Chapter 23 Chapter 6 The Garden
People in Merilone know that the inner garden, or what is called the home garden, is the heart of every home.Every house, however humble, has its own garden, even if it contains nothing but a flower-bed in the middle of a cobbled walk.The peaceful green of the garden sprays joy and relief, and can make the family live happily.Legend has it that the family garden can bless the family with more life force.
Of course, the beauty of the gardens of wealthy Merilons is rare and extraordinary.A well-kept and well-planted inner garden can benefit a home in other ways, and Lord Samuels was well aware of this.Status is like the flowers and plants in the family garden, where they take root and flourish.So, like everything else in his life, Lord Samuels' garden was not only beautiful... but also a well-kept business.
A family garden was not difficult to maintain, and Lord Samuels could afford a gardener, but a gardener was too ostentatious in his case.So he tends the garden himself, and comes every day before he goes to work to make sure everything is ok.Dragon lilies, for example, spew unsettling blue tongues of flame at certain times of the day, a plant that can hurt if not cared for carefully if used as a decoration or as a clock.He had to prune the chorus bamboo every day, some branches grew faster than others and would keep going out of tune if not pruned.Wind palms have to adjust the wind power according to the weather every day. Their swaying leaves will fan out a constant breeze. It is pleasant when it is warm and uncomfortable when it is cold. Therefore, it is necessary to use magic to weaken their wind when it is cold. .
But there are still some small problems.Lord Samuels' garden was usually admirably well-planned and well-organized, though it was somewhat small compared with the gardens of the homes of the higher classes.Lord Samuels cleverly makes up for this deficiency.The garden path meanders among the dense and prosperous plants, turning the flowers and trees into a twisting maze. Once guests enter the garden, they will not be able to see the location of the main house and will lose their sense of direction.Lord Samuels changed the position of the hedges every day, and visitors could happily "lose" in the garden for hours.
For Gwendelyn, it was second only to flirting.
Gwen has a good education, and it is popular among the Albanara class to educate their daughters. She follows Mary to learn high-level theories and philosophies of magic and religion every morning.Lord Samuels was delighted to see his daughter studying every day, watching her little golden head hang earnestly over a book.When he left home for work, that happy image haunted his mind.He didn't know that the books his daughter read usually disappeared after he left, or were replaced by other more interesting content-such as Sir Hugo the Daring Thief.
Occasionally Mrs. Rosamund came to teach the morning lessons, teaching her daughter how to manage the house, keep servants and raise children.Gwendelin's interest in these courses is almost as strong as her mother's, and the two will spend a lot of time building and decorating imaginary magnificent castles in the air.However, no matter how much fun she had with her mother and how much fun she had reading Sir Hugo's stories, Gwen looked forward to going for a walk in the garden with Mary every day after lessons.
Lady Rosamund always joked that Gwen had druid blood, because for someone who didn't have that talent, she had a knack for plants.She can coax the sleepy roses to bloom just by talking, the lifeless saplings will stretch out their slender branches under her gentle touch, and the weeds that strangle other plants will avoid when she approaches, trying to hide. Where she can't see.
Nothing makes Gwen happier than a walk in the garden in the morning.No doubt that was why Joram happened to be in the garden at this time of day, at least he said it was a coincidence - he just wanted some fresh air, so when he saw her he was floating among the rose bushes ahead When, of course, will show a look of surprise.Her blond hair was coiled in bright curls and braided around her head, glistening in the sun.Her pink dress was wrapped with fluttering ribbons, making herself look like a delicate rose.
"The sun is rising, sir," said Gwendelyn, rosy on her cheeks.
"The sun is rising, miss." Qiao Lang said in a deep voice, standing on the ground and looking up at her.
"Aren't you going for a walk with me?" Ge Wen motioned for him to float up.
Qiao Ran's face darkened, which surprised Ge Wen, his dark eyebrows twisted into a thick line on his eyes. "No, thank you, miss," he said measuredly. "I don't have enough life force—"
"Oh." Ge Wen said hastily. "Mary can give you the power of life, if your catalyst saint is not here today. Mary? Where are you?"
Gwen looked around for the Catalyst Saint, but she didn't see Joram's face contorted by a painful twitch.Mary came up behind her little master, and was facing Joram, so that she had a good view of the distorted countenance.She wasn't guessing what that meant, but she was perceptive enough to see that there was some reason why he couldn't, or wouldn't, use his magic.She gave him a step down like any decent servant—saying that she herself was incompetent.
"I beg your pardon, miss and sir," she said. "I feel a little tired. In order to take care of the little master, I got up in the middle of the night."
"I'm so selfish and hateful, I've been absorbing your strength all morning, forgive me." Ge Wen immediately regretted it. "I'll come down, don't go." Her thin dress rolled around, like a pink cloud wrapped around her.Ge Wen floated to the ground, just hanging slightly higher than the road, so as not to hurt her bare feet on the stone.
Mary glanced at Joram and saw his grateful eyes.But there was something else in those black eyes—some sort of piercing probing, as if trying to guess how much she knew, and it made Mary uneasy.
"If you want, I'd like to take you for a walk in the garden, sir." Ge Wen said shyly.
"Thank you, I am very happy." Joran said so, but his eyes still stayed on Mary, which further increased her anxiety. "My father was a catalyst saint." He seemed to feel compelled to explain. "I am Albanara, but I have very little life force."
