Ice Vapor Goddess

Chapter 38 Freemason Register (Two Chapters Combined)

"Tess." Celen's voice rang out from outside the door, but through the iron gate, the muffled sound was far less intense than the fragrance.

The aroma was like the bread she loved most in her dreams just coming out of the oven, and the only meat she ever ate as a child. Her mother and father sat smiling at the table, the wheat swaying outside, the sweet scent and the warmth of the roasted meat filling her entire being.

"Gulu."

Tess climbed out of the wooden bed. The strong fragrance made her wonder if she had died in a dream and arrived in heaven, but the dark room was not heaven, but hell.

She wiped the dried tears from her face, her clothes were wrinkled, and she smelled that scent again.

"Gulu."

Hungry, so hungry!

I'm so hungry!!
She started milking the first batch of milk at four in the morning and finished the second batch at eight in the evening before finishing work. But all she ate was a piece of black bread and a cup of the worst quality, smelly milk.

I'm so hungry!!
Her thin fingers gripped the iron bed railings as she trembled as she got up, her coarse cloth skirt almost crushing her.

The harsh sound of her fingertips scraping against the metal filled the air as she slowly walked forward.

It smells good.

Driven by the instinct for survival, she staggered to the door.

"Squeak-"

The door is opened.

A brilliant light came into view, and a young bishop in black robes and black hair was carrying roast meat and pudding. The aroma was more intense than any food she had ever imagined. Behind him were hundreds of residents from the three-story building, who were looking at her with concern or smiles.

"Tess!" they called her name, and she nearly fainted.

Xilun helped her up: "Take a rest, these are all for you."
-
Tess sat on the cast-iron floor of the corridor, wolfing down her food. If Sirius hadn't stopped her, he felt the girl might have choked him to death.

Tears streamed down her face as she took bites of the beef and pudding, as if she were eating a dream.

But she had been hungry for so long that even with all her might, she could only eat a small portion, and then Xilun shared the rest with the people around her.

The meat was distributed in more than a hundred portions, and each person only got a few shreds of meat. But everyone seemed to be in heaven. If you didn't know better, you would think it was a mass drug use scene.

After the meal, before Xilun could even speak, the elderly folks next to him started chatting with Tess about everyday things.

"Hey, what happened? Don't keep it to yourself, tell me!"

"That's right, you're a young girl, you should ask for help when you encounter problems!"

"where is your family?"

"We're all from the third floor, seventh district; your problem is everyone's problem!"

Amid the enthusiasm of the crowd, Tess's pale face regained some color.

"I...I know..." she said softly.

"It was...it was this afternoon...I was sterilizing milk jugs, and the mistress grabbed my hand and shoved it into the boiling sterilizing water...saying that this was the only way to kill the filth of the servants..."

Her hands were covered with burns and blisters, a jagged array of old and new wounds. Even though Xilun had treated her, it only healed some of the surface wounds and made her feel a little better.

Those old scars, like her tragic fate, spread across her arms, lingering and incurable.

"That's outrageous!!" a middle-aged woman screamed.

"Bang!" A man angrily slammed his fist on the iron railing next to him, his muscles trembling.

People were united in their hatred of the enemy, and a woman beside them took Tess's hand and silently shed tears.

Tess hesitated for a moment: "Actually, I'm used to it... but today the manager treated me..."

She didn't finish her sentence; her eyes welled up with tears again, and everyone fell silent.

Immersed in sympathy and sorrow.

Xilun asked a stranger nearby in a low voice, "What is a manager?"

However, it was too crowded at the time, and everyone heard what was said. A young man shouted angrily, "It's the factory owner!"

“Yes, it’s the men,” another person said.

"They brought a lot of money here, and the governor gave them appointments."

Xilun asked, "How many of them are there? What positions do they manage?"

This question left people at a loss for words, with only a few scattered remarks such as "It seems that Mr. Leo is in charge of the coal mine" and "I heard that Mr. Martin owns the textile factory."

Siren nodded and looked at Tess.

