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Kapitel 21

After obtaining his monk qualification from the seminary, Fang Bo must assist the priests at the Xujiahui Catholic Church for a period of time before returning to the seminary to continue his studies in order to finally obtain the title of priest.

It was a hot morning. Under the grand dome of the Catholic church, the young monk who had just finished Mass was at peace. Although there was a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead, he felt as if he were in the most comfortable season, as if the glory of the Lord had kept the heat away from his soul.

The basilica was packed during Mass just now. This church has tens of thousands of members, a significant portion of whom come here on weekends. Tomorrow—Sunday—even more people will come for Mass.

Most of the parishioners have already left; some are talking to the priest, while others are sitting in small groups.

Fang Bo was pondering what he should do. Several small groups had already extended invitations to him, hoping he would join them to discuss doctrine. He hesitated. He was always like this—gentle in nature, not easily indecisive, always slow and thoughtful in everything he did. Perhaps only his faith in the Lord was the one thing that remained steadfast.

Just then, Fang Bo noticed a person walking in through the archway. This person was half a head taller than average and was carrying a box, which is why Fang Bo saw him as soon as he entered.

Moreover, in this kind of weather, this person wasn't wearing a short-sleeved T-shirt, but rather a large trench coat. Even though it was made of thin material, who would dress like that unless they were sick and couldn't be exposed to the wind?

Fang Bo had excellent eyesight and could clearly see the man's appearance from afar. He was a very handsome man with a straight nose, angular lips, and a smile that could charm most girls. Even men would be deeply impressed after seeing him.

But Fang Bo had absolutely no recollection of this man. Fang Bo had been at the Xujiahui Catholic Church for almost three months, and during that time he had never seen him.

This is not a local church member; if they are, they are certainly not active members and do not come to church often.

Mass had just ended, and both the priests and the monks were still wearing their vestments, making them easy to spot. A strange man carrying a suitcase approached a priest and began speaking to him. They were some distance away, so Fang Bo couldn't hear the conversation clearly. Fang Bo only saw Father Huang Jianyong shaking his head repeatedly, seemingly refusing the man's request.

Disappointed, the man left Father Huang Jianyong and walked forward to the statue of Jesus, staring blankly into space. Fang Bo could see it more clearly now; the man's face was extremely pale.

"Could he really be seriously ill?" Fang Bo wondered. Should he go up and ask? But Father Huang had just refused him; had he made a very inappropriate request? Fang Bo hesitated again.

The man stared for a moment, made the sign of the cross on his chest, and turned to look around. When he glanced at the confessional on one side, his gaze lingered for a long time, and then he exchanged glances with Fang Bo, who was standing not far from the confessional.

The stranger paused for a moment, then seemed to remember something and quickly walked towards Fang Bo.

"Is there anything I can help you with?" The man's initiative freed Fang Bo from his hesitation.

"You are a cultivator, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"Can you...can you hear my confession?"

The man stared at Fang Bo, his expression somewhat anxious and nervous.

"Ah, I'm just a monk, I'm not qualified to hear your confession. You should go see a priest." Fang Bo was a little confused by his request. Since he could recognize his monk's robes, he couldn't possibly not know that monks couldn't hear confessions.

“I just asked a priest, but he said I’m not a parishioner in this diocese and it’s not convenient for him to give me a confession. He hopes I can go back and confess to my own priest.”

“Father Huang is right. Why can’t you wait until you return to your parish to make your confession?”

“But I’m feeling very uneasy right now, and I really want to make confession right now. My confessor isn’t in China, and when I get back, I might have to work for a while straight, and I don’t want to work with this kind of anxiety. Can you help me?”

"Ah, me?" Fang Bo replied helplessly.

“Yes, it doesn’t matter that you’re not a priest yet. You will become a priest someday. As for your current status, I don’t care. Just think of it as a rehearsal, a rehearsal before you become a real priest and hear confessions. Isn’t that good?”

"this……"

“I beg you, dear monk, the Lord will guide me through you. I long for the Lord’s constant love to accept me again, forgive my transgressions, and pardon my sins.” The man looked earnestly into Fang Bo’s eyes, his face full of hope.

Fang Bo was still hesitating. Was it really appropriate for an unqualified cultivator like himself to accept Father Huang's refusal?

The man once again helped him make up his mind by taking Fang Bo's hand and walking towards the confessional.

"As you can see, the confessional is currently empty. Thank you."

Fang Bo waited for the man next door to begin his confession. He had been waiting for a while, but the parishioner who was in a hurry to confess had not spoken yet.

This small space seemed to shut out all outside sounds; it was very quiet. So quiet that the monks could almost hear the heavy breathing of their fellow believers just a partition away.

