22 Classics

Father Playa, of course, could not have known that in the span of a single instant, he had become the target of a million pointed fingers.

After correcting the error in the sacred words recited by Wu Qingchen, Playa let out several chuckles and took a breath before continuing, “Come, little Los, recite with me: ‘The path the Saint walked is covered in thorns, and flames burn in patches.’”

“The path the Saint walked is covered in thorns, and flames burn in patches.”

“Very good.”

Observing closely as little Los recited these sacred words, Playa’s smile deepened. The child was indeed clever—more importantly, without much guidance, the boy’s intonation and posture were already nearly perfect.

At this, Playa turned his gaze. Below the altar, young Andre sat obediently at a long table, earnestly reading a parchment scroll.

Turning around, little Los stood quietly by the doorpost, right hand on his shoulder, eyes fixed properly on the stone floor.

This was piety…

This was achievement…

Perhaps… perhaps, when it came time to deal with the parish deacon, his family’s additional offerings might be slightly reduced?

Vaguely, an idea surfaced in Playa’s mind. He glanced at Andre, then at little Los, and suddenly asked, “Little Los, after morning prayers these past days, I noticed you always stayed in the church a while longer, as if listening to Andre recite the Divine Canon?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Can you understand?”

“I can understand most of it.”

“Oh?”

Most of it—this answer once again surprised Playa.

The Divine Canon was the church’s most important scripture, something every cleric was required to master thoroughly. For ease of teaching and dissemination, most phrases in the Canon were pronounced with an accent close to the church’s central dialect, and arranged with a certain rhythm for memorization. Therefore, whether Andre, Playa, or any other cleric recited the Canon, it certainly sounded markedly different from the accent of this little village of Eckley.

Under such circumstances, for little Los to understand most of it was astonishing; Playa could not help but ask, “Truly? You can understand?”

“Yes, Father.”

Of course he could. With hundreds of thousands of linguists, cryptographers, and sociologists working together, referencing thirty minutes of sermons before the distribution of the sacred meal, and abundant recitation material, not only could one decipher religious texts with a local accent, but even if the language shifted to that of another medieval nation, it could be completely decoded.

Moreover, what Wu Qingchen needed to master was only what the priest taught Andre—the simplest, most basic introductory content. During the second round of training, it took Wu Qingchen roughly two hours to learn.

Yet, even this introductory material was no small feat for a native priest like Playa, who in his entire life might never have seen a gathering of a hundred thousand people, and had struggled for half a month to understand the Canon himself. For someone to comprehend most of it in a few days was truly exceptional.

The next question followed naturally: “Can you remember what you understand?”

“I can remember some parts.”

“Some parts…” Playa paced back and forth, then turned and uttered half a sacred phrase: “Wrath destroys the foolish—what comes next?”

“Jealousy slays the obsessed.”

“Correct!” Playa nodded. “Do not follow the counsel of the wicked, nor stand in the way of sinners—what follows?”

“Nor sit in the seat of the scornful.” Upon reciting the sacred words, Wu Qingchen’s tone dropped to a calm, steady cadence.

“It seems you’ve remembered quite a bit… Though a righteous man may have little—what then?”

“It is better than the abundance of many wicked.”

“The mouth of the righteous utters wisdom…”

“His tongue speaks of justice.”

“Man, in honor, but without understanding…”

“Is like the beasts that perish.”

“Defend the cause of the poor and the orphan…”

“To… to… I’m sorry, Father, I do not know this one.”

“Heh…” Playa chuckled, neither confirming nor denying. “The next phrase is: ‘Do justice for the afflicted and needy.’ Continue—‘Fools delight in folly…’”

“Scorners delight in scorning.”

…

In just a minute or two, Playa and Wu Qingchen had recited over a dozen sacred phrases from the Divine Canon.

With each answer, Playa’s surprise grew: little Los responded fluently and calmly, showing a solid memory, as if recalling these sacred words was a trivial matter.

And whether they were indeed trivial, Playa only had to recall his own bitter struggles when memorizing them years ago. Even without that memory, he could simply look back—young Andre was still at the wooden table, gritting his teeth as he labored over three pages of the Canon he’d been studying for days.

Meanwhile, as Wu Qingchen answered one sacred phrase after another, his own amazement deepened:

The staff officers truly seemed to live inside this priest’s mind!

Relying on just a few dozen data points to construct a stress-response model for the priest, these officers could predict that, after drawing attention with a few good deeds, the priest’s next action would likely be to discuss the Divine Canon.

Even more astonishing, the officers had carefully selected and drilled Wu Qingchen on over twenty sacred phrases—ones they instructed him to review diligently upon arrival in this medieval world—most of which were precisely those the priest was now asking.