A middle-aged man in the crowd said, "Why don't you quit working at the milking parlor?"

"Then where can she go?" someone asked in return.

“...A textile factory?” someone suggested.

"That place is full, and the female textile workers don't live more than a year."

"Match factory?"

"Everything over there is poisonous; I heard they only live for six months."

"How about we go to the agricultural area?"

"The land has already been distributed. Without Mr. Hope's connections, you wouldn't be able to get any land at all."

"..."

"..."

The crowd fell silent, as if there was no job she could do that was safe.

Suddenly, someone said, "It seems the governor hasn't assigned any cleaners to the third floor."

"Huh?" People paused for a moment before remembering that there were cleaners on the fifth and sixth floors below, who regularly swept up the trash in the corridors and wiped them down, but there were no cleaners on the two floors above.

“I think—why don’t we have Miss Tess as our District 7 cleaner? Everyone can chip in to hire her; each person only needs to pay half a penny a month.” “That makes sense!” Many people suddenly realized and expressed their support.

Some poor families were unwilling and raised objections, while some wealthier families stepped forward to say they could contribute more.

But some people objected, saying that such a statement would discourage even more people from contributing money.

They then discussed for another twenty minutes and finally decided to set a limit of 5 shillings per person per week, with those earning less than 5 shillings per week exempt from paying cleaning fees.

As for names for low-income groups, people thought of many, but only came up with derogatory terms like "lower class" or "poor people." So, Siron finally came in handy and came up with the term "Freemason Register."

He barely uttered a word the entire time, simply sitting on the ground, his black robe covered in dust, smiling as he watched the people.

He felt gratified.

Even a savior cannot save everyone individually.

Only they themselves can save them. They need to unite, reflect, and awaken.

Breaking down the barriers and distrust between people, they sit together on the ground without any regard for appearances, cooking and eating together, discussing their future and hopes.

More and more people gathered, including many who had finished work. Siron listened as they registered their wages and occupations, registered their family composition, discussed electing a committee, and discussed how to help those on the Freemasonry register.

They even discussed whether or not to form a football team.

He left silently with a smile on his face, because he was no longer needed here.

so good.
-
As time went by, the temporary headquarters of the Gospel Church became increasingly busy.

This is the sixth basement level, containing thousands of the most luxurious residences. Xilun's 1,000-square-meter underground shelter is located here. The corridors are covered with brightly colored carpets, and there are all kinds of potted plants on the side. The magnificent white and gold walls are covered with warm wooden planks.

But he never came to this house; he simply handed it over to the evangelical church and used it as an office.

All the high-end furniture and entertainment facilities were moved aside, and there were more than fifty tables in the lobby. Three operators kept answering metal microphones from three floors, while three recorders behind them wrote down requests.

Sitting behind them were various technicians; they had hired several people who knew how to repair pipes and weld.

While Siron and Mathilde were visiting the residents, the evangelical church's bells rang incessantly as three newly hired recorders kept noting down addresses and requests, most of which were for on-site repairs.

Sam took on five apprentices, but these little guys had only just started classes, so his apprentices had to push their wheelchairs around everywhere.

Of course, the blame lies with those two people. They were handing out evangelistic cards everywhere, and many people contacted them with a "let's give it a try" attitude. The evangelistic contact room on the third basement floor was packed with people.

After visiting dozens of households, and before they knew where the sun had set, Celen and Mathilde met in the center, the heart of the elevator shafts, where a hundred elevator shafts stood busily transporting passengers.

"How is it?" Xilun greeted.

Mathilde seemed a little downcast as she walked over, carrying her empty basket. "It's alright, but it's a bit sad. There are quite a few elderly people living alone. Most of the young men are in the mines, and they can't find jobs in the livestock and agricultural areas. The women can't find any work at all, and most of the young boys work repairing steam pipes, crawling in and out of those high-temperature pipes."

“My statistics here are about the same.” Xilun pulled out a thick stack of papers, which clearly recorded the situation of the ninety-two households he had visited.

