On the morning of December 31st, at the Harvest Church, South District of the Bridge.
Emlyn White, wearing his priest robes, stood in the kitchen, occasionally tossing different herbs into a large iron pot and stirring them.
After he had put in all the prepared materials, he waited another ten minutes, then scooped up the black liquid inside with an iron ladle and poured it into glass bottles and a glass cup.
48, 49, 50... Emlyn glanced at the empty iron pot and counted the potions he had prepared.
After confirming the count, he picked up a large tray and delivered the bottles of dark green liquid to the hall.
In the hall, most of the prayer chairs had been removed, and on the floor were tattered beds where plague victims lay, either unconscious or groaning in pain.
Emlyn and Father Utravsky worked together, each carrying some of the potions, and began distributing them from two directions.
The first in line was a middle-aged man with a sallow face. He struggled to sit up halfway, took the potion, and drank it down.
Returning the bottle, he said gratefully to Emlyn:
"Father White, I'm so grateful to you. I feel much better, a little stronger!"
Emlyn lifted his chin and said dismissively:
"This is just a very trivial matter, not worth thanks. You really lack insight."
Having said that, he sped up the distribution.
After about ten minutes, he returned to the altar of the Earth Mother and complained to Father Utravsky:
"You should have found two more volunteers!"
Father Utravsky did not respond. He looked at the patients and said with a gentle smile:
"In another two or three days, they should be fully recovered."
"How do you know?" Emlyn turned in surprise.
Father Utravsky lowered his head with a kind expression and said to him:
"Herbs are one of the domains of the Mother. As her believer, though not on the 'Earth' path, one should still have basic knowledge."
Emlyn clicked his tongue:
"I'm not interested in religion, I don't know much."
Although I've been copying the Earth Mother's holy scriptures frequently in recent months... he added resentfully in his mind, then said casually:
"Father, I didn't expect you to accept heretics. Only two or three of them are believers of the Mother."
Father Utravsky smiled unconcernedly:
"They are also lives, innocent lives."
Emlyn was stunned for a few seconds, then let out a breath and changed the subject:
"Father, I've found a way to resolve the psychological suggestion. I might leave here soon."
Wait, why did I mention that? Was I moved by him? What if he locks me in the basement again? Emlyn suddenly became nervous.
Father Utravsky's expression did not change. He looked down at Emlyn and said:
"Actually, you don't need to look for a way. In a little while, the psychological suggestion will naturally dissipate, and you can freely choose whether to come to the church."
"In a while, I'll become a devout believer of the Mother, no, the Earth Mother!" Emlyn blurted out.
Father Utravsky raised an eyebrow and said with slight surprise:
"I didn't force you to change your faith.
"The psychological suggestion I left was only for you to come back to the church every day, hoping you could use this to fully appreciate the preciousness of life and the joy of the harvest."
"The only effect of that psychological suggestion was to bring me back to the church?" Emlyn's expression suddenly went blank.
Father Utravsky nodded honestly:
"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 the Earth Mother's life, as if he had suddenly become a puppet.
…………
At dusk on December 31st, at 2 Water Narcissus Street, Tingen City.
Benson entered the house, taking off his hat and coat, and said with a chuckle:
"I've booked the tickets for the steam train to Backlund on January 3rd, second class."
Melissa, sitting in the dining room with several newspapers spread in front of her, said somewhat worriedly:
"Benson, the air in Backlund is terrible. A few days ago, thousands of people died from poisoning and illness caused by the heavy smog..."
"It's really a regrettable and sad thing." Benson walked towards the dining room and sighed. "But both houses have passed the Atmospheric Pollution Investigation Committee's report, and corresponding legislation will soon be enacted to regulate the emission of smoke and wastewater. A new Backlund awaits us. You don't need to worry too much."
Having said that, he smiled sarcastically:
"Just now, when I came back from Iron Cross Street, I found many factory owners from Backlund or their employees recruiting there, saying that due to the smog and plague, there is a shortage of manpower in the factories there. So they are willing to commit to working hours and minimum wages, much better than the current standards, ha."
"You think it's impossible?" Melissa asked sharply.
"When more and more people flock to Backlund, it's bound to be impossible, unless both houses can pass a corresponding bill to directly regulate it." Benson shrugged, pointed at the dining table, and said, "Alright, let's welcome the new year."
On the table were placed three sets of knife and fork, three empty porcelain plates, and three cups.
Among the three cups, one was filled with beer, and two with ginger beer.