I have a long-lived pawn shop.

Silver Moon Church, Holy Spirit Hall.

Thousands of white candles were burning in the Holy Spirit Church. Silver candlesticks held up the candlelight as majestic as a hill. The scent of incense and candles slowly diffused with the curling white smoke. Because it was too clean, it made people feel lonely and empty. A roll of red carpet was laid all the way to the depths. At the end of the red carpet was an altar, which was extremely exquisite. Its surface was inlaid with mithril patterns. The altar was surrounded by thousands of white roses. Every day, a special person came to replace them to ensure that they were always fresh and holy.

Williams Riolu walked into the Holy Spirit Church. He was wearing a simple black robe. Because it was already autumn, the robe was made of thick woolen cloth, with extremely hard and sharp lines, tightly wrapped around his well-muscled body, like a piece of armor. There were silver thread embroidered silver moon vine patterns on the shoulders and collar of the black robe, and a cross emblem inlaid with gems and pure silver hung on his chest. The emblem symbolized his identity and status - one of the five existing cardinals of the Silver Moon Church.

He was tall and burly, but silent. His face was weathered but not old, and his spirit did not look like that of a man over fifty. Judging from his appearance, this man was somewhere between a priest, a soldier, and an ascetic monk... He did not look like someone at the pinnacle of power in the Church. In the fragrance of incense, candles, and roses, the bishop's eyes passed through the vast space and cast towards the statue of the saint behind the altar. Williams frowned slightly. There was actually someone standing in front of the altar.

A girl dressed in black and white, about 18 or 19 years old. The girl turned around, politely greeted Williams, and said her name. At this moment, a gust of wind blew from nowhere, and thousands of candles went dark. Her name was swallowed by the wind.

Names were actually irrelevant to them. They could identify each other just by their dressing. Williams couldn't help but look directly into the girl's eyes. Probably everyone who saw her for the first time would do the same. He had never seen eyes more like a mirror than these, clear, transparent, smooth, beautiful, enough to reflect all the light and brightness. Deep in the eyes, however, there was a depth that could not be seen. It was like being shrouded in smoke that would not dissipate.

They stood together in front of the altar, one was a serious and stubborn cardinal, the other was a young and gentle candidate for sainthood. They stood side by side, yet surprisingly harmonious, as relaxed and natural as friends.

"I like this statue." The girl smiled.

Behind the altar is a pure white statue of the saint, draped in a white veil, holding a dying soldier in her arms. The soldier has a broken arrow stuck in his chest, his eyes wide open, and one hand stretched high into the void, as if an angel is lowering his arms to gently pull him out of the swamp of death.

He looked so happy, so happy, and so impatient, while the saint holding him had her brows downcast and her face full of sorrow. Her hands pressed on his bleeding chest, and her lips kissed his scarred forehead. Every line was painful, as if she was the one dying. There were no tears in her eyes, but some extreme sorrows never needed tears to prove it.

"But it's really painful." The girl looked at the statue and suddenly said: "I want to die so much, but I am forced to stay in the world."

Williams was silent for a moment, then said softly: "Where is the pain? Even if I really want to die, I will still feel happy if someone tries so hard to keep me alive."

The cardinal gazed at the statue and suddenly felt dazed. He recalled the village that had become a dead place because of the plague. Rats swarmed through the streets, gnawing at the fingers of the dead people. It was raining heavily in the dark night, and he stood by his mother's rotting body, thinking that this was the depths of hell.

Later, the emperor and the church sent a team to rescue, but only one person actually walked into the hellish village. That was the baptized saint of the Silver Moon Church of the previous generation. She saved everyone who was not dead yet with a gentle and compassionate look. Her firm face reminded people of the fallen leaves in late autumn, or the pine trees covered with snow in winter. She brushed the forehead of the patient, and a white light flashed from her body, so the patient's dark blue face became ruddy, and they could even stand up and walk by themselves, following the guidance of the saint to leave the village. All those who saw her perform miracles became more pious to God. The young Williams held this person's hand blankly, and then walked from hell into the world.

The saint was an orphan, very approachable, and even asked the priest to take charge of the church school. Because of her status, she could only come one day a month. On that day, all the children were very happy and well-behaved, and no one would make trouble. Before going to bed, the saint would tell the children stories about God. There were many small beds in a room, and there was a child in each bed. All the children opened their eyes and listened to the saint sitting under the lamp and telling stories with a beautiful voice. She was so holy, like an angel. Williams could hear people talking about her everywhere, and heard people say "Her Highness the Saint, Her Highness the Saint..." It seemed that she was always with him. He encouraged himself every time he heard it, because he wanted to get the saint's praise and wanted her to touch his head again.

But before Williams could grow up, the saint returned to the God she served. Before her death, she was very sad, because she had made a vow before God to save everyone who could be saved. She hoped that one day she would see a fertile land with milk and honey flowing everywhere.

But it was no use. The baptized saints were destined to die early. They had to experience all the sufferings in the world and die in the deepest sorrow.

Williams did not eat on the day she died. He hid in the church and prayed from morning till late at night until he fainted from exhaustion. When he woke up, he secretly vowed that one day, he would make this world a paradise without sin and sorrow, where all virtues would bloom like flowers on this land, and even in the farthest sky, people's prayers could be heard. When she looked down from God's side, she would never feel sad again.