"Really, sir?" Mary responded politely, puzzled by the young man's gaze, which she found absurdly threatening.
"The Catalyst Saint?" Ge Wen asked innocently. "And you are not a catalyst saint? This is very unusual."
"My life has always been very unusual." Qiao Lang turned his gaze from Mary to Ge Wen, and said in a deep voice.When she slowly descended from the air to his side, Qiao Lang politely reached out to catch her.
"I really want to hear what your life is like," Ge Wen said. "You've been out into the world, haven't you?" She sighed and glanced at the garden. "I've only spent my whole life here. I've never seen what Merilon looks like from the outside. Tell me about the outside. What does it look like?"
"Sometimes, it's very harsh." Joram said in a low voice, his eyes looked nostalgic and gloomy.He looked down to see the little white hand resting in his hard palm—hers was smooth and soft, his was scarred from life in the furnace.
"I'll tell you my story if you want to hear it." He suddenly turned his gaze to a field of tiger's claw lilies in full bloom. "I told your father last night. My mother, like you, was born and brought up in Merilon. Her name was Anya, and she was an Albanara..."
He talked eloquently, telling Anya's tragic story (he said what he thought would be suitable for a young lady), his words were sometimes slurred, or his voice was so low that Gwen had to float close to him to hear him clearly.
Mary followed them at a cautious distance, neither seeing nor hearing.
"Your mother passed away, so you came here to gain fame and get back the inheritance?" When the story was about to finish, tears welled up in Ge Wen's eyes.
"Yes." Joram said firmly.
"I think you're doing something amazing," Gwen said. "I hope you can find your mother's family and let them understand how despicable it is for you to treat her like that! I can't think of anything more cruel! To watch someone you love die like that!" Ge Wen shook her head, a drop Tears slid down her cheeks. "No wonder she's mad, poor thing, she must love your father very much."
"He loves her too." Joram turned and took Gwendelyn's other hand. "For her, he would live and die."
Ge Wen's face was red to the root of her hair, and her breasts in the pink dress rose and fell rapidly.She saw the unmistakable hint in Joram's eyes, and felt it pour from his hand into hers.A pleasurable pain pierced her heart, leaving a frightening scar.It was very inappropriate to hold hands suddenly like this. Ge Wen glanced at Mary shyly, and pulled her hand away from Joram, who also let go.
Ge Wen put her hands behind her back to avoid being held again, turned her face away to avoid the disturbing gaze in those black eyes, and blurted out the first thing that came to her mind. "But there's one thing I don't understand." She frowned thoughtfully. "If the church doesn't allow your parents to marry, then why would you? Catalyst saints—"
At this time, Mary hurried to the side of the little master. "Gwendelyn, dear, you are trembling. I think Master Sihana must have made a mistake this morning. Don't you feel the chill of spring?" she asked Joram hastily.
"No, Sister," he replied. "However, I usually stay outside in all weathers."
"I'm not cold at all, Mary." Ge Wen just wanted to say a few words angrily, but she suddenly thought of an idea. "You're always right, Mary," she said, rubbing her arms. "I do have a little cold. Can you do me a favor and come in and get my shawl?"
Mary discovered her mistake too late. "Miss can directly summon the shawl." Mary said a little harshly.
"No, no." Gwendelyn shook her head and smiled slyly. "My life-force is running low, and you are too tired to pass some on to me. Please bring it, Mary, you know how upset Mum will be if she finds out I have a cold, and we'll wait here You come back. I suppose this gentleman will not object to staying with me for a while?"
The gentleman would not object anyway, and it turned out that Mary had no choice but to go back to the house and find the shawl, which Gwen hoped was hidden somewhere hard to find.
Gwendelyn still carefully hid her hands behind her back, but she wanted to experience that strange pleasure and pain again, so she turned to face Joram.She lifted her head and looked directly into those dark eyes, and the pain came again, but it was not very pleasant.Again, she felt the enthusiasm and joy of her soul being sucked out of the young man, feeding some deep hunger in him, which he returned with no affection.
Looking at those eyes was frightening, more frightening to her than his touch, and Gwen looked away. "It's... a bit cold." She murmured, drifting away slightly. "Maybe I should go inside..."
"Don't go, Gwendoline." His voice made her tremble from the bottom of her heart, like she was caught in the clouds of the storm, and touched the lightning. "You know how I feel about you..."
"I don't know how you feel, not at all." Ge Wen retorted coldly, the sudden sense of playfulness replaced the original sense of fear, and now they were playing a game that she knew the rules of. "Let's talk about it." She said arrogantly, turned her back, and brushed a lily with her hand. "I do not want to know."
These flirtatious words she had spoken to the gentle son of the Duke of Manchu, and the passionate young man had thrown himself at her feet - literally - declaring his eternal love, and countless other things. Cheerful gibberish that kept her and her cousins laughing all night.Her hand rested on the lily, waiting for Joram to say and do the same.
However, only silence responded to her.
Ge Wen lowered her eyes and stole a glance at Qiao Lang, terrified by what she saw.
Joram looked as if he had been condemned to death, his face was pale, his lips were ashen, and his mouth was set so tightly that it wouldn't tremble, or prepare to utter the words that burned in his eyes.His jaw tightened, and when he spoke, even his voice tightened. "Excuse me," he said. "I turned myself into a fool, it seems that I misunderstood your kindness, I will leave..."