At that very moment, the staff officer in charge of the sacred phrase selection was feeling remorseful: with three military districts, over 6,500 staff officers, and nearly a thousand experts of various fields—analyzing a subject with no counter-surveillance awareness, whose tone and manner when preaching were clear, whose fluency in quoting sacred words was obvious, and with over ten hours of thorough simulation and analysis—they had still overlooked three phrases. It was a disgrace!

Indeed, the sacred phrase responses that so astonished Father Playa had three gaps, to which Wu Qingchen replied, “I’m sorry, Father, I do not know this one.”

“It’s alright.” Upon hearing “I do not know” for the third time, Father Playa stopped questioning, stood thoughtfully, brow furrowed as he pondered. After a moment, he spoke again, still frowning, “Little Los, you are a clever child. Since you are willing to draw near to the Lord’s radiance, during morning prayers, you should stand closer, and listen attentively to every word of the Prophet.”

The priest’s tone carried a hint of displeasure, yet, at that moment, countless staff officers silently cheered: Wu Qingchen’s being asked to stand closer during morning prayers meant he was physically nearer the Lord’s radiance—and, more importantly, that he had gained favor in the priest’s eyes.

Even more crucially, it meant that the staff’s plan to elevate Wu Qingchen’s standing had been effective, and an important first step had been achieved.

“Yes, Father.” Eyes on his toes, Wu Qingchen replied dutifully.

Leaving the church, Wu Qingchen hurried his steps.

In truth, the several good deeds he had performed these past days were not merely to “attract the priest’s attention and display devotion”—they were the carefully chosen results of the Earth-side staff’s comprehensive planning.

Burning away thorns and improving the bundling of hay not only helped neighbors but also lessened Wu Qingchen’s own labor. Repairing stretches of road, reinforcing the wooden bridge, and clearing the path’s overgrown branches made things easier for the villagers and increased his own walking speed, saving travel time.

Through these accumulated details, despite spending dozens of minutes at the church each day, Wu Qingchen had not fallen behind in his farm work, nor had he grown noticeably more fatigued.

In about twenty minutes, Wu Qingchen reached the eastern fields, where his family owned two plots. Old William and his two elder brothers were already at the field’s edge. As Wu Qingchen’s small figure approached, Old William nodded, Idra patted his shoulder, and Grace handed him a tool she had brought along.

Entering the fields, standing in the area set aside for him, Wu Qingchen put his tool aside, shook his head, and waved his hands. Following a routine designed by doctors, veteran farmhands, and physical trainers, he warmed up discreetly. Half a minute later, he silently picked up the wooden hoe, lifted it, bent his back, stepped forward, loosened the soil, and soon, beads of sweat rolled down his face and shattered on the deep red earth.

From the edge of the forest, the sun climbed to its zenith over the fields. When Wu Qingchen’s arms ached and his legs began to tremble, Old William looked up at the sky, gauged the sun’s position, coughed habitually, and called his three sons to gather their tools and head home.

The morning’s work was done.

Crossing several undulating hills, winding along the path at the foot of the slopes, the group soon saw the outline of the village. By a small stream, Old William and Idra crossed the wooden bridge, and Wu Qingchen paused. “Father, you go ahead. I’ll wash my hands and be back soon.”

“Alright, be quick. Don’t miss lunch—there’s plenty to do this afternoon,” Old William replied from the front.

“Washing clothes,” “washing face,” “washing dishes,” “washing body”—recently, little Los had grown fond of the word “wash” and was often involved in water-related tasks. Yet, his skill at farm work also increased, and the sweat he shed for the family grew ever more significant.

In an agricultural household, as long as these two conditions were met, spending time at the church or cleaning oneself were trivial matters, hardly worth notice.

This was easily understandable—in the medieval world, with abysmally low productivity, survival and life were virtually synonymous. Under such pressure, every action of a native like Old William was aimed at food; every thought, ultimately, was about filling the belly.

Thus, for Wu Qingchen to visit the church daily, “wash hands,” “wash clothes,” and so on—none of which delayed the farm work or produced food—Old William paid no heed and had no desire to know more. This rendered all the elaborate explanations, reasons, and alibis painstakingly devised and guaranteed flawless by the staff entirely meaningless.

“Los, I’ll carry your hoe.”

“Thank you, Grace.” Wu Qingchen turned, smiled at Grace who was walking with him at the rear, and handed over the wooden hoe. “Thank you.”

“No… need to thank me.” Grace smiled too, still not quite used to saying “thank you,” a phrase little Los had picked up from the priest.

Walking down the gentle slope by the bridge to the stream, Wu Qingchen rolled up his sleeves, washed the dirt from his hands, and watched his father and brothers.

When their figures vanished around the next bend, Wu Qingchen sprang up, cast a swift glance around the deserted area, then bent low and made his way along the bank toward the upper reaches of the stream.