CH-047

47. Only While You’re Young Can You Catch a Soft-Hearted God

Only on July 7 did Leslie, as a member of the groom’s family, formally meet his father Claude face to face for the first time.

When the two looked at each other for the first time, there was no extra confusion or probing in their eyes. Each knew perfectly well who the other was.

This meant that before meeting face to face, they had already been familiar with the other’s existence. Perhaps not to the point of seeing each other every day as if in a mirror, but at the very least enough not to mistake that face.

But this was not a warm reunion. There was no embrace, no greeting.

The two of them were like two people living on opposite sides of a mirror. Their worlds were fated never to intersect. They could only stand against one another like this, look at each other like this, confront one another like this, unable even to let their thoughts and voices pass through the “mirror” to the other side.

Their gazes met for less than five or six seconds.

Roy, the captain of Duke Claude’s personal cavalry, leaned over and murmured a few words to him. Claude said nothing more and strode away, leaving only Captain Roy to face Leslie.

Leslie was a bit smaller than other children his age.

Captain Roy had seen the child beside Father Alis named Finian, who seemed about the same age as Leslie, yet was still a little taller.

Seeing Leslie’s gaze following Duke Claude’s figure, Captain Roy could not help but explain, “The duke...”

“Father is busy. I know.”

Leslie’s voice was clear and strong, enough to show that he was not a timid person.

As for this sort of thing, Leslie had heard it more than once. So long as his expression showed even a little emptiness or loneliness, someone would say to him that the duke did not not care about Leslie, but rather that he had too many things to be busy with and too many people who could not do without him.

Sometimes Leslie had found comfort in those words. Sometimes he had found only irritation. Sometimes he had been indifferent. Sometimes he had felt he was simply being fobbed off. But this was the first time he himself had said such words aloud.

Because he had already imagined countless times what it would be like to meet his father. And precisely because he understood his father’s cold nature, Leslie had imagined even worse possibilities. Now, this attitude of neither asking nor caring unexpectedly had a soothing effect on Leslie’s heart.

At least he was not so detestable as all that.

Ignoring Captain Roy’s concern, he left the scene on his own, going off to find a quiet place to wait for the wedding to begin.

He was good at thinking, and he also analyzed his own emotions.

Leslie felt that when he could not see his father the duke, he actually liked his father a little more.

“...”

In truth, his father was not that important a matter to him either.

Because he was already unable to get from his father what he wanted, even if it was only a little concern or attention. Though he had also thought that even contempt counted as a form of attention, on careful thought, that kind of hurt still cut deeper than simple indifference.

Yet this also told him that he was destined never in his life to receive a response from his father—not even disdain.

These calm and rational thoughts only made Leslie feel more helpless. He clenched his fists unconsciously, until the knuckles turned white.

The gravel beneath his feet gave off tiny crackling sounds as he paced irritably, not knowing what to do.

At just that moment, two upright figures of young boys suddenly blocked his path.

This was a planned entrance.

They were his future stepbrothers—thirteen-year-old Carwen and twelve-year-old Seamus.

The two of them had grown up in the most prosperous metropolis on the continent—the great city where the Holy Church stood—and every movement they made carried a confidence, breeding, sense of measure, and distance that could not be ignored.

Their clothing also stood out from the crowd. Their shirts were cut in the most fashionable southern fitted style. Over their little waistcoats they even wore short red capes. On their lower halves they had long socks reaching the knees and polished little leather shoes, giving them the properness of boys just out of a finishing school, perfectly matching what people imagined of the southern metropolis—refined, particular, attentive to occasion, and arrogant.

Even their hair had been carefully styled, with pomade mixed with a crisp marine perfume scent that had obviously come from their mother, Lady Adeli. Even this matching scent made it easy to feel that mother and sons were of one mind and tightly bound together.

Leslie frowned in disgust.

Carwen quite enjoyed Leslie’s displeased expression and looked him up and down, taking in his rigid and monotonous formalwear.

After confirming that in terms of dress, he and his brother thoroughly outclassed Leslie, he smiled and said, “Leslie, move aside. Can’t you see we’re in the middle of something?”

Leslie flicked his gaze toward the path to the side, which was still wide enough for one person, and looked at it once.

Normally he would have chosen to give way first, at most using words to force the other party back and trying to avoid unnecessary provocation.