Ge Wen gasped.What is he saying?What is he doing?He is leaving!He literally turned away, ready to walk away.His boots glinted in the sun as they rolled over the marble of the garden path!But that's not how games are supposed to be played!
Suddenly, she understood that for him, what happened just now was no game.She thought of the story of his life that she had just heard. This time, looking at it with the mentality of a mature woman, she felt the loneliness and the cruelty. She remembered the longing in his eyes and saw a touch of it. dark.
Ge Wen hesitated for a moment, trembling constantly.She wanted to stay where he was and let him go away, continue to be a little girl, continue to play such games; but the other she whispered that if she did this, she would lose something sincere and precious, and she would lose her whole life. Can't get it back.Qiao Lang gradually walked away, and the pain in Ge Wen's heart no longer contained joy, it was cold and empty, empty and blank.
The magic drained from her body and she fell to the ground.Joram went farther and farther, and Gwendelyn ran down the path, ignoring the sharp stones that pierced her delicate feet.
"Stop, oh, stop!" she cried in pain.
Hearing her cry, Joram turned around in astonishment.
"Please, don't go!" Ge Wen pleaded, reaching out to him.She tripped over her flying skirt, staggered a few steps, almost fell, and he took her into his arms.
"Don't leave me, Joram," she said softly, looking into his eyes.And he hugged her tightly, but his hands were so gentle, he trembled just like her. "I care! Really! I don't know why I said those things, I shouldn't be so cruel..." She buried her face in her hands and began to cry.
Joram took her in his arms and brushed her silky hair.The blood poured into his ears, and her fragrant breath, her soft limbs pressed against him, made him intoxicated. "Gwendoline," he said tremulously. "May I ask your father to marry you?"
She didn't look at him, or she would see the darkness in his eyes, like a beast crouching in the corner of his soul; a darkness he thought he had chained and controlled.If she saw it, she would run away as a girl, because only a mature woman can face that darkness without fear, because only such a woman has wrestled with this darkness in her heart.But Gwendelyn still buried her face in her hands, and just nodded in reply.
Joram smiled. He saw Mary approaching in the distance, holding the shawl in her hand.So he hurriedly warned Ge Wen softly, told her to regain her composure, and told her that he would discuss it with her father immediately.Then he left, leaving Gwen on the path.She blinked away tears quickly, tried to wipe off the blood oozing from the scratches on her feet, and hid the scars from the sight of her doting governess.
On the third evening after the great event of the emperor's visit, another couple was walking in the garden.The master brought his wife here, intending to have a private conversation with her. "Then the story of the wicked uncle is not true?" asked Lady Rosamund, disappointedly, of her husband. "Not really, my dear," said Lord Samuels fondly. "Do you really think such a thing will happen? It's just a child's joke..." He waved the nonsense away. "I suppose so," sighed Lady Rosamund. "Don't be discouraged." The master whispered, and floated to her side by the evening wind. "The truth, while less romantic, is more interesting." "Really?" Madam's face brightened, and she looked up at her husband's face under the moonlight affectionately, feeling how handsome he was.The old-fashioned blue robes of the guildmaster would suit Lord Samuels well, he was just over forty, healthy and, as he was not an aristocrat, not indulged in high-class romps.He didn't get fat from overeating, nor did he turn red from drinking too much; although his hair was gray, it was still thick.Lady Rosamund was deeply proud of her husband, and he was proud of her. Like many couples in Ma Lilong, their marriage was arranged by the family, not a pair of lovers who fell in love and got married.Their children are obtained through legitimate and legal pregnancy, that is, after a solemn religious ceremony, the catalyst saints transmit the man's sperm into the woman's body.The physical union of a man and a woman was considered a sin and a wild bestiality, but Lord Samuels and Lady Rosamund were more fortunate than most couples. They had loved and respected each other all these years, and their thoughts and pursuits had complemented each other. "Yes, really," continued Lord Samuels, glancing critically at the rose bushes, reminding himself to check for aphids in the morning. "Do you remember a certain scandal? It was so many years ago—" "Scandal!" Madam seemed frightened. "Relax, my dear," Lord Samuels reassured her. "That was seventeen, almost eighteen years ago. A woman of high birth..." He paused. "I would say she is a woman of very noble birth." He specified meaningfully, obviously willing to let his wife continue to guess. "She had the misfortune of falling in love with the family saint. The church wouldn't allow them to marry, so the two eloped. They were later found in quite shocking, very horrific conditions." "I remember such a thing," said Lady Rosamund. "But I never knew the details. If you remember, we were not married at the time and my mother was a very reserved person." Lord Samuels leaned over and whispered something in the lady's ear. "It's terrible!" Mrs. Rosamund avoided in disgust. "Indeed." Jazz said solemnly. "A child obtained in this blasphemous way, the father is condemned to conversion, and the Church takes the young mother and gives her a place of refuge while she is pregnant. Any credible reason will bring her back home, Everything will be forgiven, after all she is an only child and her family is rich enough to put the matter to rest. But that horrible experience drove the young lady crazy and she ran out of town with her children and lived like a serf mage .Her family sought her, but there was no news. Both parents of this unfortunate