"Yes, if someone wants to stay, I will feel happy, but Mr. Bishop, why do you show me such a sad expression?" The girl asked softly, "I don't meet your expectations, do I?"

Williams' face suddenly froze. After two breaths, he slightly moved the corners of his mouth, and his face twisted violently for a few times, and finally regained his composure: "You are indeed not the saint I expected, but this is not your fault, it is our fault. We threw the angels into the hunting ground and let them be soaked in blood and fire. How can we complain that the angels cannot maintain their love and holiness in hell?"

"You don't need to care about this. After all, we have nothing to do with you. It is the empire and the torrent of the continent that determine our fate. But you have been submitting documents to the Imperial Council to terminate the 'Xi La' plan, and you have not stopped for a single day in the past six months. How can you fight against the trend alone?"

"I can say I overestimated my own abilities. But that feeling... that feeling is that all your efforts have been overthrown by someone, and someone has trampled on your love and ideals." Williams clenched his fists, and the curves of his face were hard and sharp. "A saint should not be born out of sin. I still hold on to this idea."

"Mr. Bishop, everything is over. The entire file of 'Xila' will be closed. The parliament and the Holy See will set the highest confidentiality level for it. The confidentiality level cannot be lowered for many years, and no one will discuss this matter anymore. I am standing here to represent that the dust has settled. Why are you still so angry?" The girl in nun's clothes sighed softly, "Are you looking down on us?"

"No, I despise myself." The man crossed himself.

Williams Riolu, honest, upright, cold, like a sharp knife, cut off everything he felt was dirty, and lived without flaws. Friendship and family affection were unfamiliar to him, but his attachment to the saint had lasted for so many years, but the saint who saved him had been buried in a tomb in the center of the Vatican, and could no longer see his efforts.

He was just a lonely man, without friends, let alone supporters. But the Silver Moon Church saw him as a symbol, a symbol of the qualities of an old saint from an ascetic monk. Emperor Odin also felt that he could make use of Williams' resume. After all, a pure idealist was much better than those hyenas with complicated power. So Williams became one of the five cardinals. In this position, he could do more and his influence was greater. He thought he was getting closer to his ideal.

Until the plan of the "Saint of Sin" was launched, Williams felt the pain of hearing her death again. The Pope and other cardinals thought that his fierce opposition was just because he was sad when he thought of the saint, but he was not sad... He was angry!

How dare you blaspheme the Saint of Silver Moon like this!

He had the same dream several times these days. In the dream, many girls were struggling in hell. Their cries sounded like the bell of doomsday. He waved his sword and gun to save them, but he could not get close to that hell. The saint still died with sorrow. When he woke up, he was sweating and his heart was cold. He knew that he could not save them no matter how many times he had the dream. The weak Williams from many years ago came back to find him. He recalled the pain of watching his mother rot on a rainy night, the holy face of the saint, and the feeling of powerlessness of "not being able to save the people I want to save"...

The girl turned around, hugged Williams gently, and quickly let go. She said softly: "It's great, Mr. Bishop, that you still have this anger."

Williams was stunned. He lowered his head and met the girl's eyes. The girl was looking up at him, with a sea of ​​candlelight reflected in her black pupils. The girl's eyes made him feel like a father. Unlike most believers, they were not filled with awe and too much desire.

"Don't you hate me? I am also the executioner who pushed you into this situation."

"No, at least I volunteered, Mr. Bishop. My family was expelled from Yalai, and I had no choice to come back."

"Even if I become a demon?"

“Even if I become a devil,” the girl said with certainty, “I am probably the only devil in the Silver Moon Church who is disguised as a saint.”

Williams' heart twitched slightly deep down.

"Moreover, the protest documents that have never stopped in the past few months have become a prayer for us chess pieces. Mr. Bishop, I have to say thank you to you." The girl knelt down, turned around and walked away slowly without looking back.

With a creaking sound, the heavy door opened, a ray of light flowed in, and soon closed again. Outside the door was a white corridor, the relief lines were covered with large patches of creepers, like a waterfall flowing from the roof, revealing a warm golden color in the autumn. The girl walked through the white corridor, the golden leaves fluttered in the wind like frightened butterflies, and only the man in black robe was left standing there alone in the hall.

The stained glass is silent, the saint is merciful, the gods are roaring, and thousands of chairs are still standing there, like thousands of silent tombstones, standing there for hundreds of years and will stand there for hundreds more years.

From beginning to end, no one ever stayed here.

……

The white marble pillars seemed to stand tall and straight, supporting these magnificent buildings. The midday sun shone through the gaps between the pillars, leaving long shadows on the ground. Wei Xi was walking slowly between the light and shadows cast by the pillars. Countless priests and nuns in white or black stopped and bowed to her.

The choir in a remote church was practicing a new piece of music. The giant organ roared, and the sound was like thunder and ocean tide. The only sound that could break through the sound was the clear footsteps of Wei Xi, like an old blacksmith hitting his hammer on the anvil neither too fast nor too slow but with great determination.

The wind brought fallen leaves from the sky, which made a rustling sound as they rubbed against the ground, and Wei Xi felt a chill.