sovbooks Chapter 72: Not grand enough, but grand enough.
Chapter 72: Not grand enough, but grand enough.
Chapter 72: Not grand enough, but grand enough.
"This way, please."
The waiter led him out of the side door of the church and into the back courtyard.
The courtyard is large, surrounded by three-story buildings with pointed roofs. The exterior walls are made of light gray stone, and the windows are long and narrow with arched frames.
The whole structure resembles a European-style fortress embedded in the city.
A cross-shaped stone path divides the lawn into four sections. A dozen women in long white dresses are decorating several oak trees, tying bones of varying sizes to the branches with thin hemp rope. The white bones gleam matte in the afternoon sunlight.
Lucien casually picked up a leg bone about the length of his palm from a low table by the roadside. It was of uniform thickness, with a smooth surface.
He circled the palm of his hand twice, then looked up at the trees.
"You guys don't have enough presence."
The voice wasn't loud, but the waiter walking in front noticeably stiffened his shoulders.
Lucien tossed the leg bone back onto the table.
The bone struck the marble countertop with a crisp click.
In his hometown, this level of decoration wouldn't even qualify as entry-level.
True players have long since upgraded to live bone carving, carving patterns on a Gundam that is still breathing, and then removing it after the wounds have healed and the bones have slightly regenerated. The resulting bone fragments will have a unique, wavy growth pattern.
The ways of playing when you're down on your luck.
He pursed his lips, but didn't say it aloud.
The waiter quickened his pace and led him through another archway.
Behind the door was a larger open space.
Then he saw the tree.
"Not bad, that's more like it!"
It is nearly 15 meters tall, and its main body is made up of the tightly spliced torsos of countless juvenile giants. The joints are fixed with copper hoops, and the gaps are filled with a kind of transparent anti-corrosion gel.
Branches are more delicate limb bones, intertwined and extended in a way that defies anatomy, with something hanging at the end swaying gently in the wind.
It's a peelless apple.
Each apple hangs on a small, corrosion-resistant Gundam mechanical hand.
Those hands, with their fingers slightly spread, were tied to the branches with strands of hair.
The wind picked up a bit.
The whole tree began to make sounds.
It wasn't the rustling of leaves, but the tinkling sound of countless finger bones and apples colliding with each other, crisp and dense, like some kind of bizarre wind chimes.
Among the branches, the grapes of the Shapolili grapes slowly rotated as the branches swayed, their pupils always pointing towards the position where Lucien stood.
He looked up for about five seconds.
"You guys really have a fancy way of doing things."
He said, his tone neither praising nor sarcastic, "but it's quite impressive."
This time, the waiter didn't respond; he simply lowered his head and continued leading the way.
After passing the giant tree, there is a separate two-story stone house behind it.
The door was made of heavy oak, with a pattern of thorns encircling a cross branded on its surface with red-hot iron.
The room was smaller than I had expected.
It is about 40 square meters with a ceiling height of 4 meters.
A bone chandelier hangs in the center of the ceiling, smaller than the one in the church, but much more exquisitely crafted.
Each branch-shaped support is a complete human spine, and what it supports at the end is not a candle, but an embedded LED light bulb. The light is filtered into a soft milky white color through the thinned finger bone lampshade.
The carpet was made of dark red long-staple wool, and the sofa was also made of velvet in the same color family.
There are three paintings hanging on the wall, decreasing in size from left to right.
The largest one is a typical Renaissance-style oil painting, depicting the scene of angels descending into the Salt Lake Valley, but the angels' faces have been replaced with a blurry face resembling Roman Nakursen's.
The one in the middle is a sketch with fine lines. It depicts a group of people dressed in modern clothing performing some kind of ceremony, and the outline of Salt Lake City Cathedral can be vaguely seen in the background.
The smallest one is a very abstract oil painting depicting the scene of the angel Molonai teaching Joseph Smith the gold leaf.
Lucien walked up to the paintings and reached out to touch the bottom right corner of the largest one.
The canvas has a very unique texture.
It's not linen or cotton, but a denser material with a subtle texture.
He lightly scraped the edge with his fingernail, then held his finger up to the light to look at the transparent fibers remaining in the stratum corneum.
It's Gundam leather. The tanning process is excellent; there's almost no odor.
"It's absolutely perfect; it's even made using Thangka techniques."
He spoke softly, tapping his fingers lightly twice on the canvas.
"So this is a company?"
Then he turned around and saw a bottle of red wine on the low cabinet next to the sofa.
There were no markings, but I estimate it to be around 1982 years old.
Bo!
A cloyingly sweet, rusty, and slightly fishy smell wafted over.
He poured a little into a glass. The liquid was thick, darker in color than red wine, and shimmered with a purplish-black sheen under the light.
"I knew it."
He put the cup back on the counter, saying, "How come you people who don't drink have something like this?"
The door was pushed open.
Roman Nakur walked in.
He was wearing the same dark gray robe he wore when preaching, and he was holding a book in his hand.
The book cover is yellowish, with a fine, porous texture on the surface—clearly the kind of material only found on early Gundam models. The spine is embroidered with "502" in gold thread.
The character "经" appears.
"Mr. Lucien."
Roman sat down on the other side of the sofa, placing the book flat on his lap. "Welcome to New Zion."
Lucien tilted his head and didn't say anything.
Roman sized him up.
My gaze moved from that overly refined face to his light blonde hair, and finally settled on his hands, which were crossed on his lap.
Those hands were very white, with distinct knuckles, and showed no signs of labor or fighting.
He is so beautiful.
For some reason, Roman felt his mouth watering.
"I watched your performances in New York and Georgia."
Roman chose to use the word, "It's breathtaking. Can current holographic technology achieve that level of visual effect and collective reaction?"
Lucien hummed softly.
"certainly,"
Roman continued, his fingers unconsciously rubbing the book cover, "I believe you have indeed received some kind of revelation. The Lord always chooses His vessels in different times and in different places. But vessels need the right containers."
He leaned forward, lowering his voice: "Do you know why Salt Lake City? Why here, and not Jerusalem, not Rome?"
Lucien shifted his sitting position, resting his right hand on the armrest of the sofa and supporting his chin.
"Because this is the last promised land."
Roman said, a burning light in his eyes, "The early saints were forced to migrate westward, across the wilderness, and eventually established God's kingdom here. This land is blessed. Here, we maintain a pure lineage, a pure faith, and a pure way of life."
He pointed to the paintings on the wall, then to the door: "Those decorations, those offerings, are all for maintaining this purity. Imperfect, polluted things cannot enter the Kingdom of God. We need to filter, we need to purify."
Lucien's gaze drifted to the bone chandelier.
"You have stigmata on you, right?"
Roman finally got to the point, "I can feel it. Although our forms of expression are different, we all serve the same purpose. The Lord needs His army on earth, and servants who are faithful to His law."
He paused, observing Lucien's reaction.
The other person simply blinked.
"Join us."
Roman said, his voice tinged with urgency for the first time, "Here, your gifts can be properly guided and used."
"Together we can discern the true elect and cleanse them of the blasphemous and corrupt. You can become a saint of New Zion."
The room was silent for a few seconds.
The air conditioning system emitted a low hum, and the faint clanging sound of finger bones colliding on the "tree" could be heard outside the door.
"Pfft."
Lucien finally couldn't hold back and burst into laughter.
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