lady are dead now--according to the young man, she is left alone, and the land and property are entrusted to the church. If her children If you live, you can inherit the inheritance. If this young man can prove his identity..." Lady Rosamund turned to her husband, studying his face intently. "You know the family name, don't you?" "I do know, dear," he said gravely, taking her hand. "You also know, at least, you can recognize it immediately. The young man said his mother's name was Anya." "Anya." Madam frowned as she read the name. "Anya..." She opened her mouth wide-eyed, and quickly covered her mouth with her hand. "Good Emin!" she murmured. "Anja, Baron Fitzgerald's only daughter—" "—the emperor's cousin—" "—both parents are related by marriage to half the noble families, my dear—" "—and one of the richest men in Merilon," said the two at the same time. "Are you sure?" asked Mrs. Rosamund, her face turned pale, and she pressed her hand to her heart to suppress the pounding heartbeat. "This Joran may be a fake." "Probably so," admitted Lord Samuels reluctantly. "But it's easy to check, the imposter will know he has no hope of success, and the young man's story makes perfect sense. He knows enough, but not too much, such as will He wouldn't fill in the gaps, and I'm sure an imposter would know everything. When I asked him what his mother's full name was and how much the estate might be worth, he said: Really bewildered. He doesn't know, the young man is really bewildered. Besides, he says Father Dunstable can confirm his story." "Have you talked to that saint?" Mrs. Rosamund asked hastily. "Yes, dear, just this afternoon. He won't bring it up—you know how these Catalyst Saints are related to each other, and he must be ashamed to admit that one of his orders should have fallen to such a level." But he admitted to me that Bishop Vanya himself sent him to find this young man. What reason could there be other than hoping to find someone to inherit the inheritance?" Lord Samuels said triumphantly. "Bishop Fanya! He himself!" Mrs. Rosamund was almost out of breath. "Do you understand? And." Lord Samuels leaned closer to his wife again and whispered something. "The young man has asked my permission to pursue Gwendolin!" "Ah!" Mrs. Rosamund gasped. "what do you say?" "I told him very sternly, watch your words and deeds, and I will consider this matter carefully." Lord Samuels replied, pulling up his collar in a very dignified posture. "Of course we'll have to identify the young man first. I don't blame Joram for not wanting to go to church on the meager evidence available, it would seriously demean him. I promise I'll do some research and see See if you can find other evidence, such as a birth certificate, it shouldn't be hard to find." "Where's Gwen?" Mrs. Rosamund asked, not caring about these men's concerns. Lord Samuels smiled fondly. "Well, you should talk to her right away, dear, to see how she feels about it—" "I think it's obvious!" said Mrs. Rosamund, somewhat bitterly, but the bitterness passed only for a moment, and it was only a very natural sorrow at the thought of losing a beloved daughter. "But at the same time," said Lord Samuels more gently. "I think we can allow them to walk together, but keep them safe." "I really can't think of what else we can do." Mrs. Rosamund cheered up a little. She waved her hand, and a lily broke from the stem and floated to her hand. "I've never seen Gwen so dazedly infatuated with someone like this Joran. As for letting them go for a walk together, they haven't done anything but walk in the garden together these days! Mary always With them, but..." Madam shook her head, the lily slipped from her hands, and she sank slightly from the air, almost touching the ground.Her husband holds her back. "You are tired, dear," said Lord Samuels with concern, supporting his wife with his own magic. "I have delayed you too late, and we will discuss the matter further tomorrow." "It's been a really tiring few days, I must admit," replied Mrs. Rosamund, leaning reassuringly on his arm. "First Xin Jin, then the Emperor, and now this." "It's been exhausting, our little girl is growing up." "Baroness Gwendelin." Madam Rosamund said to herself and sighed, both proud and regretful as a mother.
At night after three or four days, or five, Joram went into the garden to find the Catalyst Saints.He did not know how long it had been since he had proposed to Gwendelyn, and she had accepted; time meant nothing to Joram, and nothing meant anything to him but her.Every breath of his is filled with her fragrance, he can't see anyone but her, the only words he can hear are her voice, he is jealous of others who can get her attention, he resents being separated During the night between them, he even worried that he would fall asleep. But he soon discovered that sleep had a sweetness of its own, though its sweetness was tinged with stinging pain.In his sleep he can do what he dares not do during the day—he yields to the passions and desires, gratifications and possessions of the dream.Dreams have a price—Joram wakes in the morning with fire running through his blood and setting his heart on fire.But just one glimpse of Gwendelyn walking in the garden was like a cooling rain that soothed his tormented soul.She is so pure, so innocent, so innocent!The dream disgusted him, he felt ashamed, he felt disgusted, his passion seemed cruel and foul. But his longing lingered, and when he saw those tender lips speaking to him of rhododendrons or dahlias or honeysuckle, he thought of their warm, soft touch in his dreams, and it made him sting.When he saw her walking beside her, her soft and graceful figure in the pink mist of her dress, he thought of holding this delicate body tightly in his dream, holding her close to his chest, without any clothes separating them, Remembering how he had taken her for himself.At this time, he would fall silent and look away, afraid that she would see the blazing flames in his eyes, afraid that this delicate and delicate flower