Ice Vapor Goddess

Chapter 104 Initial Meeting (Two Chapters Combined)

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Professor Russell. Please have a seat,” said Siren.

Russell placed his coat and hat on the hanger, revealing a neat white shirt and waistcoat underneath, the collars of which were starched and crisp, and the silver cufflinks adorned with the Royal Society's coat of arms.

A well-dressed intellectual—Silen thought to himself, and relaxed a little.

Although psychoanalysis is usually closely associated with the left wing, it is difficult to conduct analysis on very impoverished people in clinical practice.

Because it is a form of therapy that involves speaking, patients need to narrate themselves or engage in free association under the guidance of an analyst. This ability to speak requires a certain level of knowledge.

Previously, Siron had also spoken with believers who came to give gifts and express gratitude, but they were often unwilling to talk about themselves, did not know how to organize their words to explain themselves, and did not even have a sufficient vocabulary.

Professor Russell sat down in the chair opposite Celen, who then lit the fireplace beside him.

The warm flames began to burn, and the warm light flickered across their figures, casting deep shadows in the professor's deep-set eyes.

The professor looked at him curiously, sizing up the famous bishop.

Xiren looked at him with a calm smile.

Patients often assume that the analyst is a "knowing subject" during the initial consultation, thinking, "You have so many titles, you are a professional, you should know me." This mindset is a great starting point; otherwise, it's "You definitely don't know, I don't need to tell you."

Just as Xilen was about to say, "Please say what you want to say," to begin today's analysis,

Russell suddenly said, "Let's begin."

He sat in the chair, his back bent, but you could feel his muscles were slightly tense. He placed his hands on the armrests of the chair and then said the words in a low voice.

Xilun's heart skipped a beat; this was an unusual opening. So he remained silent.

But this silence is a positive silence; it forces the other person to reflect—"Why isn't he saying anything?" "What is he thinking?" "Was there anything wrong with what I just said?"

Generally, patients initially approach analysts with a posture of confiding, probing, and pleading for help. However, Russell's first word was "we," which means that he defined roles and order from the outset, allowing no ambiguous symbolic relationships.

Moreover, this "I take the lead in the analysis" mentality can also be considered a defensive posture—he needs to resist passivity and is afraid of falling into Xilun's control.

So they remained silent, keeping quiet to each other, while the firewood in the fireplace crackled and popped.

Russell frowned. "What's wrong?"

Silen remained silent for three seconds before saying, "You said, 'Let's begin.'"

“Uh…yes, I just wanted to say that I’m ready, and we can begin,” he said.

He began to explain himself, Xiren thought.

“Very good, continue with what you have to say,” he said.

Russell took a breath. His initial control hadn't worked, and instead, the opponent's silence had made him a little anxious. But he quickly adjusted and leaned back in his chair.

“It all started when I was a child,” he said, pulling his collar slightly. “That was more than twenty years ago, when I was studying classics at Wellington Theological Seminary in the South.”

He paused briefly, trying to observe Xilen's reaction, but he didn't see any expression on the latter's face.

He continued, “My father was a self-sufficient farmer with a decent amount of money. He ran a dozen or so acres of orchard and barely managed to send me to college, but he always wanted me to stop studying and go back to inherit his orchard.”

"It's very clean," Xiren thought.

A perfect logical chain, calm expression, and correct grammar.

However, such calm expression often suppresses emotions and conflicts. No one looks at their past without feeling. The fact that he used such wording indicates that it was a sentence he had carefully prepared.

So where is the missing, repressed thing here?

“Barely?” Xilun asked.

Russell paused for a moment: "Yes, his annual income is only 25 pounds, but my tuition and boarding fees are 20 pounds a year. He used his savings accumulated over many years to support my education."

Still the same clean and pretty words, Xilun thought to himself, regretfully finding that his interruption had ended in failure, and the client was still using prepared empty words on him.

“We often argue, but he always continues to pay for my tuition. He’s not a devout believer, but he loves me and he chooses to support my decisions, even if it means he has to live the most frugal life and even take out loans.”

“Then one day he told me that since I wasn’t going back to inherit those fields, he had sold them all and given me one hundred pounds, telling me that this would be my tuition and living expenses for the entire university period.” He pulled his hands back and crossed them in front of him.

“I feel very sorry for him, but I love knowledge so much. I love the knowledge of ancient philosophers and I am immersed in the teachings of the scriptures. I vow to become a priest or even a bishop, and then I can tell him that my persistence was not wrong.”

