Chapter 519: I'll Send Them to Hell

"Are you Father Anthony?"

Before Wat could keep shouting, Fulen beside him suddenly spoke.

He squinted his eyes, which were sunk in his thick lids, and re‑examined the blond, gray‑eyed middle‑aged priest before him, his tone taking on a subtle restraint.

"The priest who just arrived and exorcised demons twice?"

Anthony glanced at him, his expression calm, neither arrogant nor humble, and gave a faint nod:

"It's me."

Fulen's mouth twitched.

The two silent officers behind him exchanged a glance, and even Wat's clenched fist froze mid‑air, as if someone had hit the pause button.

Exorcism.

The term carries great weight within Christianity.

It is not a required course at seminary, nor a domain that every priest is qualified, courageous, or capable of touching.

Especially twice; this means the middle‑aged man before us is either a true believer imbued with Holy Power or a madman.

And a madman could not be sent to the most troublesome parish in the South District.

Fulen inhaled deeply, raised his hand, and pressed down on Wat's still thudding biceps.

"Wat," he said, his voice pressed low:

"Silence yourself."

Wat stared at him in disbelief: "Fulen, he—"

"I said silence yourself."

Fulen did not look at him.

He released his hand, stepped back, and nodded toward Father Anthony.

The nod was slight, hardly a bow, yet everyone present could see it was the greatest concession he could offer.

"Father," Fulen said, his tone businesslike, without the earlier condescension:

"Today's matter may involve some misunderstanding."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over Yu Lin, then quickly withdrew.

"We will re‑verify this gentleman's identity information, and if necessary, will contact him through proper procedures."

He did not apologize.

But those words, once spoken, were tantamount to an apology.

Wat still wanted to say something, but the two officers behind him each seized his arms from left and right.

"Let's go," one of them whispered, "stop the fuss."

"He has Holy Power, we can't handle him."

Wat's face flushed even redder, like a rotten tomato about to explode.

But in the end he said nothing, only gave Yu Lin a fierce glare, then was dragged into the vehicle.

The car door slammed shut.

The police car's engine roared again, this time departing faster than it had arrived, as if fleeing an invisible pressure field.

The taillights vanished around the corner.

Father Anthony only then withdrew his gaze and looked back at Yu Lin.

His eyes lingered on Yu Lin's face only briefly, just to confirm he was unharmed, then he spoke, his tone gentle:

"That guy's Expulsion Decree is too inhumane."

He said, "The Federal Court has already ruled it unconstitutional, yet they still use various pretexts to arrest and deport people."

"For the sake of performance, these people will do anything."

He paused.

"So you'd better carry your Permanent Resident Card at all times, or—stay out less."

He pulled a folded card from his shirt pocket and slipped it into Yu Lin's hand:

"If they still come looking for you," he said:

"Call this number."

Yu Lin lowered his head and glanced at it.

The front of the card bore the Church's address and phone number; the back, written in ballpoint pen, showed two lines of steady, restrained handwriting: Anthony Vilarcos, followed by a private number.

When he looked up, Anthony had already turned.

Dusk closed in.

The priest's silhouette appeared somewhat lonely in the fading twilight, the hem of his coat lifted by the wind and then falling back.

He walked slowly, but showed no intention of staying.

"Father Anthony."

Yu Lin's voice was soft, yet unusually clear across the empty street.

Anthony's steps halted.

He turned his torso half a way, a hint of doubt rising in his gray‑blue eyes.

"Hm? Anything else?"

Yu Lin looked at him, a smile spreading across his face, a smile completely different from the one he wore when facing Wat:

"May I come sit in your Church?"

Anthony seemed a bit surprised.

He sized Yu Lin up from head to toe, noting he didn't look like a believer, not even someone who would enter a Church.

Yu Lin is not using his original appearance now; that would be too conspicuous, and any devout believer could recognize him.

"Why?" he asked, his tone holding no doubt, only simple bewilderment.

He paused, then asked, "Do you want to join the church?"

Yu Lin first nodded, then shook his head.

"I can't say I want to join, but... I count as half a member of the church," he said very candidly:

"I just have some questions and want to ask you."

He paused for a moment.

"If that's not possible, then never mind."

Andongni looked at him.

The gray‑blue eyes lingered on Yu Lin's face for a few seconds, then he nodded.

"Alright," he said:

"Come with me."

He turned and walked in the opposite direction from before.

It wasn't north; it was deeper into the South District.

Yu Lin followed.

The onlookers had long since dispersed.

The street, after the police car vanished, returned to its usual murkiness.

The wind lifted an old newspaper, swirling it against a shop window fitted with an iron grate; in the distance a faint, intermittent police siren sounded, its direction unknown.

Andongni walked at a moderate pace, neither looking back to check if Yu Lin kept up nor attempting any small talk.

The two silently traversed several blocks, turning off the relatively tidy main road onto a lane lined sparsely with plane trees.

At the road's end stood an unremarkable brick building.

Church.

It lacked the grand presence of Chicago's centuries‑old churches; its spire was low, its stained‑glass windows modest, the lawn before the door mottled, clearly long without funds for repair.

Yet the steps were scrubbed clean, and a lantern beneath the porch burned a dull red, stubbornly glowing in the deepening dusk.

Andongni pushed open the Side Door, leading Yu Lin through a narrow corridor whose end opened into a small reception room.

An old wooden table, two leather chairs with polished armrests, and a plaster statue of the Holy Mother in the corner, its soft outline highlighted by the last ray of light filtering through the high window.

Andongni fetched a cup from the corner, lifted the warm kettle on the table, poured a cup of warm water, and placed it before Yu Lin.

"Then," he sat on the opposite chair, hands clasped on his knees, his demeanor like one in a confessional awaiting the penitent to speak:

"What would you like to ask?"

Yu Lin did not touch the cup.

He turned his head, and through the narrow high window cast his gaze outward.

The gaze fell into the deepening twilight, toward the area where lights first flickered, Neihong glittered, a world seemingly separated from the plain reception room he occupied.

The direction of the Rich District.

"I want to know," he said, "whether the rumor that's been spreading lately is true?"

Andongni did not follow his line of sight.

He, of course, knew what Yu Lin was asking.

His lips pressed together, and after a moment he slowly shook his head.

"That's not something you can inquire about."

His tone was not harsh, even rather gentle.

Yet within that gentleness lay an unbreachable boundary.

"This is for your own good," he said, looking at Yu Lin; in his gray‑blue eyes there was no contempt, only the fatigue of having seen ordinary people drawn into a vortex by curiosity:

"You'd better not know."

He paused, his voice dropping even softer.

"Of course—since I'm here," he said:

"I will do my utmost to protect you, including the safety of all ordinary people nearby."

His tone was calm, as if stating a pledge that required no oath.

Yu Lin looked at him.

He asked no further, merely nodded, lifted the cup, and took a sip.

The taste was off, but the water was clean.

He then set the cup down.

Yu Lin spoke, "Then it's true."

"Father Anthony, if I gave you a chance."

"What would you do to those people?"

Andongni, upon hearing, said without any evasion in front of Yu Lin a sentence that could offend many:

"I will send them one by one into Hell."