would wither and wither due to its high heat. It was in this bittersweet, tormenting agony that Joram went into the garden at night, looking for the Catalyst Saint.According to the servants, he used to linger here when he couldn't sleep. "Sorry, Father," said Joram, standing in the shadow of the eucalyptus. "I don't want to bother you." He turned sideways and raised his foot very slowly to leave. Saryon turned around at the sound and raised his head.The moonlight fell completely on his face. It was a strange face, Father Dunstable's face. Joram always saw surprise and slight uneasiness in it, but those eyes were still his eyes. The eyes of the scholar known in the artisan village - wise, gentle, and refined.However, when the saint looked at him, Joram saw more trouble in those eyes, a haze of pain that he could not understand. "No, Joram, don't go," said Saryon. "You didn't bother me, but I was thinking about you." "At your prayer time too?" Joram joked. The priest's sad face grew so pale it made those words dull.Joram heard Saryon sigh deeply, and the Catalyst Saint put his hands to his eyes. "Come, sit next to me, Joram." He made room on the bench. Joram did so, and sat beside the Catalyst Saint, listening for the first time to the garden's night-time stillness at his ease.Its peace and tranquility fell upon him like soft snowflakes, and the cool gloom soothed his burning thoughts. "You know, Saryon." Joram said hesitantly, not used to expressing his thoughts, but he felt that he owed the saints and hoped to repay him. "That day, when we were together in the sanctuary, it was the first time in my life that I entered a... holy place. Oh." He shrugged. "There's a little church like this in Varen, a rough house where the serf-magic goes once a week to ask Father Torpen for a cure for their sins. My mother never appears at the door there, I think you can understand why." "I understand," murmured Saryon, looking at Joram in bewilderment, startled at this different confession. "Anya mentioned God and Emin." Qiao Lang continued, his eyes fixed on the roses reflecting the moonlight. "But just thank Him for making me better than other kids. I never bothered to pray. Why should I pray? What do I have to thank Him for?" said the young man, the old sadness creeping into his voice, and he didn't speak. and looked from the slender snow-white flowers on the vine to his hands—so nimble, so deadly.He clasped his hands tightly, and when he spoke again, he still stared at his hands, but his eyes were not on his hands. "My mother hated the Catalyst Saints for doing that to my father, and she fed me that hatred. You told me—do you remember?" He looked at Saryon. "—Hate is easier than love? You're right! Oh, you're so right, Father!" Joram clenched his hands into fists. "All my life, I have been filled with resentment." The young man's voice was low and excited. "I simply began to wonder if I could love someone! It's so difficult, so painful..." "Joran." Saryon called him, his heart full. "Wait, let me finish, Father." Joram said, the words seemed to have been suppressed for a long time, almost bursting out of his heart. "On the way here tonight, I suddenly thought of my father." Two thick eyebrows frowned. "I never think much about him." He stared at his hands again. "Whenever I think of him, I see him standing on the frontier, his stone face frozen and motionless, tears streaming from his eyes, eyes that gaze forever on the death he cannot get. But now, in Here—" He glanced up at the garden, his face softening. "I think he must be—a man like me, with...a passion like mine, a passion he can't control. I can see what my mother was, a young lady, graceful and beautiful, and... ..." He hesitated, the words stuck in his throat. "Innocent and trusting," Saryon said softly. "Yes." Joram replied almost inaudibly.He looked at the catalyst saint, and was surprised to find that the saint looked distressed. Saryon took the young man's hand and squeezed it, the pain in his words so deep. "Leave! Go now, Joram!" the Catalyst Saint urged. "There's nothing here for you! She'll have nothing but miserable misfortune—like your poor mother!" Joram shook his head stubbornly, and his curly black hair fell in front of him.He broke free from the catalyst saint's hand. "My child, my son!" Saryon clasped his hands. "I'd be happier than anything that you think you can confide in me. If I don't advise you as best I can, I'm but a poor vessel for your blind faith. If you knew—if I could— " "Know what?" Joran immediately looked up at the saint. Saryon blinked, smothered his words, and swallowed them. "If I could make you understand..." He changed the subject abruptly, beads of sweat dripping from his lips. "I know you plan to marry this young lady." He said slowly, frowning together. "Yes." Joram replied calmly. "Of course after solving the issue of inheritance." "Of course." Saryon's voice sounded hollow in response. "Have you ever considered what we discussed that day?" "You mean about me being the living dead?" Joram asked quietly. The catalyst saint could only nod his head. Joram was silent for a while, his hands absently running through his hair, combing with his fingers just like Anya used to do, and that was a long time ago. "Father," he finally said in a strained voice. "Have I no right to love, and no right to be loved?" "Joran—" Saryon said helplessly, considering his words. "That's beside the point. Of course you have the right! Everyone has the right, and love is Emin's gift—" "Except for the living dead!" Joram snorted. "Child," Saryon said sympathetically. "What is love if you can't tell the truth? If it is planted in a garden of lies, can love grow and prosper?" Before he could finish speaking, his voice broke. The word "lie" shines in the dark, brighter than moonlight. "You are right, Saryon," replied Joram firmly. "My mother was ruined by lies—the lies she and my father had about each other, the lies she lied to herself, the lies that drove her crazy. I thought about what you said to