Chapter 293: Duling Holiday

A piece of warm knowledge: the earthly representative of the Heavenly Father also needs to eat and drink.

Rural priests and monks without conditions must rely on donations from believers or their own labor to meet life's needs; whereas larger monasteries, and even urban centers of ecclesiastical power, basically all possess their own estates.

The sources of these estates are complex; a large portion consists of land acquired through reclamation and purchase, including wheat fields, plantations, forests, and the labor force required to make them function.

They continuously provide stable economic returns; their operational model is much like a fiefdom, except the center has shifted from a castle to a monastery similarly protected by high walls, forming a semi-independent little kingdom in the absence of outside disturbance.

Due to certain advantages in talent, technology, and management, the Church's operational level is often far higher than that of some families.

Kraft was one of those "some families," and he knew this very well.

So when he arrived at Father Green's temporary residence with Brother Wading, apart from admiration, he did not appear particularly surprised.

They set out on the first day the weather cleared, arriving at this small hill about half a morning's journey from the Duling city district; pleasing green arcs wound along the terrain, arranged on the sun-facing terraced slopes in an order so neat it would satisfy a perfectionist to an abnormal degree.

As they ascended along the cart path, they toured the planting area on the way. Vines growing attached to wooden frames flourished; their palmate broad leaves fully unfurled and overlapped, shading clusters of bead-like strings nourished by summer rain and heat.

Half-ripe fruits, green with a hint of purple, were still brewing their sugars; cultivators were trimming the irrigation channels, evenly distributing water from the highlands into every field ridge to ensure supply during the critical growth period.

According to Brother Wading's explanation, the channel water all came from a natural spring, which was why the earliest reclaimers had chosen this land.

The monastery sat atop the hill; with fewer decorations and narrow windows, its high, solid outer walls were clearly of some age, likely built during turbulent times when security issues were still severe, and they had stood firm through the ages.

Kraft dismounted with Brother Wading before the gate, watched him show some kind of identification to the monks, and was only then allowed to pass.

Passing through the gate arch, he unexpectedly discovered a second gate overhead, a portcullis. Although it probably did not open and close frequently, the surroundings were kept very clean, with no debris that could jam the path.

Moving inward, they entered the building's courtyard; compared to the unkempt outer walls, the arrangement here was much more comfortable.

In the open-air square courtyard stood a trellis built around a reservoir; the water shaded by plants was clear to the bottom, with fresh fallen leaves and petals drifting on the living water dotted with floating specks of gold, disappearing into the underground channel beneath the stone slabs.

The high walls separated this area from the busy orchard outside; the soft, faint sound of water became the main tone. Occasionally, a monk passed by with slow, light steps, unconsciously maintaining the leisurely and tranquil atmosphere.

The person they had come to find sat by the pool turning pages, with a plate of fruit beside him containing a bunch of early-ripening grapes that had hardly been touched.

Brother Wading stepped forward, unceremoniously plucked one and stuffed it into his mouth, immediately understanding why that bunch of grapes had remained so intact until their arrival.

"It's hard to imagine they'd serve you this stuff." The dissolved sourness twisted his features, but with clean stone flooring everywhere and nowhere to spit, he had no choice but to force it down.

"Fruits out of their natural season are always sour and bitter." Green closed what he held in his hands, swept fallen leaves from the bench beside him, and invited the two visitors to sit.

He seemed fully integrated into the environment, already adapted to the suddenly empty life of vacation.

But the sharp-eyed Kraft caught a glimpse of part of the paper's content: a report dated very recently.

"I hope you've rested well these days. Brother Wading told me you feel the voices in your ears are fewer?"

"That's right, you're correct; there are indeed fewer." Green pulled out a folded small paper marked with several dates and tally marks.

Looking at the numbers alone, there was indeed a decrease, roughly from over thirty times a day to about ten now, but there was a rather steep drop over two days. Recalling it, that was when the weather shifted from rain to overcast.

"What about the dreams? And how is the light in the dreams?"

"They aren't so clear anymore."

"What isn't so clear? The dreams, or those lights?" The improving trend of symptoms made Kraft feel slightly more reassured; at least past experience had been partially effective.

"The dreams, I suppose. When I first arrived, I could remember some things, like walking around the room where I fell asleep, but for the past two days it's been hard to recall what happened..." Green paused for a moment as he spoke, as if sensing something.

"As for the light, I haven't had much impression of it since coming here; I even feel it wasn't directed at me."

"Your advice was very helpful; staying away temporarily is a good choice, but I wish to return to Duling sooner."

"My advice is not to rush; it's not too late to return only after you are fully recovered. Given your current condition, if you are affected again and relapse, the consequences could be worse, and the delay would only be longer."

Experience suggests that the best way to dissuade a seriously ill patient from leaving the hospital is to make them understand that nothing can be accomplished outside now—although this method's effectiveness is rather low.

"But..." Just as Kraft was about to engage Green in a debate about work efficiency while ill, the other paused again, this time turning his head to look in a certain direction, "It's like this; I feel the direction of those voices is clearer."

"Duling?" Kraft easily guessed from the head-turning motion that it was the direction they had come from.

"Yes."

"That's normal. That thing is in Duling; it's quite reasonable that you feel the voices are coming from that side." Kraft felt it was nothing major; perhaps the environment here had an effect, and his mindset had grown peaceful along with it.

Perhaps, if there was time, it would be best to ask if people could be brought here for a team-building outing; the slightly tipsy sunlight was too comfortable, making someone who always huddled in the lab at night feel somewhat unaccustomed.

He enjoyed this feeling; his brain was running at low power, the scenery before his eyes swayed imperceptibly, and he himself felt a bit dizzy.

Strangely, Green beside him seemed to sway in sync, reaching out to press his brow.

"Did you feel it too?" the priest asked.

"No, I've just been reversing day and night recently; I'm a bit dizzy." Kraft scooped up a handful of cool pool water and pressed it to his face, snapping fully awake; that few seconds of dizziness just now must have been a lingering effect of staying up late.

Brother Wading, listening to their conversation, voiced confusion: "Did you two also feel a bit dizzy just now?"

"You too?"

Before the words had fully faded, amidst the usual silence, the priest suddenly clamped both hands over his ears, looking toward the direction he had turned earlier, as if a deafening roar like a million people shouting or a tidal wave was erupting from there, tearing at his eardrums on a frequency others could not hear.

And Kraft belatedly realized that what he had felt just now was not dizziness, but some vibration from deep within the earth, crossing a vast distance to reach beneath their feet.