The monk was very patient; he guessed the man must have something difficult to say. He didn't want to urge him, but simply waited.

"I am lost, Lord," a low voice came from behind.

"I'm so confused," he repeated again, his voice filled with uncertainty.

“Speak out, and the Lord will guide the lost sheep.” Xiu Tu quickly got into character.

“This morning, I desecrated a dead person.”

The monk's heart skipped a beat; he hadn't expected his confession to begin in such a way.

“Go on, the Lord is watching.”

“I took a part of his body.”

The monk's heart skipped a beat; he remembered the two boxes the man was carrying. He tensed up, feeling somewhat uneasy. He told himself to calm down; he was listening to the sinner's confession in place of the Lord.

“I am not doing this for money, nor for hatred. I believe my heart is pure, but my hands are stained with sin, and I am terrified. Should I waver, Lord? Please grant me the strength and courage to persevere.”

What should he say at this moment? The monk asked himself. It seemed he was still too immature, but the confession coming from next door was really bizarre. Even a proper priest might not have heard such a confession before.

"Then what is your purpose? Is your purpose righteous?" the monk thought for a moment and asked.

“I believe so. We hope our efforts will benefit everyone, but to achieve this, we have to hurt some people first, even… take their lives.”

The monk's body trembled slightly. He involuntarily wanted to get away from the sinner, so he leaned back and pressed his back against the wall of the confessional.

"Oh my God, what did I just hear? Is he a murderer?" Even faith in God couldn't stop the horror in my heart. Should I rush out and call the police?

Then the monk remembered the rules of secrecy in confession. He had heard stories of priests who, during confession, heard the confessor say that they were going to kill someone or had already killed someone, but still had to keep quiet. Even if, during Mass, the confessor said that they had poisoned the Holy Blood, they could only drink the Holy Blood, knowing it was poisoned, and could not say a word.

Because everything is the Lord's arrangement, and the Lord is watching!

But am I really being confessed to? I don't have that right. So, do I have to keep this a secret?

"At first, all I saw was a glorious future; I never imagined so many people would pay the price. As I forged ahead towards that goal, my steps grew heavier and heavier. I always felt it was all worth it, but why are my hands starting to weaken, and my heart beginning to waver?" The man, unaware that the cultivator next door was in a daze, continued speaking to himself. At this moment, he had forgotten that behind the partition was just a young cultivator; to him, that was the embodiment of the most benevolent and loving Lord.

"What, did you murder someone? The benevolent and loving God is the only Lord. You haven't joined some cult, have you?" the monk asked, his voice trembling slightly.

“Of course not. The eternal Father is the only Lord, and I have always firmly believed this. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here confessing to you and asking for forgiveness at this moment when my heart is adrift. Moreover, it wasn’t us who were trying to kill; others committed those sins. We simply didn’t stop them.” The man answered after a few seconds. The monk’s words seemed to have disappointed him somewhat. Perhaps he remembered that this wasn’t Switzerland, and he wasn’t speaking to his confessing priest.

"But you're not after money or hatred. If Satan isn't tempting you, why would you want to harm others? Do you have some noble purpose?" the monk asked, puzzled.

He did not hear a reply.

Fang Bo thought to himself, "That's probably why he wouldn't tell me anything too private, since I'm not his confessor."

The man suddenly said something in a low voice.

"What?" The cultivator didn't hear clearly.

The man repeated himself, and this time he heard it clearly, but he asked incredulously.

"eternal life?"

"Yes, what we pursue is immortality, not just ours, but everyone's. Just thinking about that glorious life is breathtaking. Isn't it worth it for a small group of people to sacrifice their brief few decades for such a day?"

He must be insane, what is he talking about in his sleep? He's a delusional maniac, a delusional murderer!

"For such a purpose, can the Lord forgive me?" the troubled monk heard the man ask. He was momentarily speechless, his mind racing with the standard confessional phrases of a priest, such as, "Good and loving God, if he has committed any transgression, intentionally or unintentionally, in word, deed, or thought, please forgive his sins," or "Lord, most good and loving God, with a contrite heart, I kneel before you, begging you to forgive all that he has confessed." But he felt he couldn't say that. So what should he say?

"Lord, can you forgive me, a sinner? Can you give me the courage to walk steadfastly on this thorny path, for whom I know not how much longer I will have to go?" the man asked again.

The monk, already somewhat dull-witted, was even more at a loss for words when pressed for an answer. At that moment, he wished he were a seasoned priest, so he could easily utter something to appease this mentally unstable and dangerous individual.

After a barely audible sigh, the monk heard a sound coming from the other side. He paused for a moment, then opened the door and went out, watching the man's back disappear from the church.