me, and I decided..." He stopped Coming down, Saryon watched him expectantly. "—tell Gwendelyn the truth," said Joram. The Catalyst Saint sighed and shivered in the cool night.It wasn't the answer he wanted to hear.He tightened his robe, carefully considering his next words. "I'm glad, very glad you realized you can't cheat the lady," he said at last. "But I still think it's best to get out of her life--at least for now, and maybe, someday, you'll come back. You'll only risk your own life by telling her the truth, Joram! The lady is so young! She can't understand , you’re only getting yourself hurt.” "My life is meaningless without her," replied Joram. "I know she's young, but her heart is full of strength, the strength of good nature, and she loves me. Your Emin has an old saying, catalyst saint." Joram looked at Saryon and laughed, this A genuine smile brought a soft gleam to those dark eyes. "'Truth sets free.' I understand it now, and I believe it. Good night, Saryon," he said, rising. He hesitated and put his hand on the shoulder of the catalyst saint. "Thank you," he said awkwardly. "I sometimes feel ... if my father had been more like you — if he had been so wise, so caring — then maybe his tragedy and mine would never have happened." 乔朗蓦然转身，快步走下蜿蜒回转的花园小径。坦露自己的灵魂让他觉得难堪和羞耻，所以他离开的时候没有回头看向沙里昂。 乔朗没有看向触媒圣徒也好，沙里昂的头埋进双手，泪水从眼中渗出。“真诚能予以你自由。”他轻声哭泣着低语。“噢，神哪！祢逼我咽下自己的话，而它们对我来说是毒药！”
On the third evening after the great event of the emperor's visit, another couple was walking in the garden.The master brought his wife here, intending to have a private conversation with her. "Then the story of the wicked uncle is not true?" asked Lady Rosamund, disappointedly, of her husband. "Not really, my dear," said Lord Samuels fondly. "Do you really think such a thing will happen? It's just a child's joke..." He waved the nonsense away. "I suppose so," sighed Lady Rosamund. "Don't be discouraged." The master whispered, and floated to her side by the evening wind. "The truth, while less romantic, is more interesting." "Really?" Madam's face brightened, and she looked up at her husband's face under the moonlight affectionately, feeling how handsome he was.The old-fashioned blue robes of the guildmaster would suit Lord Samuels well, he was just over forty, healthy and, as he was not an aristocrat, not indulged in high-class romps.He didn't get fat from overeating, nor did he turn red from drinking too much; although his hair was gray, it was still thick.Lady Rosamund was deeply proud of her husband, and he was proud of her. Like many couples in Ma Lilong, their marriage was arranged by the family, not a pair of lovers who fell in love and got married.Their children are obtained through legitimate and legal pregnancy, that is, after a solemn religious ceremony, the catalyst saints transmit the man's sperm into the woman's body.The physical union of a man and a woman was considered a sin and a wild bestiality, but Lord Samuels and Lady Rosamund were more fortunate than most couples. They had loved and respected each other all these years, and their thoughts and pursuits had complemented each other. "Yes, really," continued Lord Samuels, glancing critically at the rose bushes, reminding himself to check for aphids in the morning. "Do you remember a certain scandal? It was so many years ago—" "Scandal!" Madam seemed frightened. "Relax, my dear," Lord Samuels reassured her. "That was seventeen, almost eighteen years ago. A woman of high birth..." He paused. "I would say she is a woman of very noble birth." He specified meaningfully, obviously willing to let his wife continue to guess. "She had the misfortune of falling in love with the family saint. The church wouldn't allow them to marry, so the two eloped. They were later found in quite shocking, very horrific conditions." "I remember such a thing," said Lady Rosamund. "But I never knew the details. If you remember, we were not married at the time and my mother was a very reserved person." Lord Samuels leaned over and whispered something in the lady's ear. "It's terrible!" Mrs. Rosamund avoided in disgust. "Indeed." Jazz said solemnly. "A child obtained in this blasphemous way, the father is condemned to conversion, and the Church takes the young mother and gives her a place of refuge while she is pregnant. Any credible reason will bring her back home, Everything will be forgiven, after all she is an only child and her family is rich enough to put the matter to rest. But that horrible experience drove the young lady crazy and she ran out of town with her children and lived like a serf mage .Her family sought her, but there was no news. Both parents of this unfortunate lady are dead now--according to the young man, she is left alone, and the land and property are entrusted to the church. If her children If you live, you can inherit the inheritance. If this young man can prove his identity..." Lady Rosamund turned to her husband, studying his face intently. "You know the family name, don't you?" "I do know, dear," he said gravely, taking her hand. "You also know, at least, you can recognize it immediately. The young man said his mother's name was Anya." "Anya." Madam frowned as she read the name. "Anya..." She opened her mouth wide-eyed, and quickly covered her mouth with her hand. "Good Emin!" she murmured. "Anja, Baron Fitzgerald's only daughter—" "—the emperor's cousin—" "—both parents are related by marriage to half the noble families, my dear—" "—and one of the richest men in Merilon," said the two at the same time. "Are you sure?" asked Mrs. Rosamund, her face turned pale, and she pressed her hand to her heart to suppress the pounding heartbeat. "This Joran may be a fake." "Probably so," admitted Lord Samuels reluctantly. "But it's easy to check, the imposter will know he has no hope of success, and the young man's story makes perfect sense. He knows enough, but not too much, such as will He wouldn't fill in the gaps, and I'm sure an imposter would know everything. When I asked him what his mother's full name was and how much the