Ice Vapor Goddess

Chapter 36 Condolences
Mathilde finally said goodbye to them, leaving behind ten pence and a piece of black bread, and stood outside the door in a daze.

A sense of helplessness washed over her again. She couldn't cure Selena's weaver's cough, nor could she save Ethel's brother. Some money could improve their lives, but too much would make them targets for covetousness.

She looked at herself, dressed in the noble robes of a convent abbess, her hands radiating holy light, yet unable to save an ordinary family.

Suddenly, the sound of an elevator rang out. The elevator that was reserved for the bishop made the sound of gears turning. Siren walked to her side and looked at the basket in her hand.

"What a coincidence, you brought eggs too?"

Mathilde looked at the other basket of eggs in his hand, and the two exchanged glances.

"Why are you here too?" Mathilde asked. "Isn't this an Evangelical Church matter?"

“I’m a member of the Gospel Church too,” Siren said with a smile. “What’s wrong? You don’t seem to be in a good mood.”

Mathilde was silent for a moment: "I can't save them."

She told Celen the story of the mother and daughter, who gently patted her on the shoulder: "But you're trying to save them, aren't you? That's what the Gospel Church was founded for."

“I just feel… so powerless.” Mathilde looked up as she walked side by side with Siron through the passageway of the residential area on the third basement level, with occasional posters of Rein’s speeches hanging nearby.

“I used to think that big shots could make us happy with just a flick of their fingers. Now that I’ve become a big shot, I can’t change anything,” she said.

Xiren strolled with her, carrying two baskets of eggs: "Nothing is easy to change. The 'big shots' you mentioned are just an imagined collection of superiors. Real changes often touch the core of the rules, and a few individuals who betray their class can only look on helplessly at the old system."

“Could you not be so academic?” Mathilde smiled. “I’m not your patient—oh believer, but I think the way you view believers is very similar to how a doctor views a patient.”

Xilun looked at her: "Of course."

In fact, when Siren saw Mathilde shed tears, he understood a lot. A true abbess would not have such strong empathy; they are often ascetic monks who have studied the classics for a lifetime or young ladies from wealthy families.

A person who can shed tears for the pain of others is often someone who has experienced pain themselves and then sees their own wounds reflected in others.

But just like in the letter he wrote to Mathilde.

The world is ending, Florence is out of contact. At this point, does it even matter who Mathilde de Clermont is? He only recognizes the girl in front of him with orange hair and brown eyes.

"If you want to change Selena's tragedy, you need to make the textile factory pay more attention to the health of its workers and get the factory owner to pay more money. But he will definitely disagree because it will cost more money, and his goal is profit."

"But even if you tie him to a street lamp and beat him, forcing him to pay more wages and renovate the factory, it won't help, because if his profits decrease, he will be squeezed out of the market by other companies that treat people even less humanely and can save costs."

"So your target is actually all textile factories. You need to make all textile factories realize that mistreating employees is wrong, make them hand over profits, and make them improve their treatment."

"But that's difficult because you need an agency to oversee all textile mills, to punish those that try to cut costs, to have absolute power and a wide reach, and to have a large number of regulators who are aligned with you, ensuring they are on your side and not people who take bribes and deceive you."

As she listened, Mathilde's eyes filled with despair: "You mean, it's impossible?"

“No, what I mean is—” Xiren looked at her seriously, “You have to be prepared to bleed. What you’re aiming for isn’t something that can be done with a flick of your finger, but something that you have to give up everything, gamble everything, and use all your passion, love, and life to achieve, and even then, it’s still difficult.”

"You'll die meaninglessly, won't you?"

"Yes, they'll treat you like a stray dog ​​on the street."

"What about a thousand or two hundred years from now?"

"Perhaps they'll remember you? But what's the point? The moment you die, it will all be irrelevant to you." Mathilde chuckled. "You've already thought so much..."

Xilun was speechless for a moment.

He did indeed misspoke; a normal person wouldn't be able to answer so quickly, so much, and so logically.

The fact that he could say it shows that he had already rehearsed it countless times in his mind.

"You've already made up your mind, haven't you?" she asked.

“No.” Siron shook his head. “I’m a coward. If I had a choice, I’d like to continue being a smuggler in Lundin. I like the glass-walled cafes, I like black tea, I like having fries. All I have to do every day is attend Mass. Great things are for great people to do. What do I have to do with them? Most people die before dawn.”

"Then why did you say all this to me?"

“I’m just warning you.” Siren didn’t look at her. “We’ve done more than we should as clergy. We should have a clear conscience. There’s no need to go any further.”

“Really?” Mathilde looked at the basket of eggs in his hand. “Then why did you come down too?”

"No investigation, no right to speak," Xilun said. "I don't understand STEM fields, so I can only do what liberal arts students are good at."

Mathilde didn't understand what he meant by "science and engineering students" and "liberal arts students," but she understood the previous sentence.

She laughed: "According to you, most important people shouldn't speak anymore."

"The world would be a much better place if they talked less," Siron said calmly.

Mathilde looked at him and gave him a knowing smile.

She didn't ask any further questions, just as Xilun never inquired about her background. This unspoken understanding flowed quietly between them.

They knocked on the next door.

The white-haired old man pushed open the door, and outside stood the smiling bishop and abbot, each carrying a basket of eggs, the cross on their chests reflecting a faint light.

"May God bless your health, sir. We are here on behalf of the Gospel Society to offer our condolences." —Sirlen

The old man opened the door in a panic and invited them in, muttering to himself, "Nothing this big has ever come through this door before!"

After placing four eggs down, they chatted with the old man for a while and learned that his son had just been hired as a coal miner and was working on the ninth underground level.

That was the middle section of the boiler area, surrounded by coal mines on the rock walls. The coal that was mined would be directly fed into the boiler via a steam conveyor belt.

The old man was fifty-seven years old, but his hair was completely white and his body was covered in wrinkles. In this day and age, he could indeed be called an old man.

"Oh dear, the bishop and the abbot coming together, it's like seeing a ghost. I thought they'd died and gone to heaven..." the old man muttered to himself in front of them. "There's nothing at home to entertain them. This old man is still waiting to go to church on Sunday to line up for communion..."

Xilun smiled and took his hand: "It will happen, it will happen, it will all happen. If you encounter any inconveniences in life, remember to contact the Gospel Church. We have carpenters and doctors here, and there are offices on every floor."

"I know, I know, I'll remember." The old man nodded repeatedly. "When I was young, I was in a choir, I can remember lyrics really fast..."

(End of this chapter)