Xilun's heart stirred. His description of his father was very calm, but he mentioned his love of knowledge, as if he had translated all his desires (love, hate, dissatisfaction, dependence, and resistance) towards his father into "a noble pursuit of knowledge".

This is a kind of rational defense, forcing oneself to only enjoy thinking. Although Russell did not say it explicitly, Siron could guess that he probably disliked his father's identity as a farmer, hated managing the orchard, getting covered in mud, and working all day long.

He was about to say something when Russell spoke even faster: "But he died. He was terminally ill when he sold the orchard and couldn't work anymore. But he didn't tell me, and I never got another chance."

He lowered his head, seemingly lost in sorrow, revealing his deepest wounds.

His hands were resting on his lap, hanging down and clasped together, his head bowed, as if he were crying, yet he was silent.

Xilun's brain was working at lightning speed.

Wait a minute... something's not right!
According to his account, this is obsessive-compulsive neurosis, and it didn't start with his father's death, but rather he had it from the beginning.

In his resistance to his father's orders and refusal to inherit the orchard, he rejected his father's law, yet could not deny that he was the rightful heir. Thus, he turned to God—a more sublime father.

He may have seemingly broken free from his father, but in reality he became even more loyal to his father's laws.

That sense of sublimation of the father's law is his pleasure, or rather, at this stage—reason is defense, knowledge is pleasure.

But here I am still relatively normal, within the scope of a normal person, and I did not feel any pain, at most a mixture of guilt and contempt.

Many people who leave home from small towns and rural areas to study or work have these symptoms, including Celen Delland.

However, the symptoms worsened further when her father died.

But the phrase "I have no more chances" is not simply a matter of guilt and sadness, but rather carries a sense of fate and a sinful pleasure.

Although this statement caused him pain, it also placed him on a moral high ground. He maintained his purity as the "punished one," and he repeatedly replayed the scene of "being punished" and "having no chance to make amends" in his mind, which kept him in a state of "moral euphoria."

This is a typical form of hedonism in obsessive-compulsive neurosis—a hidden pleasure tinged with pain, which involves constantly forcing oneself to repeat it.

In theory, Russell's symptoms intensified significantly at this stage, even affecting his life and causing him pain and torment, so he wanted to talk to himself and seek help.

But Xilun felt that something was wrong.

—Too fast, far too fast.

It might be understandable if the patient had been open to himself before, but he was clearly defensive when he first came in.

Before he could even say two words, Russell had already succinctly explained his situation and the crux of the problem.

Furthermore, according to the conclusions drawn later, he should have further emphasized his father's sacrifices to intensify his own guilt and derive moral pleasure from this guilt. He should even have paused briefly after describing his father's sacrifices, savoring the sorrow and remorse in a form of silent mourning.

This should have been the perfect opportunity for Xilun to interject and break the chain of logic that had trapped him.

But Russell didn't do that—he went straight to telling his story.

After a frantic search, Xiren could only come to one incomprehensible conclusion—all of these words were carefully prepared by him, and regardless of whether they were emotionally charged or not, they were all empty words. He had already rehearsed these dialogues before coming here.

This also explains why he spoke so quickly, faster than a normal conversation could go.

What's the point? If they've come to me for advice or help, why would they meticulously prepare such a linguistic scam?

While people with obsessive-compulsive disorder do prepare before counseling, they don't go to this extent. They may unconsciously hide their problems or avoid taking responsibility, but they won't actively fabricate lies to deceive the analyst.

Yes, it was a deception. Xiren was very skeptical of the truthfulness of his words, whether it was his feelings for his father or his views on the seminary. He didn't talk about his mother, his childhood, his teachers, classmates, work, or environment... He simply told his father's story.

Like a short story, it has a beginning, middle, and end, but it doesn't sound like what a person would say when describing themselves.

What does he want?

On the other side, Russell frowned when he saw that Xiren remained silent and did not answer.

He had long heard of the bishop's reputation, and that his confessions and guidance were exceptionally effective—a fact known to everyone in Spessell—so he came out of curiosity to see for himself.

This is a story of ethical and religious conflict. If Siren comforts him by saying, "Your father will surely ascend to heaven, so don't blame yourself," he will refute Siren with questions like, "I had a conflict with my father because I went to seminary," "Can an unbeliever who prevents his child from going to seminary also go to heaven?" and "How can you prove it?"

This leads to questions about his authority to interpret God's will, accusations that he is deceiving people, and ultimately, denial of the entire church system in the ensuing debate.

Of course, if Siron comforted him by saying, "You should go back to the fields and fulfill your father's wish," he would happily announce that he would become an unbeliever and give up everything he learned in seminary to farm. He would prove to Siron through his actions that he, as a bishop, had allowed a seminary graduate to betray God and turned a "more valuable" intellectual into a farmer.

