On the morning of December 31st, at the Harvest Church in the Bridge South Borough.
Emlyn White, dressed in a priest's robe, stood in the kitchen, occasionally tossing different herbs into a large iron pot and stirring them occasionally.
After all the prepared materials were placed in the container, he waited patiently for another ten minutes before using an iron spoon to scoop up the dark liquid and pour it into the glass bottle and glass next to him.
48, 49, 50... Emlyn glanced at the empty iron pot and began counting the prepared potions.
After confirming the quantity, he picked up a large tray and carried bottles of dark green liquid into the lobby.
Inside the hall, most of the prayer chairs had been removed, and tattered blankets were laid on the floor, inside which lay plague-infected people, some fast asleep and others groaning in pain.
Emlyn and Father Utravsky worked together, each carrying a portion of the medicine, and began distributing it from two different directions.
The first person in line was a middle-aged man with a sallow complexion. He quickly propped himself up, took the medicine, and gulped it down.
He handed the bottle back and said gratefully to Emlyn:
"Father White, thank you so much! I feel much better, and I have some strength back!"
Emlyn raised his chin and replied dismissively:
"This is just a very small thing, not worth thanking. You are all so ignorant."
After saying that, he sped up the distribution of the medicine.
About ten minutes later, he returned to the altar of Earth Mother and complained to Father Utravsky:
You should hire two more volunteers!
Father Utravsky did not respond, but looked at the patients and smiled gently:
"They should be fully recovered in another two or three days."
"How did you know?" Emlyn tilted his head in surprise.
Father Utravsky lowered his head with a kind expression and looked at him, saying:
"Herbal medicine is one of the Mother Goddess's domains. As Her followers, although we are not within the 'earth' path, we still need to understand basic common sense."
Emlyn clicked his tongue:
"I'm not interested in religion and don't know much about it."
Although I've been copying the holy scriptures of the Earth Mother quite often these past few months..." he added inwardly with a hint of resentment, then casually said:
"Father, I didn't expect you to accept heretics; only two or three of them are believers in the Mother Goddess."
Father Utravsky laughed nonchalantly:
"They are lives too, innocent lives."
Emlyn paused for a few seconds, exhaled, and then said:
"Father, I've found a way to break free from the Psychological Suggestion, and I may be leaving here soon."
Wait, why did I bring this up? I was actually touched by him. What if he locks me in the basement again? Emlyn suddenly tensed up.
Father Utravsky's expression remained unchanged as he looked down at Emlyn and said:
"Actually, you don't need to look for a solution. After some time, the Psychological Suggestion will naturally dissipate, and you are free to choose whether or not to come to church."
"Wait a little longer, and I will become a devout follower of the Mother Goddess, no, the Earth Mother!" Emlyn blurted out.
Father Utravsky raised an eyebrow and said with slight surprise:
I did not force you to change your beliefs.
" The Psychological Suggestion I left is simply to encourage you to return to church every day, hoping that you can fully appreciate the preciousness of life and the joy of Harvest."
"The only effect of that Psychological Suggestion was to get me back to the church?" Emlyn's expression froze.
Father Utravsky nodded calmly:
"Yes."
"..." Emlyn's mouth was half open, and he slowly and mechanically turned his head to look at the altar, at the Holy Emblem of Life of the " Earth Mother," as if he had turned into Puppet in an instant.
December 31, evening, Tingen City, 2 Daffodil Street.
Benson entered the house, taking off his hat and coat as he chuckled:
"I've already booked a second-class ticket on the Steam train to Backlund for January 3rd."
Sitting in the restaurant, with several newspapers spread out in front of her Melissa said with a slightly worried expression:
" Benson, the air quality in Backlund is terrible. Just a few days ago, tens of thousands of people died from poisoning and illness caused by the heavy smog..."
"This is truly a regrettable and sad thing," Benson said with a sigh as he walked towards the dining room. "But both houses of parliament have passed the report of the Atmospheric Pollution Investigation Commission, and there will soon be corresponding legislation to regulate smog and wastewater emissions. We will be facing a new Backlund, so you don't need to worry too much."
At this point, he gave a mocking laugh:
"When I came back from Iron Cross Street just now, I saw a lot of factory owners or their employees from Backlund recruiting there. They said that because of the smog and the epidemic, their factories are short-staffed, so they are willing to promise longer working hours and a minimum wage that will be much better than the current standard. Hehe."
"You think it's impossible?" Melissa asked sharply.
"With more and more people flocking to Backlund, it's destined to be impossible unless both houses of parliament pass a bill that directly stipulates it." Benson shrugged and pointed to the dining table. "Alright, let's welcome the New Year."
There were three sets of cutlery, three empty porcelain plates, and three cups on the table.
Of the three glasses, one contained beer and the other two contained ginger beer.
December 31st, evening.
Audrey, dressed in her finest attire, stood in the lounge, waiting for the New Year's Eve party to begin, but her expression betrayed no excitement, joy, or anticipation of her coming-of-age ceremony.