He did not like conflict, and he also felt there was no need to waste energy on pointless disputes. But sometimes emotions were like someone striking a spark inside his heart, burning at his reason. And the fire spread quickly, making the blood in his bones sting and driving him to want to roar, to tear apart this silent shell of his.

What the hell was wrong with him?

Did he have to lose control once—did he have to explode like a madman—before anyone would notice him?

Before anyone would know he was not without emotions—!?

Seeing Leslie’s face gradually turn pale, Carwen and Seamus assumed he was on the verge of an emotional collapse, unable even to hold back that miserable expression. After all, standing there alone on the gravel path, he looked like an abandoned little dog, having none of his usual bite, and it made him seem almost laughable.

They did not sense danger in the least, nor did they show any vigilance. Just as they were about to open their mouths and mock him—

A warm voice sounded.

“Please hurry. It wouldn’t be good to be late.”

This voice made Leslie’s back stiffen. His whole body tensed, yet he did not turn around.

Carwen and Seamus, however, were facing the owner of the voice and could see that the person was still five or six meters away—a young man wearing a white priest’s robe.

Perhaps because his qualifications were too shallow and his age too young, he ought to have been an inconspicuous figure. Yet his skin was fairer than other people’s, and at that moment he was like a handful of cool spring snow, drawing the boys’ attention with ease.

His figure was slender, his robe neat and spotless, glowing warmly in the sunlight.

His features were clear and serene, a rare kind of good looks even in the great metropolis.

Dressed in clerical robes, he carried an extra trace of otherworldliness and a sacredness that inspired reverence.

Carwen and Seamus also could not help feeling a little tense.

Even more than that—because he had stopped walking, the people ahead of him seemed to sense it and all came to a halt as well, turning to look in their direction.

Carwen and Seamus naturally would not dare make a move under the gaze of everyone present.

They certainly would not bully their future younger brother under everyone’s watchful eyes.

The two brothers simply stood where they were, intending to wait until the man finished his reminder and the crowd moved on again, and only then continue confronting Leslie.

But when the young man who had spoken saw that the brothers remained where they stood, he too quietly remained in place. Everyone else likewise halted as if by unspoken agreement, as though an invisible thread bound them all together while they waited for the young man to give the signal again.

It was a strange and delicate phenomenon.

In the great metropolis, there had never been a low-ranking clergyman standing at the tail of the group who could make everyone wait for him.

Yet among them there flowed a kind of natural affiliation, light and soundless, moving between the parish priests in a way that made the two brothers’ hearts tighten as well.

They were nothing more than a group of country low-ranking priests...

Carwen thought this unhappily, yet he could not clearly say what exactly felt wrong.

Especially because the young man merely spoke gently and looked at them calmly, yet the longer that gaze lingered, the more they felt their hands and feet becoming awkward and unnatural.

Under his gaze, Carwen and Seamus felt that their hands no longer felt like their own hands, their legs no longer felt like their own legs, and their whole bodies felt uncomfortable.

Second by second, time passed. In the end, the two noble boys awkwardly went around Leslie, stepping onto the grass and cutting across the lawn to walk in front of the group of parish priests.

Only then did that voice sound again, calm but weighty. “Sorry for delaying everyone.”

Father Alis paused. “Let’s go.”

The moment he said that, the people ahead of him seemed to awaken and moved again. Only then did Leslie, who had originally had his back turned to them, look back toward the procession.

He of course understood.

This was obviously getting him out of trouble.

If he had really been afraid of everyone being late, then Father Alis would at least have watched him start moving, rather than simply beginning to walk once the two brothers had left.

Leslie lowered his head and looked at his own hands again. When he relaxed his palms, they were full of pale pressure marks from how tightly he had clenched them. After he loosened his fingers, blood surged back into them at once, as if warmth were being poured into his hands.

Leslie drew in a light breath—

What an unnecessary meddler.

The moment that thought arose, an old, gentle voice suddenly sounded behind him.

“Our Father Alis is rather good, isn’t he?”

Leslie gave a violent start and turned around sharply to see that Vice Archbishop Hugo had appeared behind him at some unknown moment.

Today the old man was presiding over the wedding and wore a holy robe woven with subtle golden patterns. As the hem fluttered in the wind, even the sunlight seemed to linger upon him, giving off a solemn radiance.