No matter how he comforted himself, he could launch another counterattack; this was a trap he had set for Xiren.

But Siron didn't answer at all, or rather, he didn't understand what Russell was trying to do.

“Your Excellency, if this is how you treat a believer in need of help… I think even a puppet could do that,” Russell said, his tone becoming more forceful.

“I have heard of your reputation since I came to Speyside. This problem has been bothering me for a long time. I hope to get your help instead of talking to a goldfish that can only remain silent.”

"Or are you imitating a saint's statue? Do you think believers can find comfort simply by looking at the statue and praying?" he said mockingly, his fingers impatiently rubbing the wooden armrest.

“No chance—what can we do if we have no chance?” Xilun suddenly asked softly.

"What?" Russell was taken aback.

“You said at the end, ‘There’s no more chance,’ what’s the point of having no chance?” Xiren repeated calmly.

“...I didn’t have the chance to tell him that I hadn’t let him down,” Russell said, a hint of sorrow in his expression.

"Payment?" Xilun asked.

“Do I have to explain this?” Russell seemed a little impatient. “His money, his labor, everything he did for me, I want him to know that I haven’t let him down, haven’t wasted those things, that I can create more value, albeit in a different way—not by working in the orchard.”

Xilun remained silent.

Russell calmed his impatience slightly. For some reason, he felt an inexplicable anger rising within him, perhaps because Siron hadn't done things his way.

Instead of comforting or confessing to himself, he kept asking questions and repeating his own words, which made him very irritable.

Am I taking a grammar exam? Am I supposed to explain every single word? As a bishop, why don't you comfort the suffering believers?
Moreover, ever since Siren avoided that opportunity for comfort and instead continued asking questions, everything seemed to be spiraling out of his control.

He smiled, as if trying to calm himself down and suppress the inexplicable agitation: "Doesn't that sound ridiculous?"

Xilun shook his head slightly: "You're quite right—'value'."

The firelight flickered between the two men, casting dark shadows on the wall.

For a moment, Russell's words seemed to freeze; the wrinkles on his face were fixed in the light of the flames, and the tips of his fingers trembled slightly.

He realized that he wasn't talking about faith, but about exchange.

This is not a contradiction between "ethics and faith", but a contradiction between "value and repayment".

He opened his mouth slightly, but the words got stuck in his throat like phlegm, and he couldn't utter a single syllable for a long time.

In the suffocating silence, Russell took a few silent breaths, rested his elbows on the armrests, and clasped his hands together at his chest.

“You’re very funny,” he said.

“You dissect every word I say, find my flaws, and I finally understand why they call you ‘the one who can see souls.’”

He sat there gracefully, though the adjustment seemed somewhat forced, but at least he looked like a gentleman in control.

Xilun remained expressionless, but a sense of unease crept in—was he trying to regain control? Was he retaliating? Why?
This shouldn't be obsessive-compulsive neurosis, this is...

“But you are a bishop,” Russell continued, his tone calm and almost gentle.

"You should be comforting the grieving believers, but instead you dissect them, breaking down their words into cold symbols and motives—I'm curious, Your Excellency Sir, is this a work of faith, or a voyeuristic fetish?"

Xiren took a deep breath, his anger surging within him, but he skillfully suppressed it for the time being.

He's retaliating; he's subtly accusing himself—you're enjoying watching me.

This isn't obsessive-compulsive neurosis; it's sexual perversion!

His cold voice rang out as he slowly said, "You're absolutely right, people do derive pleasure from voyeurism."

He paused, and very unusually, did not respond with the patient's words, but instead asserted in an emotionless, judgmental tone: "Just as some people derive pleasure from being seen."

Russell froze, sitting there like an elegant statue.

His true desires were pierced; he hadn't come for advice, but to be seen.

He was playing a dangerous game, pretending to be weak and challenging authority, using his intelligence to expose the system's incompleteness, and taking pleasure in it.

But this kind of game isn't something you can just play for your own amusement; it has to be "seen."

Just as a heinous crime must be widely publicized by the media, the actions of antisocial lunatics must also shock the world. They enjoy performing in front of people and relish being "seen."

It would be meaningless if their art went unseen.

Shame and anger surged in Russell's mind, threatening to burst him apart. He trembled with unease, but Siron stood up first.

“Professor Russell,” Siren’s cold voice rang out, the sacred fire burning in the fireplace, “Time’s up. If you need anything else, you can schedule another consultation with my secretary.”

(End of this chapter)