“You really enjoy taking notes.” Mathilde glanced at the paper in his hand, which contained incomprehensible entries such as “demographics,” “business conditions,” “property relations,” and “exploitation.”

“These are all important data,” Siren said. “Putting aside other things, the biggest problems that the statistics show are women’s employment and the safety of coal miners. Even if I do nothing, as long as I bring it up and express sympathy at the next Mass, people will feel that ‘His Holiness the Bishop is on my side.’ And since they are believers themselves, they will immediately come to the Church.”

Mathilde chuckled: "Are you going to do nothing?"

Xilun lowered his head and secretly gave her a smile, which looked somewhat sly under his falling black hair: "Of course not."

Mathilde looked at the poster on the wall. In the swirling, icy blue snow, the black steel governor stood tall, with four lines of text below that read: "An indomitable will in the harsh winter / To face the snow together / Governor's speech on the 12th of Portuguese Month / Please listen at the loudspeakers."

“You’re cheating, aren’t you?” she said. “The people you’ve comforted are almost certainly no longer on the governor’s side.”

“No.” Siren shook his head. “First of all, we are not enemies with the governor. Don’t force people to take sides. We are partners in leading Speyside through the harsh winter. It’s just that he doesn’t like me very much, so I have to fight back appropriately.”

"Secondly, we don't have enough time."

“There are over 30,000 people in Speyside right now. My limit is 150 people a day, but there are only four days until the speech.” Xiren looked at the huge mechanical clock on the shaft. A little boy with a dusty face was behind it, adjusting the time with a wrench covered in oil.

Mathilde looked at her: "Was that speech important to you?"

“I don’t know what he’ll say, but I can’t let people form preconceived notions,” Celen said. “People have no other sources of information, and if Raine fabricates charges against us or says something bad about us on the radio, it will become true. He has the only media propaganda channel.”

"I'll try my best to help you."

"it is good."

"Not for you."

Xilun laughed: "There's no need to add that sentence."

"But you have to give me money."

"……How many?"

“Ten thousand pounds, I guarantee it’s worth it, and you’ll get a return on your investment,” she said.

Xilen looked into her brown, amber-like eyes: "Okay."

The pile of gold in Saint Curi was about 1.5 meters long and wide and about 1 meter high. It didn't look very big, but it weighed a full 41 tons, which was about 5.6 million pounds, almost 4% of the Albion Empire's annual fiscal revenue.

It can be said that things that can be solved with money are not problems for Westren at present, but the market in Speyside is only so big, and blindly investing currency may lead to a decline in purchasing power. Moreover, after the apocalypse, most transactions have become barter, so the pile of gold pounds is just sitting there. Westren usually uses silver shillings.
-
August 8th, a very ordinary day.

If the disaster hadn't struck, this month would have been the grape harvest and winemaking season. People would have picked the grapes, piled them up, and had beautiful young women crush them with their feet.

Of course, the truth is that all the men and women in the village work together, and you never know whose foot you stepped on to make the wine.

But even those days are gone now.

Siron and Mathilde traveled around and held a small Mass on the 9th of the month.

Logan, Kyle, and Fafnir turned the servants' quarters next to the Spiritual Abode into a training ground, recruiting twenty able-bodied men to train day and night, and even hanging a long wooden sign inside that read "Headquarters of the Holy Knights and the Delland Guard."

Aldridge didn't take on any apprentices, but he bought those five tractors and spent all his time tinkering in the rented workshop, seemingly really wanting to get those train carriages back.

Sam was busy at the evangelistic church, teaching his five apprentices whenever he had a spare moment, his old body bursting with incredible enthusiasm.

Joseph took on the role of doorman at the church entrance, opening the oak door at six o'clock every morning, wearing a thick white overcoat to greet believers who came to visit or pray, and then leaving last at eleven o'clock at night and locking the door.

The wind and snow continued to intensify, heavy dark clouds once again obscured the sun, and the temperature dropped to minus twenty-five degrees Celsius. People no longer expected it to warm up tomorrow, and jobs that required crossing the ground became undesirable recruitment opportunities.

(End of this chapter)