feet.
Suddenly, he fell into a daze. The broom in his hands dropped to the ground, and he lifted his head.
"I remember now. I think I'm a priest."
At that very same moment, by the stables, a portly cultivator who was sitting on a bench chopping fodder set down his knife and also suddenly looked up.
"I remember now. I think I'm a poet."
Just then, a short cultivator who was standing by the water vat near the stables, scooping water to drink, also suddenly looked up.
"I remember now. I think... I think I really am a cultivator."
Then he lowered his head again.
Cultivator Ogne and the portly cultivator looked at each other. They then slowly approached and clasped hands.
"We can't go on being so depraved. From now on..."
They spoke in unison, but they didn't get to finish their sentence.
The courtyard gate was kicked open, and an old man, reeking of alcohol with a flushed face and thinning hair, staggered in while holding a wine bottle.
"Drink! Everyone, drink up! Let the music play on! *Hiccup*~"
Dean James's sudden assault scared the two so much they clung to each other in a terrified huddle.
After a bout of colorful vomiting, Dean James sobered up a little.
"There's a new bathhouse in town. Anyone... anyone want to sign up? I... I'm paying."
Dean James swayed, about to lose his balance, when he suddenly felt himself floating.
"I... I'm flying! Hahaha."
The two of them, supporting James, dashed toward town at a speed they had never before witnessed in their lives.
'We'll start again tomorrow...'
Just as he reached the gate, leading JOJO, Eric watched the trio speeding away like a motorcycle, the corner of his mouth twitching.
'I just got back and I'm already running into something this ridiculous. But then again, considering this is King's Bridge Monastery, I guess it's normal.'
"Where are they off to in such a rush?"
Eric looked at the only person in the courtyard who still seemed somewhat normal: the short cultivator.
"A new bathhouse opened in town. They want to try it out. Dean James said he's paying."
The short cultivator waved his hand nonchalantly and placed the water ladle back into the vat.
"Such a great offer. You're not going?"
"Desire is poison. Clothe yourselves with the Lord Jesus Christ, and make no provision for the flesh, to gratify its desires. Do not lust in your heart after her beauty, nor let her captivate you with her eyelashes." (1 Corinthians 6:13)
He recited this with a deadpan expression.
The disdain for worldly life dripping from his words made him seem like a beacon of purity in this monastery.
What a chaste and self-respecting cultivator. Eric actually felt a sense of admiration, a truly rare sight in this monastery. He was so moved he was on the verge of tears.
With that, the short cultivator let out a sigh, as if lamenting the moral decay of the modern world, and then walked toward another building.
It was just that his gait was a bit strange; it looked like his butt was tightly clenched.
'Forget it.'
Eric shook his head and then headed toward the chapel.
Just as when he had left, it was still the quietest place in the monastery, so quiet that you would hardly see anyone here except during the prayer time before meals.
A thin priest was leaning against the wall, his eyes closed in a light doze.
"Hello, Seric. Where's Philip?"
"Ah, Eric, my brother! You're back."
Seric seemed quite enthusiastic, embracing Eric directly.
During the hug, he took Eric's right hand, smoothly grabbed what was in it, and nonchalantly slipped it into his own pocket before finally letting Eric go.
"Your trip to Xialing seems to have been quite fruitful."
"Just a little, just a little," Eric chuckled, pinching his fingers together to show a small amount.
Seric was the deacon of King's Bridge Monastery, and a deacon for life at that. He managed all the miscellaneous affairs of the monastery, including security, procurement of supplies, building repairs, Church fundraising...
Like Eric, he was quite... flexible in certain respects.
Generally speaking, cultivators were not allowed to leave the monastery. Although King's Bridge Monastery was managed quite loosely, the deacon would still take a headcount at midnight. Anyone found absent would be expelled.
Every time Eric had a chance to sneak out without being discovered, it was all thanks to Seric.
"So, where's Philip?"
"In his own workshop. But you should be calling him Vice-Dean now," Seric said, pointing to a room not far down the corridor.
"Now that's an unexpected outcome."
This genuinely surprised Eric. 'It seems the reforms in the English Church have had some effect after all.'
"You're telling me. Let me tell you, that Lait fellow was furious that day."
"Sounds like I missed a good show."
"You really did. By the way, are you sure you want to see Philip right now?"
"Why? Has he started putting on airs already?" Eric frowned.
"No, no, but I think it might be a little worse than that. Right now, he's..."
Seric didn't continue, instead just pointing at his own head and then waving his hand dismissively.
"Has he lost his mind?"
"The higher-ups changed the rules. Every appointee to a senior clerical position has to write a theological paper. Bishop Warren told Philip to write a good one, and he would help submit it directly to the Archbishop, to be reviewed personally by Archbishop Lanfranc."
"That's an incredible honor. So Philip is preparing..."
Eric didn't finish his sentence. He walked quickly to the room, gently slid open the small iron plate on the door, and peered inside.
Philip was sitting ramrod straight in his chair, flipping through a book in his hands, seemingly having researched for a long time. Beside him lay a clean sheet of parchment, and next to that was a huge, messy pile of books.
'Indeed, to write a good paper, you certainly need to do your research thoroughly. It looks like Philip has been very serious lately; he must have read a lot of books,' Eric thought, nodding in affirmation.
Suddenly, Philip slammed the book shut.
'Is he finally going to start writing? Looks like I'm back at just the right time.' Eric gave him a look of anticipation.
He took a deep breath, picked up his quill with an extremely precise motion, dipped it in ink, and then, in one fluid and masterful sequence of movements...
...he wrote a single, large word on the parchment: "On."
Just as Eric was expecting him to continue writing, Philip suddenly stood up.
"How did this floor get so dirty? No, I have to clean it. A holy paper must be written in a holy environment."
"These books are too messy. They're restricting my arm movements. I need to tidy up."
"I haven't done my prayers today. Before writing, I must maintain my piety to the Lord."
"Ah, little bird, your song is so beautiful. Are you a messenger sent by the Lord? Your singing is so delightful."
"I'm suddenly a bit thirsty. It's important to keep the body comfortable while writing..."
"..."
Eric, completely speechless, slid the iron plate shut and looked at Seric.
"How long has he been showing these symptoms?"