His gaze was warm and piercing, as though it saw straight through the thoughts Leslie had hidden deep in his eyes. Yet Vice Archbishop Hugo did not expose them. Instead he said gently, “How have things been these past days, Leslie?”

Leslie answered blandly, “Nothing much.”

There was nothing especially worth being happy about, and nothing especially worth being upset over.

Everything he had encountered could be untied if he just thought it through for a bit.

As he said this, Leslie’s gaze unconsciously rose toward the bandage on Vice Archbishop Hugo’s head.

At this moment the old man before him looked vigorous and strong, so composed that one could almost forget that only a few days earlier he had fallen down the stairs and been at death’s door.

Noticing the boy’s attention on his injury, Vice Archbishop Hugo smiled and said, “If I hadn’t happened to run into you wandering near the church that night on the 3rd, I probably would have died at the bottom of those stairs without understanding why.”

The old man’s tone was light, as though speaking of some rumor he had heard.

But in truth, the memories of that night were extremely clear.

That night, Father Conny had pushed him down the stairs, and for a while he had really thought he was going to die. He had been full of regret and bitterness, condemning himself for spending these ten years focused only on his own inner pain, drifting through his days in a haze, failing to complete the grand blueprint of his dreams in time, and waiting until someone else inspired him before finally daring to take that first step. Yet before he could do anything, he had almost died.

Then he met Leslie.

Though Leslie had only said that he went to notify someone to come save Vice Archbishop Hugo, Hugo knew very clearly that it was Leslie who had used his power to save him.

Because he remembered that the child’s hand had lightly pressed against his wound.

The terrible pain in that place had then begun to ease miraculously, and his breathing and heartbeat had gradually returned to normal.

What was more, Hugo also knew that the cleric on night duty in the infirmary was just an ornamental novice. That novice only knew simple bandaging and could not do anything more. So Hugo’s survival absolutely could not have had anything to do with that cleric.

For that reason, Vice Archbishop Hugo was even more inclined to believe with certainty that Leslie possessed divine power.

His basis for this naturally was not merely that one sensation he had felt while slipping into unconsciousness, but the string of abnormalities afterward.

His blood had spilled all over the ground, and even beneath the stairs there had still been blood not yet dry, which showed the wound had absolutely not been minor. Besides, if it had not looked fatal, Father Conny would never have left so confidently, believing there was no possibility of survival.

Yet when Hugo was taken to the infirmary for treatment, the wound on his head had already become only a shallow mark, not even requiring stitches. By the next day, that wound had actually begun to scab over, looking like nothing more than a slight abrasion.

That speed of recovery was something even the healthiest young man could not easily achieve.

Because this already belonged to the realm of miracles that changed life and death.

So Vice Archbishop Hugo still had to keep the bandage on to conceal the change in his injury and avoid letting Father Conny notice.

At the same time, Vice Archbishop Hugo investigated the boy. Once he learned that his name was Leslie, he also learned that Leslie’s mother was Odora, who likewise possessed divine healing power.

Then everything became easy to infer—

“Leslie inherited his mother’s power.”

When Vice Archbishop Hugo had lived in the great metropolis, he had once served for many years as vice principal of the military academy.

Both Claude and Odora had once been his students.

It would be too much to say they had been close, but there was at least a faint tie between them.

At that time he had had many students, and both Claude and Odora had also had other mentors, so their relationship had amounted to little more than acquaintances. Later, when he presided over their wedding, it had happened during the period when Claude’s relationship with the church was at its worst. Naturally Claude had not drawn close to him, while Odora had been in poor condition then too and unwilling to communicate with anyone.

Later still, he had heard of Leslie’s existence and the rumors surrounding him, yet he had not truly worried about the child’s circumstances. He had assumed that at the very least the boy was not lacking for food and clothing, unlike children from many impoverished families who could not even satisfy basic hunger and warmth, much less get a chance at education.

Still, if one asked honestly, then if Vice Archbishop Hugo had truly seen Leslie trapped in misery and unable to save himself, he certainly would have felt a sense of responsibility and done everything he could to help him, sparing nothing.

But from what he could see now, although Leslie’s family was unhappy and his life not joyful, his condition was far from tragic. He had not fallen into poverty or complete isolation. To a certain extent this reduced Hugo’s guilt and spared him the psychological burden of having neglected the child of his former students.