estate might be worth, he said: Really bewildered. He doesn't know, the young man is really bewildered. Besides, he says Father Dunstable can confirm his story." "Have you talked to that saint?" Mrs. Rosamund asked hastily. "Yes, dear, just this afternoon. He won't bring it up—you know how these Catalyst Saints are related to each other, and he must be ashamed to admit that one of his orders should have fallen to such a level." But he admitted to me that Bishop Vanya himself sent him to find this young man. What reason could there be other than hoping to find someone to inherit the inheritance?" Lord Samuels said triumphantly. "Bishop Fanya! He himself!" Mrs. Rosamund was almost out of breath. "Do you understand? And." Lord Samuels leaned closer to his wife again and whispered something. "The young man has asked my permission to pursue Gwendolin!" "Ah!" Mrs. Rosamund gasped. "what do you say?" "I told him very sternly, watch your words and deeds, and I will consider this matter carefully." Lord Samuels replied, pulling up his collar in a very dignified posture. "Of course we'll have to identify the young man first. I don't blame Joram for not wanting to go to church on the meager evidence available, it would seriously demean him. I promise I'll do some research and see See if you can find other evidence, such as a birth certificate, it shouldn't be hard to find." "Where's Gwen?" Mrs. Rosamund asked, not caring about these men's concerns. Lord Samuels smiled fondly. "Well, you should talk to her right away, dear, to see how she feels about it—" "I think it's obvious!" said Mrs. Rosamund, somewhat bitterly, but the bitterness passed only for a moment, and it was only a very natural sorrow at the thought of losing a beloved daughter. "But at the same time," said Lord Samuels more gently. "I think we can allow them to walk together, but keep them safe." "I really can't think of what else we can do." Mrs. Rosamund cheered up a little. She waved her hand, and a lily broke from the stem and floated to her hand. "I've never seen Gwen so dazedly infatuated with someone like this Joran. As for letting them go for a walk together, they haven't done anything but walk in the garden together these days! Mary always With them, but..." Madam shook her head, the lily slipped from her hands, and she sank slightly from the air, almost touching the ground.Her husband holds her back. "You are tired, dear," said Lord Samuels with concern, supporting his wife with his own magic. "I have delayed you too late, and we will discuss the matter further tomorrow." "It's been a really tiring few days, I must admit," replied Mrs. Rosamund, leaning reassuringly on his arm. "First Xin Jin, then the Emperor, and now this." "It's been exhausting, our little girl is growing up." "Baroness Gwendelin." Madam Rosamund said to herself and sighed, both proud and regretful as a mother.
At night after three or four days, or five, Joram went into the garden to find the Catalyst Saints.He did not know how long it had been since he had proposed to Gwendelyn, and she had accepted; time meant nothing to Joram, and nothing meant anything to him but her.Every breath of his is filled with her fragrance, he can't see anyone but her, the only words he can hear are her voice, he is jealous of others who can get her attention, he resents being separated During the night between them, he even worried that he would fall asleep. But he soon discovered that sleep had a sweetness of its own, though its sweetness was tinged with stinging pain.In his sleep he can do what he dares not do during the day—he yields to the passions and desires, gratifications and possessions of the dream.Dreams have a price—Joram wakes in the morning with fire running through his blood and setting his heart on fire.But just one glimpse of Gwendelyn walking in the garden was like a cooling rain that soothed his tormented soul.She is so pure, so innocent, so innocent!The dream disgusted him, he felt ashamed, he felt disgusted, his passion seemed cruel and foul. But his longing lingered, and when he saw those tender lips speaking to him of rhododendrons or dahlias or honeysuckle, he thought of their warm, soft touch in his dreams, and it made him sting.When he saw her walking beside her, her soft and graceful figure in the pink mist of her dress, he thought of holding this delicate body tightly in his dream, holding her close to his chest, without any clothes separating them, Remembering how he had taken her for himself.At this time, he would fall silent and look away, afraid that she would see the blazing flames in his eyes, afraid that this delicate and delicate flower would wither and wither due to its high heat. It was in this bittersweet, tormenting agony that Joram went into the garden at night, looking for the Catalyst Saint.According to the servants, he used to linger here when he couldn't sleep. "Sorry, Father," said Joram, standing in the shadow of the eucalyptus. "I don't want to bother you." He turned sideways and raised his foot very slowly to leave. Saryon turned around at the sound and raised his head.The moonlight fell completely on his face. It was a strange face, Father Dunstable's face. Joram always saw surprise and slight uneasiness in it, but those eyes were still his eyes. The eyes of the scholar known in the artisan village - wise, gentle, and refined.However, when the saint looked at him, Joram saw more trouble in those eyes, a haze of pain that he could not understand. "No, Joram, don't go," said Saryon. "You didn't bother me, but I was thinking about you." "At your prayer time too?" Joram joked. The priest's sad face grew so pale it made those words dull.Joram heard Saryon sigh deeply, and the Catalyst Saint put his hands to his eyes. "Come, sit next to me, Joram." He made room on the bench. Joram did so, and sat beside the Catalyst Saint, listening for the first time to the garden's night-time stillness at his ease.Its peace and tranquility fell upon him like soft snowflakes, and the cool gloom soothed his burning