Chapter 34: His Silhouette

“Am I... really alright like this?”
Wu Qingchen glanced anxiously from side to side. The eyes of his parents and elder brothers were all fixed on him—mostly with joy and delight, though a few held surprise and confusion.

“It’s fine! It’s fine! Los doesn’t have to do summer labor here anymore... That’s wonderful, truly wonderful... This is certainly good news.”

Rubbing his hands together unconsciously, Old William hurried to affirm it. After a fleeting moment of happiness, his mind quickly filled with a jumble of thoughts, leaving him at a loss for words.

For the past half month, Wu Qingchen had been working twice as hard each day to finish his share of the tasks, squeezing out every spare moment he could. As soon as he put down his tools, he would dash off to the church—

Old William, of course, had noticed all of this. He had even stood outside the church doors two or three times, watching from afar after Qingchen had rushed inside.

Just as he had when Qingchen first began to change, Old William once again attributed his son’s daily trips to the church to tales overheard from passersby, and the fanciful dreams of youth.

Undoubtedly, Old William considered such odd behavior, driven by “stories” and “flights of fancy,” with a good deal of disapproval.

More than forty years of hard, bitter toil had all but extinguished William Moore’s capacity for dreams or hope. Now, even if a rare glimmer of “wishes” or “desires” surfaced in his mind, the wildest of them would not venture beyond, “Let it not rain tomorrow,” “Let there be fewer pests in the fields,” or “Let the hens lay one more egg than usual.”

Regarding Wu Qingchen’s recent peculiarities—washing his face, his clothes, even his teeth; counting prayers; sweeping the church—Old William had always assumed these were simply Los envying the lives of the gentry, and striving to imitate them. Never, at any time, had he imagined these things could truly change his son’s life.

So, at this very moment, when the change had indeed come to pass—when Steward Ifrit announced that Los was excused from the most grueling labor of summer—Old William’s mind overflowed with countless thoughts.

“William... William...”

Lost in reverie, he suddenly felt someone shake him. Turning, he saw his wife Jacqueline handing him an iron spade; Idra and Grace had already distributed the rest of the tools.

“William... they’re about to begin here... What about Los...” Gripping a hoe, Jacqueline’s face was questioning as she gestured to the empty-handed Los.

“Los... Oh! Los!” Old William turned abruptly to his third son. “Los, your summer work isn’t here. Head home for now... But don’t fall asleep—when the time comes, go to the church straight away. Don’t miss Lord Playa’s business... Or perhaps you could go wait outside the church now, since the rain’s so light, and you could rest against the stone wall... Or, or...”

As he spoke, for no reason at all, Old William suddenly thought of the allotted land east of the village, and of the work there that had begun at dawn yet still wasn’t finished when the second bell rang...

He knew well that evening prayers at the church were still some time off, and that only a bit of work remained in the field. Los could surely finish it alone with the time he had now.

But in recent days, whenever Los dashed to the church, no matter how tired he was, he always finished his own share of work first, never asking for help. After so much effort, he’d finally won himself a sliver of free time...

With these thoughts, Old William’s voice unconsciously softened. “Los, perhaps... perhaps you could go to the east side of the village first. There’s a bit left to do in the fields—do you think... do you think you could see to it?”

What happened next was this: without a moment’s hesitation, without a hint of reluctance or annoyance, his third son—hearing his father’s halting request, just as he always did—nodded quickly and replied simply,

“Yes, Father.”

For a long time, gripping the spade, Old William stood at the edge of the field, watching as little Los skirted a few puddles, hopped over patches of mud, passed the sign of the saint at the crossroads, then paused and took the path leading to the eastern edge of the village.

Old William remained there, silent and still, until that odd, awkward, slender figure—so often a source of discomfort—finally vanished around the bend and was lost from sight. Only then did he turn away, and sigh quietly.

My son, oh my son.

—

Tragedy, oh, what a tragedy!

Just as I finally have a bit of leisure, Old William’s very first thought is of the unfinished chores on the east side of the village.

Now that he was free from the family’s gaze, Wu Qingchen’s face twisted in grief and indignation.

There was no helping it. During his three rounds of training back on Earth, the planning committee had emphasized again and again: in this medieval world, the members of Wu Qingchen’s family were an extremely valuable asset, central to countless future plans. As long as it didn’t compromise his own safety, Wu Qingchen must cultivate strong ties with his family; likewise, as long as his own safety was not jeopardized, he should fulfill their requests as far as possible.

As far as possible... as far as possible...

Truly tragic...

Two hours later, exhausted, Wu Qingchen had finally made his way to the east side of the village and, gasping for breath, finished the last of the work—thus fulfilling his family’s wishes.

After a brief rest and a glance at the sky, he gathered a few stones and sticks, and roughly calculated the current time.

Fortunately, there was still plenty of time.

Resting on the edge of a furrow, Wu Qingchen began to plan, as was his habit: the summer labor would last a while, and if each day granted him extra time like today, he could use the respite to craft many of the tools suggested by the coaching group.

In that case, it seemed he was running short on the materials he’d prepared in recent days.

So, after his break, Wu Qingchen made his way to his three secret kitchens-cum-storehouses, checking over his stock of materials, reshaping a few of the small pottery pieces he’d been preparing to fire, and gathering suitable wood, stone flakes, resin, and so on...

He finished another piece of woodwork with a sigh of relief, then glanced at the makeshift leaf-and-stone sundial beside him; the shadow of the twig was nearly touching the final mark.

Good... almost time for evening prayers...

He packed away his scattered crafting materials, stretched, scanned the area to make sure nothing was left behind, then finally climbed the nearby slope and vanished at the edge of the woods.

Ten minutes later, Wu Qingchen arrived at the church.

Young Andre had already begun sweeping the altar. With a smile, Wu Qingchen picked up a broom and started on his own tasks.

—

Sweeping, prayers, lessons.

He completed all of this in silence. Only as Playa rolled up the parchment and prepared to leave did Wu Qingchen step forward, bowing his head slightly and offering a respectful salute.

“Thank you, Father.”

“Hmm?” Playa paused, a trace of curiosity in his expression.

“Father, this afternoon Steward Ifrit told me that I don’t have to work in the fields this year. My summer labor will be serving in the church... Thank you, Father...”

“Oh? The summer labor began today, did it? ...” Playa packed up his parchment and smiled faintly. “I forgot to tell you about the work and the summer duties. After all, it was decided days ago...”

“Thank you, Father...”

“Very well, you may go home now,” Playa nodded. “If you have time, review the Sacred Words more often. No need to thank me—everything is by the radiance of the Lord. ‘The closer your heart draws to the Lord, the nearer His gaze will be upon you.’”

“Grass cannot grow without earth, nor can green wheat sprout without water.”

“Good, good.” Playa’s smile warmed at Wu Qingchen’s reply. “Go on home, now. Go on.”

As Wu Qingchen’s small figure departed the church, the priest’s face remained aglow with satisfaction. “Excellent... excellent... What an intelligent child.”

Though his voice was soft, young Andre heard it clearly, and looked up, his face beaming with happiness. “Thank you, Father.”

“Haha, yes, yes, you are a clever child as well.”

Playa laughed heartily.

“The closer your heart draws to the Lord, the nearer His gaze will be upon you. All things are illumined by the Lord’s radiance.”

“Grass cannot grow without earth, nor can green wheat sprout without water. Thank you, Father.”

The more Playa pondered these two lines of response, the more pleased and proud he felt.

Such deep understanding of the Sacred Texts, such ease in mastering numerals and sundials...

This little one—would it not be a waste to have him merely act the part before the beadle at the Big-Nosed Parish?