However, Leslie now had an additional identity in his eyes: Hugo’s savior.

So whenever Vice Archbishop Hugo looked at Leslie, there was an extra layer of complicated thought and feeling in his heart.

On the other side, Leslie knew nothing of Hugo’s thoughts, but he had always been wary of this kindly-faced old man. He always felt that the vice archbishop was extremely deep and unreadable. He could not tell whether the man was good or bad, but he was certainly an old fox.

Especially because every time they met recently, Hugo had mentioned “the kindness of saving my life,” which made Leslie very uneasy, as though Vice Archbishop Hugo had already seen straight through his secret.

It was true that Leslie had no way of bringing dead people or animals back to life—he had already tested that on dead cats before—but when it came to treating wounds and easing pain, he truly did possess a power close to a miracle.

Yet he had no wish to make this public, even if it meant people thought he was always hanging around injured or dead animals like some kind of monster.

There had once been a moment when he thought Father Alis might already have discovered his power, and that had kept him tense for quite some time.

That time was when Father Simeon first came to the Savoy parish.

At that time Father Simeon had been covered in injuries, limping on a cane, and had even fainted to the ground. Leslie had not wanted Father Simeon to notice anything, so he had only healed the wound on his leg. But afterward he heard that Father Alis had deliberately called for Yvonne the apothecary, and Leslie had worried that Father Alis might notice something suspicious. He was also afraid that Father Simeon might notice he could walk normally again and tell the priest, so Leslie had even run to the church under the excuse of delivering money.

At the time, seeing that neither of the two had noticed that detail had actually put Leslie’s heart at ease.

But this time he discovered that his secret seemed already to have been seen through completely by Vice Archbishop Hugo.

Since the other party did not bring it up directly, Leslie naturally would not take the initiative to say he had divine power either.

He only pretended to remain calm and replied, “I just called people over to take you and bandage your head injury. You don’t need to bring it up every time you see me.”

Vice Archbishop Hugo laughed when he saw how tense he was.

But this time he intended to address it directly and clearly. “Leslie, you inherited your mother’s divine power, didn’t you?”

“...So what if I did, and so what if I didn’t? ...”

Leslie stiffened, his eyes full of alertness as he looked at Vice Archbishop Hugo.

Vice Archbishop Hugo’s manner remained very mild, and his tone was neither hurried nor slow.

He was old, but not stupid.

Faced with Leslie’s wariness, he smiled lightly as though chatting casually. “The reason you’ve never announced it is simply because you don’t want to join the church, so you don’t tell others about your divine power, is that right?”

“...” Leslie did not answer. Only his brows shifted slightly, and his fingertips tightened.

There was not the least coercion in Vice Archbishop Hugo’s voice, yet his understanding of Leslie made it seem as though the boy were a transparent glass youth with every thought written plainly on his face.

The old man lightly exposed his thoughts. “It’s because you know your father dislikes the church, and you want to stand by your father’s side, so you conceal it. Right?”

Leslie’s heart gave a sudden leap. He pressed his lips together, trying hard to suppress the unease inside him. “What do you want? Sell me to the church?”

He believed that so long as Vice Archbishop Hugo wrote only one letter to the Holy Church, Leslie would immediately be sent away to it and separated from Duke Claude.

Leslie knew his father did not care for him and did not love him, yet he still could not cut away his own feelings for his father.

Perhaps if he showed himself to be a little more valuable, he might gain his father’s recognition?

Leslie had hopes.

Vice Archbishop Hugo had not come to frighten him.

He also needed Leslie now, which was why he had come to speak.

He had stated his purpose from the start.

Vice Archbishop Hugo slowly opened his mouth, his voice gentle and strong. “Leslie, what I actually want is to make a long-term deal with you.”

Looking at the boy, he said calmly yet sincerely, “The church today is all glittering on the outside and rotten within. It’s no longer the church I admired when I was young. I once fantasized that perhaps if I could save the faith in the northern territories, then there would still be hope of restoring the whole church to what it used to be. But reality has taught me one thing—the decline of the church’s credibility and influence has nothing to do with the number of believers and nothing to do with heretics.”

“It needs reform. It needs a new leader.”

Leslie frowned and refused. “I won’t join the church, and I won’t allow my power to become your bargaining chip.”

