Chapter 42: 11. Temple of Melitele: What He Saw (25)
After parting ways with the Witcher, He Shenyan began wandering the city alone. He could sense quite a few Mages living within the city. Their unconcealed Magic Power was practically impossible to miss. But for the time being, He Shenyan had no interest in seeking out his peers to exchange knowledge. After what had happened with Stregobor, his impression of the Mages in this world had temporarily sunk rather low.
As the sun gradually climbed into the sky, he strolled along the streets of Novigrad's Upper City. It was peaceful and picturesque, with trees and flowers whose names he did not know growing freely beside the roads. The men and women passing by were all dressed in fine silk clothing. As usual, they continued to turn a blind eye to He Shenyan. The Black-Robed Mage moved through the Upper City alone, paying no attention whatsoever to the imposing buildings or the noblewomen who had moved sofas into the Gardens before their villas to hold tea parties.
In the end, he shook his head and turned away, heading straight for the Lower City. This place was a completely different world from before. People were barely clothed, the streets were muddy, and beggars and homeless people could be seen everywhere. Though it was only noon, quite a few scantily clad women were already standing in the Shadows of the alleys soliciting customers. They smiled and greeted every passing man with wanton laughter, yet their eyes were filled with deep numbness. Some men with short-handled hammers and daggers hanging from their waists crouched in the alleys, watching every passerby with ill intent.
Only one place was an exception.
It was an old temple. The stone bricks had clearly weathered many years of wind and rain, yet despite its age, it was not filthy. Someone evidently cleaned it carefully every day. A statue stood on the stone bricks before its entrance, and everyone who passed it slowed their steps and cast it a respectful glance, regardless of whether they were male or female, even regardless of race.
The statue stood upon a flat stone pedestal. Three women stood atop it: a carefree, smiling young girl; a mature pregnant woman; and a bent, hunchbacked old woman. He Shenyan stood beneath the statue and examined it closely. He saw a weeping woman run to the old woman's statue, sobbing and trembling. She stroked the old woman's robes, then knelt on the mud-covered ground and murmured in agony, "Oh! Goddess, please, make him stop hitting me."
Standing behind her, He Shenyan could see the bruises on her neck. He fell silent for a while, cast a low-level healing spell on her, then separated off a tiny bit of Magic Power and attached it to her to ensure she would not be harmed again. Once he had finished, he dispelled the little trick and walked through the temple gates as though nothing had happened. Several nuns in black were busy sweeping the floor, and he heard faint voices coming from the rear of the temple.
One of the nuns noticed him and hurried over. "Good day, sir. What can I do for you?"
"Hello."
He Shenyan pondered for a moment before saying sincerely, "I know this may sound abrupt, but I would like to ask about your doctrines."
The nun looked at him blankly. After a while, she suddenly smiled. "Sir, you must have come from very far away. I can tell from both your appearance and your question. This is the Temple of Melitele."
"As for doctrines, we do not have such things. The Goddess did indeed teach us to be kind to others, to be tolerant, and to help those in need. But we do these things not because she demands it of us, but because it is her hope. At the same time, we also hope to become better people ourselves."
The nun in black spoke calmly. As she did, the wrinkles on her face gradually softened, and a few strands of silver hair fell over her forehead. She continued, "Is there anything else you would like to know?"
"No. Thank you."
To the nun, that strange man in black robes had merely entered, asked a strange question, and left. But to He Shenyan, it had not been merely a strange question.
He had once made a wager with a demon. The wager was this: Did you believe that, no matter how terrible the circumstances, there would always be people who held on to the good in humanity?
Surprisingly, the demon believed it.
He smiled, then looked back. Two points of starlight lit up in his eyes, allowing him to see through the wall at the front of the temple and into the area beyond. Behind it was a small hospital, where quite a few priestesses were busy treating poor people who could not afford medical care. There were also many people suffering mentally who were confiding in certain priestesses. They asked for nothing in return for any of it.
He Shenyan felt that he needed to learn more about this Goddess and her religion.
A bald, lanky man hummed as he sorted the pile of books on his handcart one by one. His name was Balk, and he was the owner of this modestly sized bookstore. The shop stood in Hierarch Square. It had no name and no signboard. Yet everyone who had visited it remembered it deeply. Unlike those so-called "reading salons" chasing the latest trends, this place truly was just a bookstore. Other than books, it offered no other services.
"Jingle."
The bell above the door rang. Balk turned around and saw a man in black robes enter. He nodded to him, wiped his hands on the white apron around his waist, then walked over and held out his hand. "Good day, customer. Balk Twillens."
"Good day. He Shenyan."
After their brief introductions, He Shenyan said, "I am looking for books about Goddess Melitele and her religion."
Balk smiled and pointed toward a bookshelf on the second floor. "The third shelf of that bookcase, the thirteenth book from the left. That book should contain the knowledge you seek. Twenty-five Crowns, please."
He Shenyan flicked a finger, and the book flew down by itself. Balk looked somewhat surprised. "Oh, you're a Mage as well."
"What? Do Mages rarely come here to buy books?"
"No, customer. Not rarely. You are the first Mage to buy books here in the twenty-one years since I opened this shop," Balk said.
"Oh?" He Shenyan became interested. He touched the book's cover, looked at the two lines of elegant cursive lettering, and asked, "What do you mean by that?"
"This may sound somewhat offensive. Please forgive me." Balk paused before continuing, "Because Mages are usually busy cozying up to kings and mayors. Even if they buy books, they would not buy them here."
"I agree with the first half. As for the second half, didn't I come here?" He Shenyan made a small joke. He took a white cloth bag from his robe, filled with money he had exchanged at the Dwarf bank on the way. He grabbed a handful of coins—exactly twenty-five.
"Thank you." Balk accepted the money and placed it in the corner of the handcart without even looking at it. He hesitated for a moment, but still asked, "I do not understand. As a Mage, why would you..."
"Perhaps because I'm a little different." He Shenyan winked at him and left the shop with the book.
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