A newspaper was placed in front of her, which read:
"... According to preliminary statistics, more than 21,000 people died directly from the severe smog, and the subsequent spread of the epidemic claimed nearly 40,000 lives, including young children and healthy young men and women..."
Sigh, Audrey couldn't help but close her eyes.
Just then, her father Earl Hall, and mother, Lady Caitlyn, knocked and entered, praising her in unison:
"Your beauty surpasses everyone tonight, my love. It's time to go out; the Queen awaits you."
Audrey exhaled slowly, a bright and elegant smile spreading across her face. Accompanied by her father and mother, she walked out of the lounge and into the party hall.
She walked up to the highest platform at the front, and amidst admiring gazes, presented her hand, clad in an elbow-length white gauze glove, to the Queen.
The Queen led her to the edge of the platform, where they faced all the guests.
After a slight pause, the Queen smiled and said:
"Although this is a dark period in Backlund's history, we still have a gem that can illuminate the entire city. Her Wisdom, her beauty, her character, and her manners are all impeccable."
Today, I will formally introduce her to you.
Miss Audrey Hall.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, fireworks soared into the sky, exploding into dazzling bursts of light.
On the last night of 1349, Audrey officially came of age in a social sense.
January 3, 1350, afternoon.
In a newly established cemetery on the outskirts of the East Borough,
Klein used Divination to find the graves of Old Kohler and Liv and her daughter.
These are not graves in the true sense of the word, but cabinets for storing urns, one after another, row upon row, overlapping each other.
Klein stood there and saw that Old Kohler's cabinet not only lacked a portrait and epitaph, but even his name was missing.
Similar situations are not uncommon. There are far too many unclaimed ashes here whose relatives and friends cannot be found. No one knows or cares what they were called, what they looked like, or what their lives were like. Only the numbers on the cabinets can distinguish them.
Klein closed his eyes, pulled out a piece of sticky note, shook it until it resembled a metal sheet, and carved a word on the cabinet door:
Kohler.
Then, he added a line to the epitaph:
"He was a good worker; he once had a wife and two children; he tried his best to live."
With a flick of his wrist, Klein, his black hair, brown eyes, and gaunt face burning, made the paper burst into flames in his hand, as if offering a sacrifice to all the souls here.
Instead of directly helping Daisy, who had lost her mother and sister, he anonymously wrote to journalist Mike Joseph, detailing the girl's plight to avoid implicating her in his own affairs.
Reporter Mike had met Daisy, knew about her situation, and enthusiastically promoted the establishment of a corresponding charitable foundation. Therefore, Klein believed that he would help Daisy obtain more assistance so that she could complete her basic education and find a stable job that would allow her to support herself.
Klein took two steps back and looked around, taking in the victims whose names and photos were all that remained, or even those.
He raised his head, slowly exhaled a puff of white breath, turned around, and left the cemetery.
On the Steam train bound for Backlund, Melissa was engrossed in her textbook, while Benson quickly struck up a conversation with the passengers around him.
"Too expensive, too pricey! A full 10 Soli, half a pound!" a robust man not yet thirty exclaimed sincerely. "If it weren't for the fact that third-class seats and boat tickets are hard to come by these days, I wouldn't have spent this money at all. It's almost half a week's salary!"
"Indeed, too many people are heading to Backlund after the New Year," Benson agreed.
The burly man suppressed his distress and said with anticipation:
"Because they promised 21 Soli a week and a maximum of 12 hours a day, we signed a contract!"
"Once I've rented a place and received my first paycheck, I'll send my wife to Backlund. She should be able to find a good job there, something like 12 or 13 Soli a week. I heard Backlund is really short-staffed! Then, ah, together we'll have over 1.5 pounds a week, and we can eat meat regularly!"
"Your Wishes will surely come true. The King has signed an order allowing the implementation of laws stipulating minimum wages and working hours," Benson sincerely wished, then smiled. "That place is the ' Land of Hope.'"
Ugh!
The Steam train, carrying countless hopeful people, arrived in Backlund. It was still light, and the fog in the air had thinned considerably. The gas lamps hanging above the platform were no longer lit early.
Benson, with his experience, protected his sister and wallet, carried the suitcase, and followed the crowd out of the station.
Suddenly, they both felt a gaze sweep over them.
Following the trail, Benson and Melissa spotted a young gentleman with neatly trimmed black hair and deep brown eyes.
The gentleman with the gold-rimmed glasses adjusted his top hat, his gaze passing over them and fixed on the distance.
Benson and Melissa also turned their gaze to the pillars emitting smoke in the park, eager to witness Backlund's underground transportation system.
Klein, carrying his suitcase, walked past them expressionlessly and with his body upright, facing the large crowd pouring into the " Land of Hope," facing the people whose anxiety was mixed with hopeful expectations, and entered the departure station.
This is the worst of times, this is the best of times.
(Part Two Completed)