“I already have the most devout candidate for a believer.” At this point, Vice Archbishop Hugo’s heart softened. “That’s exactly why I asked you what you thought of Father Alis.”

“...”

Leslie thought of Father Alis’s face. His mouth moved, yet he could neither say the man was good nor bring himself to say he was bad.

Vice Archbishop Hugo thought about it and felt that even if Leslie said something bad, he still would not change his mind.

In his heart, Father Alis was already the most perfect choice.

So Vice Archbishop Hugo quickly continued, “What I need is the strength of the secular nobility.”

He paused, looking meaningfully at Leslie. “I need you.”

“Me?” Leslie nearly thought he had heard wrong. He only found it ridiculous. “Why don’t you go to my father?”

Hugo believed this child was intelligent, and when dealing with intelligent children, there was no need to play verbal games. Directness was the best negotiation technique.

“This plan is meant to develop over the long term, and in that process I also want to raise you up as the sole candidate for Duke of the Northern Territories. First, this is to repay the kindness of you saving my life. Second, in the future I will also need strong secular power to support the church. If you don’t want faith, that doesn’t matter. In my opinion, this brings no harm to your future.”

Leslie’s brows could not help but knit together.

To other people, the blow that his father’s remarriage dealt him might have been his inability to become the sole candidate for the northern duchy.

But for Leslie, what truly hurt was not the loss of inheritance rights. It was that someone could openly and legitimately snatch away his only family member, while he himself was powerless to do anything.

“I don’t want to be duke.”

Leslie refused completely.

“You’ve got the wrong person.”

Vice Archbishop Hugo did not answer at once. He merely looked at him quietly.

After a long moment, he said, “Perhaps my way of putting it was too utilitarian, but I hope you understand that it’s an efficient way for both of us to talk—laying out both sides’ needs. You don’t want me to speak to you in a childish, coddling tone, do you? I hope you aren’t refusing only because my words irritated you.”

“...”

“Perhaps I spoke too abruptly this time. We still have time to talk again.”

Seeing that his attitude had retreated a step but that the substance of his words had not changed at all, Leslie found it hard to believe. “I’m only eleven right now.”

Vice Archbishop Hugo smiled. “There are only three years left until your sword-girding ceremony at fourteen. Time is not that long. By then, whether you want to or not, you’ll have to start entering noble society. Getting familiar with how noble social circles work earlier will bring you benefits and no harm.”

The sword-girding ceremony represented the point at which a child began to accept adult responsibilities, one of the most important dividing lines in a child’s growth. Though it did not mean they could immediately marry and establish a household, for nobles, after the ceremony they had to begin contacting and integrating into the entire social circle.

“And I hope that when that time comes, you will appear on the social stage as the sole heir of the Northern Territories.”

Vice Archbishop Hugo said, “Of course, if you still refuse, I won’t force you. Because you saved me, I’m willing to be honest with you. You are not my only choice. But before you turn fourteen, I will always treat you as my first choice. In the future, even if you still do not want to cooperate with me, simply because you once saved me, I will still grant you one wish.”

Leslie felt that what Vice Archbishop Hugo was saying had gone far beyond the limits of his imagination.

He did not even understand what Vice Archbishop Hugo was trying to do.

Among all the questions in his mind right now, only one felt the most real: if he refused, would Vice Archbishop Hugo expose his secret?

“...”

But Vice Archbishop Hugo saw his confusion and simply explained softly, “I won’t reveal your secret. Rest assured.”

Their conversation also was not suitable to go any deeper for now.

Vice Archbishop Hugo realized that the Leslie before him was still just a child longing for family warmth. To him, power and fame were not all that important. But for a noble’s child, lacking the capital to stand on one’s own feet made the future very difficult too.

Leslie still did not understand his own destiny.

Vice Archbishop Hugo thought about it, and perhaps helping him solve his current difficulties was more important.

And it was precisely because he was still so young.

“Leslie, may I give you one piece of life advice?”

Leslie was a little guarded. “What?”

Vice Archbishop Hugo said, “Because if you’ve already rejected my proposal from the bottom of your heart, then I believe this may be the last time we ever talk. You won’t come looking for me again in the future, will you?”

“...”

Leslie’s pupils trembled slightly. Once again, Vice Archbishop Hugo had guessed correctly.