thoughts. "You know, Saryon." Joram said hesitantly, not used to expressing his thoughts, but he felt that he owed the saints and hoped to repay him. "That day, when we were together in the sanctuary, it was the first time in my life that I entered a... holy place. Oh." He shrugged. "There's a little church like this in Varen, a rough house where the serf-magic goes once a week to ask Father Torpen for a cure for their sins. My mother never appears at the door there, I think you can understand why." "I understand," murmured Saryon, looking at Joram in bewilderment, startled at this different confession. "Anya mentioned God and Emin." Qiao Lang continued, his eyes fixed on the roses reflecting the moonlight. "But just thank Him for making me better than other kids. I never bothered to pray. Why should I pray? What do I have to thank Him for?" said the young man, the old sadness creeping into his voice, and he didn't speak. and looked from the slender snow-white flowers on the vine to his hands—so nimble, so deadly.He clasped his hands tightly, and when he spoke again, he still stared at his hands, but his eyes were not on his hands. "My mother hated the Catalyst Saints for doing that to my father, and she fed me that hatred. You told me—do you remember?" He looked at Saryon. "—Hate is easier than love? You're right! Oh, you're so right, Father!" Joram clenched his hands into fists. "All my life, I have been filled with resentment." The young man's voice was low and excited. "I simply began to wonder if I could love someone! It's so difficult, so painful..." "Joran." Saryon called him, his heart full. "Wait, let me finish, Father." Joram said, the words seemed to have been suppressed for a long time, almost bursting out of his heart. "On the way here tonight, I suddenly thought of my father." Two thick eyebrows frowned. "I never think much about him." He stared at his hands again. "Whenever I think of him, I see him standing on the frontier, his stone face frozen and motionless, tears streaming from his eyes, eyes that gaze forever on the death he cannot get. But now, in Here—" He glanced up at the garden, his face softening. "I think he must be—a man like me, with...a passion like mine, a passion he can't control. I can see what my mother was, a young lady, graceful and beautiful, and... ..." He hesitated, the words stuck in his throat. "Innocent and trusting," Saryon said softly. "Yes." Joram replied almost inaudibly.He looked at the catalyst saint, and was surprised to find that the saint looked distressed. Saryon took the young man's hand and squeezed it, the pain in his words so deep. "Leave! Go now, Joram!" the Catalyst Saint urged. "There's nothing here for you! She'll have nothing but miserable misfortune—like your poor mother!" Joram shook his head stubbornly, and his curly black hair fell in front of him.He broke free from the catalyst saint's hand. "My child, my son!" Saryon clasped his hands. "I'd be happier than anything that you think you can confide in me. If I don't advise you as best I can, I'm but a poor vessel for your blind faith. If you knew—if I could— " "Know what?" Joran immediately looked up at the saint. Saryon blinked, smothered his words, and swallowed them. "If I could make you understand..." He changed the subject abruptly, beads of sweat dripping from his lips. "I know you plan to marry this young lady." He said slowly, frowning together. "Yes." Joram replied calmly. "Of course after solving the issue of inheritance." "Of course." Saryon's voice sounded hollow in response. "Have you ever considered what we discussed that day?" "You mean about me being the living dead?" Joram asked quietly. The catalyst saint could only nod his head. Joram was silent for a while, his hands absently running through his hair, combing with his fingers just like Anya used to do, and that was a long time ago. "Father," he finally said in a strained voice. "Have I no right to love, and no right to be loved?" "Joran—" Saryon said helplessly, considering his words. "That's beside the point. Of course you have the right! Everyone has the right, and love is Emin's gift—" "Except for the living dead!" Joram snorted. "Child," Saryon said sympathetically. "What is love if you can't tell the truth? If it is planted in a garden of lies, can love grow and prosper?" Before he could finish speaking, his voice broke. The word "lie" shines in the dark, brighter than moonlight. "You are right, Saryon," replied Joram firmly. "My mother was ruined by lies—the lies she and my father had about each other, the lies she lied to herself, the lies that drove her crazy. I thought about what you said to me, and I decided..." He stopped Coming down, Saryon watched him expectantly. "—tell Gwendelyn the truth," said Joram. The Catalyst Saint sighed and shivered in the cool night.It wasn't the answer he wanted to hear.He tightened his robe, carefully considering his next words. "I'm glad, very glad you realized you can't cheat the lady," he said at last. "But I still think it's best to get out of her life--at least for now, and maybe, someday, you'll come back. You'll only risk your own life by telling her the truth, Joram! The lady is so young! She can't understand , you’re only getting yourself hurt.” "My life is meaningless without her," replied Joram. "I know she's young, but her heart is full of strength, the strength of good nature, and she loves me. Your Emin has an old saying, catalyst saint." Joram looked at Saryon and laughed, this A genuine smile brought a soft gleam to those dark eyes. "'Truth sets free.' I understand it now, and I believe it. Good night, Saryon," he said, rising. He hesitated and put his hand on the shoulder of the catalyst saint. "Thank you," he said awkwardly. "I sometimes feel ... if my father had been more like you — if he had been so wise, so caring — then maybe his tragedy and mine would never have happened." 乔朗蓦然转身，快步走下蜿蜒回转的花园小径。坦露自己的灵魂让他觉得难堪和羞耻，所以他离开的时候没有回头看向沙里昂。 乔朗没有看向触媒圣徒也好，沙里昂的头埋进双手，泪水从眼中渗出。“真诚能予以你自由。”他轻声哭泣着低语。“噢，神哪！祢逼我咽下自己的话，而它们对我来说是毒药！”