Chapter 342: Family Scandal

"Dominic? Dominic!"

A call from close by drifted over, sounding so urgent that Dominic felt if he didn't respond immediately, he'd get two slaps.

Double images flickered before his eyes, like dark pigment poured into a drain, stretched by the water into circular arcs, spinning with the vortex background and sucked into the pitch-black core in the center.

The sound also became slow, stretched and distorted. His own dry lips opened and closed slightly, yet what was said was equally unintelligible; it was even hard to determine if he was making a sound at all.

Then came the pain. The skull seemed as large as a prayer hall, so that even the most intense physiological sensation took a while to travel from the back of the head to the forehead, humming like an echo in the vast emptiness of consciousness.

A cold sensation pressed against one side of his neck; congratulations, the companion's first reaction was to check the pulse, not to wake him physically. The first aid course hadn't been in vain.

Fortunately, the arterial pulse was quite obvious; even though Field's touch in his haste was off-target, he felt that strong blood flow originating from the heart, filled with horror, every beat like a final struggle before sliding into the abyss.

This wasn't exactly friendly to the blood vessels, but it was good for the ribcage—it successfully avoided the fate of having several ribs snapped while being pressed on uneven ground.

Dominic could feel the chaotic footsteps around him; his body was lifted and carried out into the bright outdoors, away from the dim, spinning enclosed space.

The drum-like heartbeat still pounded against the eardrums; vision stabilized first, followed by hearing and spatial awareness.

Field waved three fingers before his eyes; he just made up a number, only changing his tune when the guy started panicking.

More panicked than Field was the homeowner. He abandoned the half-woven rattan basket, standing helplessly nearby, terrified by the sudden incident.

The instant Dominic fell, a thousand serious consequences of a clergyman dying in his house might have flashed through his mind; he stammered prayers to the Heavenly Father, begging the Almighty Lord to perform a miracle and save a life, or at least leave a breath of life.

Though he didn't know if the Lord had heard, Dominic certainly did. A few phrases repeated over and over, most often taught to ordinary believers; it seemed that during the vacant years of the monastery, traces of faith had still been passed down.

"It's nothing, just let me rest a bit." Dominic sat up leaning against the wall root, comforting little John who was almost kneeling and begging him not to die, "Just dizziness, it's not your fault."

That feeling came strangely and left quickly. Compared to the influence of the specially designed roof and the style of the hand-woven items, poor health and a missed breakfast were more likely the culprits.

Some might explain physical discomfort as being haunted by some evil spirit, but the devout monks have always scoffed at such notions. The orthodox view does not deny the existence of evil spirits and demonic disturbances, but also emphasizes that these belong to extremely special, low-probability events, and one should not ignore the common existence of illnesses caused by dietary disorders or environmental hygiene for this reason.

"Forgive the laughter; speaking of which, you might not believe it, I was usually in good health, it's just that since coming here, I haven't been very adapted."

After such an incident, the distance between the two sides seemed to narrow a bit; little John brought a self-made cushion, letting the two monks sit and rest temporarily in the sunny spot in front of the house.

Once again, Dominic noticed that weaving method; in the Artisan's work, it was almost everywhere, possessing good adaptability, and with slight adjustment could be cleverly twisted into various extended shapes.

"Truly excellent; even in Dunling, I haven't seen many better than this."

Although he didn't know where Dunling was, it didn't stop little John from hearing that this was praise for his craftsmanship. Gaining a monk's approval was very gratifying, but one still had to appear humble:

"Actually, many people know a bit, it's just that my father was a bit more skilled, and he taught me."

"That's not just 'a bit'; your father must also be an excellent basket maker." Dominic handed the pendant he hadn't given earlier into the other's hand, and smoothly moved the cushion closer, sitting side by side like a friend.

Family craftsmanship was a good option to open a topic, and also very suitable for extending to the older generation.

"Can you talk about him, for instance, how he inherited the family craft? The brothers in the monastery before must have liked his work; did they ask him to help weave flower baskets for holding Offerings?"

"Hmm, actually, it should be from my father that our family specialized in this; Grandfather still hoped he would focus on farming. In my memory, they argued about this a few times, but not much after I turned ten."

"Did your father convince him?"

"Father convinced him with his craft." Little John's lips unconsciously pressed together; that seemed to be a hint of envy, the pure envy of a craftsman for someone with greater talent, "With the same things, he could always do them better."

"Grandfather only taught the making of hats and baskets, but one day, he brought out baskets; later came cushions, stools... even the roof."

"A genius." Field exclaimed. Such a person pursuing a bachelor's degree would definitely not worry about being unable to write innovative points in the lecture notes.

Pity he was born a few years early; unfortunately missing the peak period of the church's development here, the world lost a scholar with a bright future and gained a gifted basket maker.

"I'm truly glad his craft has been inherited."

"Actually, I haven't been able to inherit all of my father's craft; at most, I'm a bit better than Grandfather." Little John's pressed lips drooped, regret and displeasure flashing alternately.

"He left too early; there were too many things he didn't have time to teach; before passing, he even brought quite a bit of trouble to the family..."

"Please accept my condolences." Dominic stepped forward and held his hand, "The love of the Heavenly Father is vast; his service to the village during his life will be remembered, and his soul must have ascended to heaven."

"Sigh..."

The exhortation had no effect; when mentioning ascending to heaven, the other's expression actually grew dimmer.

Dominic and Field exchanged a glance; something unexpected had changed in the situation.

"If there is some unspeakable difficulty, you might as well tell us. In the name of the Heavenly Father, we will keep the secret; all sins can be redeemed after sincere repentance."

Stopping at the point, the two tacitly left time and space for little John struggling internally.

Appropriate silence is more powerful than verbal questioning; it can be trust and tolerance, or solemnity and pressure.

The basket maker gripped the holy medal pendant; in the silence, one could seemingly hear the wooden wings rubbing against the palm bones through the skin.

"There is something, about my father; at that time, it brought great trouble."

Dominic gently patted the back of this man who was much older than himself, just as a father comforts a child who has erred, encouraging him to continue speaking. Some tasks once watched being done by priests were being learned without a teacher in a short time.

"Will you keep it secret?"

"In the name of the Heavenly Father."

After receiving the assurance again, the man loosened his pressed lips:

"At that time I wasn't sure, but thinking back now, he might indeed have done some things he shouldn't have..."