Vice Archbishop Hugo smiled, his gaze carrying the kindness that only age and time could temper. Slowly, he said, “Then I’ll give you one piece of advice for life—‘While you’re still young, do your best to catch hold of someone soft-hearted.’”

“When people are soft-hearted toward adults, that softness often comes with rational calculation. There are concerns, there are unavoidable reasons, and it can wound people. But when they face the young, they may know full well that snow placed in the palm will melt, yet still be willing to keep it there one second longer for you.”

“You’re smart enough to seize that extra second. And that one second may determine the happiness of your entire life.”

After saying this, he patted Leslie’s shoulder, as though encouraging him, and also like a quiet form of support.

Next, he had to go preside over the wedding.

And Leslie also had to go attend his father’s wedding.

*

This wedding was unquestionably grand.

It was like a rose marrying a sword drawn from its sheath—romantic and yet solemn.

The bride’s side was romance taken to the extreme: flowers, jewels, moving expressions, and countless wedding ideas, all said to be the latest fashion in the metropolis.

And Father was a young commander, half his life spent in the military, iron and blood in his bones, with even his back carrying a sense of coldness and distance. As for the groom’s relatives, aside from Leslie himself, they were all expressionless iron cavalry, silent as wind over a snowy night plain.

Would there be love between them?

Leslie did not know. But he knew that the bride was no longer young, the groom was not soft-hearted, and this was merely an adult calculation on both sides.

The wedding ceremony itself lasted less than thirty minutes. What remained after that was wave upon wave of socializing between the couple and nobles from all over.

Leslie did not much like liveliness, so he withdrew alone beneath an old tree in the Carson parish.

It was a European mountain ash tree transplanted there from the highlands.

In the scriptures, it could ward off evil and was also a protective tree for lovers.

It stood on a little slope and had already grown there for more than ten years.

Because the soil did not suit the needs of the mountain ash, it rarely bloomed or bore fruit. Even in summer it simply stayed green and leafy, making people forget what sort of tree it even was, and making them forget to spare it any extra attention.

But the view there was open and quiet, neither too near nor too far from the crowd—just right.

From there Leslie could still see the clergy of Carson parish busy handing out wedding bread to the citizens standing in a long queue.

“...”

After today, he had no idea what shape his future would take.

He felt as though there was nothing left he would be able to obtain.

While he was sinking into despondency, a child came running over from the bread stall, panting, and shoved a piece of bread into his hands.

Leslie: “...?”

The child blinked and gestured with both hands. “The priest over there said children get first pick and told me to bring this to you. It’s really good! You shouldn’t miss it!”

As he spoke, the child pointed back—

Father Alis was bent over, correcting Finian’s mischievous behavior with words, yet it was still easy to see how gentle and helpless Father Alis was.

After completing his “mission,” the child dashed back down the little slope, squeezing toward the young priest again.

But before he could reach the crowd, he suddenly heard someone shout, “Look! What’s that!?”

The child whipped his head around—

He saw that on the old nameless tree Leslie was leaning against, white buds had begun to bloom on the branches in an almost unbelievable way. Those delicate buds seemed to grow into blossom in the wind, one after another opening soundlessly, breathtakingly beautiful.

In the blink of an eye, every branch of the tree was covered in soft white flowers.

Yet Leslie, who was standing closest to the tree, seemed not to have noticed. He only stared in Father Alis’s direction, his expression dazed.

Only when Father Alis, too, was drawn in by the serene and beautiful flowering tree and looked up did Leslie’s gaze rise along with his, and only then did he realize that the old tree beside him had bloomed.

Instinctively he pulled his hand away from the trunk.

At that very moment, the countless tiny white blossoms on the tree seemed to stir, lifting lightly with the wind like summer snow, bringing a quiet miracle to the whole wedding.

“It’s so beautiful!”

“A miracle has descended upon the wedding!”

“Everyone, come out and look—!”

But by the time the people inside had been alarmed and rushed out of the hall, the blossoms on the tree had already quietly faded away. In their place, the branches were now covered with the small, plump red fruits that should only appear in autumn.

And the little boy who had been beneath the tree was nowhere to be seen.

Had he perhaps been frightened by the miracle happening so close to him?

No one knew.

All they remembered was that whole tree of red—a miracle that did not fade, quietly kindling under the sunlight, silent and yet fervent, bright beyond belief.