From then on, Fang Bo constantly thought about the incident, struggling internally about whether to keep it a secret for the man or report it to the police. He didn't even know if he should tell the priest in the church that he had done something beyond his capabilities and qualifications.

So when he heard that the person Si Xi and I were looking for was the very culprit who had been troubling him for so long, the monk felt that this was entirely God's arrangement. He was immediately freed from his contradictions, felt completely relaxed, and recounted his experience from three months ago without hesitation.

“At first, I suspected this man had mental problems. Even his claim of killing others was just his imagination. But later, I thought, although he claimed there was no Satan tempting him, what he said sounded too much like something out of a cult.” Xiu Ren shared his analysis with He Xi, completely oblivious to the growing coldness on He Xi's face. He was undeniably incredibly dense.

I stepped forward slightly, smiled at him, and said, "Thank you for your help. If anyone benefits from this, they will definitely be grateful to you."

"All credit goes to the Lord," he said with a smile.

“If Brother Fangbo’s memory is accurate, although Fan Zhe didn’t explain everything clearly during his confession, he still revealed a lot of information. I’m afraid I have to tell the police about this.” After walking along the sidewalk in front of the church for a while, I said to He Xi, who had remained silent the whole time.

"Okay." He Xi nodded. "Do whatever you want. I want to be alone for a while."

"Okay, I'll go to Xinjingyuan first. Are you coming over later?"

"We'll see," He Xi said, shaking her head. She's an extremely intelligent woman; she probably thought of everything I was thinking of, which is why she's so depressed.

"No matter what, we still need to get things straight. Besides, it might not be as bad as you think."

He Xi's expression softened slightly. She glanced at me and said, "Don't worry, I'll try my best to come over later."

I called a car for her, watched her get in, and then walked towards the subway station. It wasn't to save on taxi fare—those expenses could be reimbursed by my company—but rather to give myself some time to think things through.

Two points in Fang Bo's confession that I recall are the most shocking to me. The first point is "we"!

During his confession, Fan Zhe repeatedly used the word "we." Fan Zhe, He Xi, and Rembrandt were adopted by Van Heller and spoke Chinese at home from a young age; he wouldn't confuse "I" with "we." This means that Fan Zhe's involvement in this incident was neither accidental nor isolated. There were others around him with the same purpose.

There is at least one person, and perhaps a group of people.

Who are these people? Where are they?

Why didn't Rembrandt actively investigate the truth after his brother's incident, and even concealed it from me? Was he one of "us"?

Even Van Heller, what about him? Did he not want He Xi to come to Shanghai? Was the real reason just that he wanted He Xi to go to a tourist destination to relax and stop working?

I don't know if I'm being paranoid, but now I won't let go of even the slightest suspicion, and I'm sure the police won't either. He Xi thinks so too, doesn't she? This suspicion bites at her like a venomous snake, which is why she's so tormented.

Another point that terrified Fang Bo was that Fan Zhe had caught "harming some people's lives."

What does this mean? Why does Fan Zhe say he didn't directly kill anyone? So it was instigation?

What made me determined to tell the police about this was that Fan Zhe mentioned in his confession that to achieve his so-called "bright purpose," the lives of a small number of people had to be sacrificed.

How many people is this "small group"? Ten people, or ten thousand? He's waving the banner of caring for all of humanity, but compared to all of humanity, even if it's a million or ten million people, it's still "a small group." Could this be related to the threat of the Virus Knight?

But the Virus Knight came for revenge, while Fan Zhe said it had nothing to do with hatred.

What does "immortality" even mean? Is it just what it sounds like literally? Can Fan Zhe stealing Cheng Gen's internal organs be related to immortality?

I suddenly recalled one of the earliest science fiction novels in the West, Mary Shelley's "Frankenstein," written nearly two hundred years ago. It has been adapted into many films and tells the story of a man made up of corpse parts.

Could it be that Fan Zhe stole internal organs in order to pursue immortality?

I shook my head, banishing the absurd idea from my mind.

Immortality, like perpetual motion machines, is a favorite theme of science fiction writers, but any rational person should know that it is absolutely an unrealistic fantasy. Even I, who have witnessed countless supernatural phenomena, would never believe that immortality truly exists. Even the universe cannot live forever, let alone a human being of flesh and blood.

But if Fan Zhe's so-called immortality is a kind of faith, then why would he go to a Catholic church to confess to a monk when he was hesitant and wavering?

With both the front and back roads blocked, what else can be sandwiched in between?

Even after I put on the protective suit, I still couldn't figure out this question.

"Doctor Rembrandt said if you have time, please go to his office," said the nurse who brought me the protective suit.