CH-067

Since he was still sick, Shulec didn't stay long — just a brief visit before it was time to leave.

On the one hand, he didn't want to spread his illness; on the other, Bishop Hugo also wanted Shulec to rest well and build up his energy for the bishop selection, which was the day after tomorrow.

Even so, before Shulec left, Bishop Hugo called him back.

Shulec turned around to find the old bishop still seated, both hands wrapped around a cup of warm tea of which he had only taken a single sip. He looked at Shulec, let out a sigh, seemed to think better of several things he wanted to say and swallowed them back down, then finally, slowly, began to speak: "Alis, although you may not have much interest in becoming bishop… still…"

Bishop Hugo sighed again, his brow furrowed slightly and his voice dropping a few notes. "The reputation of our Carson Parish, over the years, has never been particularly good among the eight major parishes of the Northern Territories."

He paused, the crease between his brows tightening a little, his expression as though he had just bitten into something sour. "Although I'm not one of the examiners and won't interfere with the selection, if our Carson Parish ends up outperformed in both the written and oral examinations… I would be sitting right there watching. Even I would not be able to save face."

His tone was not stern — it carried instead the helplessness and hope of an elder.

Shulec could tell that Bishop Hugo was deliberately playing the pitiful card. But the degree to which he was willing to seem pitiable was precisely calibrated to fall within the range Shulec could find himself swayed by.

He understood: Bishop Hugo was almost certainly worried that Shulec might not want the bishopric and would simply coast through the examinations, doing just enough to pass and not a stroke more.

"I'll definitely be honest and…"

The words were only half out before Shulec noticed Bishop Hugo was still watching him, his gaze holding no reproach — only expectation. He swallowed back the slightly perfunctory ending he'd been about to give and changed course: "…I'll handle the selection seriously and won't bring shame to the Carson Parish."

Upon hearing this, Bishop Hugo finally let a flicker of reassurance show in his smile, and his manner eased back to its usual warmth: "Good, good, good. Then go rest well. Tomorrow is the last batch of clergy arriving, and in the evening there'll be a welcome banquet. I hope by tomorrow, you and Father Simeon will both have recovered."

Bishop Hugo corrected himself midway and smiled: "I hope both of you will have recovered quickly."

"We're both taking medicine and both preparing seriously for this selection." Shulec added reassuringly, "A winter chill like this just needs to be pushed through — we don't need to keep spending money on medicine. We want to recover quickly and not drag down the parish."

Bishop Hugo's smile deepened as he nodded gently. "You'll both do well."

He paused, then continued, "Go rest now. I'll have them send more food to your room in a while. If there's anything you'd like to eat, tell me directly — don't stand on ceremony."

This made Shulec glance down at his already quite full armful of peaches and medicine packets, and give a helpless little smile. "…I understand."

Whatever the case, he gave Hugo a nod and then left the reception room.

But Shulec didn't go back to rest. Instead he turned and rejoined Ramon, who was waiting outside.

*

They only had four days in Dunstan.

The selection and consecration ceremony would take up two days, which didn't leave Shulec very much time.

He had to be back in time to prepare for the New Year prayer and thanksgiving service for the Savoy pastoral district.

He had given himself an extra task.

Ever since the Harvest Festival, the townsfolk's attitude toward Shulec had noticeably softened, and some had even started tentatively expressing interest in joining the congregation.

But Shulec was well aware that many of these people were attracted by the practical benefits.

He did not want the congregation to become a place where good deeds were exchanged for hearts, so whenever anyone expressed a desire to join, he would repeat the same words like a monk reciting scripture, over and over: "If you're only here for the convenience, the church will not offer any special privileges. Have you truly thought it through?" After a while, some of those people stopped bringing it up and began simply dropping by to sit for a while in their free time.

Some of the townspeople began to make a habit of sitting quietly in the church, occasionally helping out with looking after children as they passed the time.

Then when the early winter arrived, the church gradually began to see fewer people again.

Elder Yager told him that the town had no particularly special festivals in winter. With so much to do and the cold keeping everyone indoors, few people wanted to go out, and even the children spent their days cooped up inside.

Hearing this, Shulec had all kinds of new ideas spring to mind.

He felt it was a waste for children to be shut inside all winter, doing nothing. Especially since their winters were very long — about three or four months. So he proactively suggested opening "winter church activities" — not only to give the children a place to be, but to make the church a warmer, more welcoming space.

On Tuesdays and Thursdays from one o'clock onward: children's orienteering games, where the children would start by learning about directions and simple maps before moving on to the fun parts.

Then from three o'clock: arts and skills classes, including nature sketching, basic instrument lessons, and children's cooking classes.

During Mass: using the opportunity to teach the children arithmetic and how to read characters.

These activities had been confirmed largely because Shulec noticed the children showing tremendous enthusiasm for them, laughing with delight, which in turn made Shulec all the more enthusiastic about continuing.

Looking at the approaching New Year, Shulec had a new idea.

He planned to have the children rehearse a performance and put on a small showcase at the end of winter, inviting parents to come and watch, and holding a simple church gathering — a closing celebration to mark the end of the winter season.

But just as this plan was getting underway, he suddenly received notice that he would need to participate in the bishop selection.

Before he left, the children had only just mastered the most basic sense of pitch. He handed the sheet music and lesson plans over to Finnian, who had been learning quickly, and asked Finnian to continue guiding the children in practice in his absence, laying the groundwork for the showcase.

On the road to Dunstan, Shulec had already decided to purchase some better instruments and performance costumes for the children. Since New Year was approaching, even though Savoy had no custom of wearing new clothes for the New Year, Shulec still planned to prepare new outfits for them as a gift.

He also wanted to buy wheat seed — he intended to make another attempt at the hybrid wheat experiment.

This time he wouldn't be as rushed as before. He was giving himself one more chance.

As for the failed result of his last hybridization experiment — he had even been criticized roundly by Bishop Holm for it.

"Crossing tall and short wheat varieties will only cause uneven growth and uneven ripening. Sometimes mixing varieties even results in a loss at harvest. To be honest, the fact that you barely managed to bring in a crop before the Harvest Festival was nothing short of miraculous. Don't ever do this again — it's a waste of farmland and labor." Bishop Holm's tone had been stern, more or less a direct command, and Shulec could only receive it humbly, nodding and acknowledging his mistake. Deep down, however, he still hadn't given up on the idea of hybrid wheat.

He had thought about the reason for the failure many times, and suspected it was mainly down to having chosen the wrong varieties to cross.

Thinking it over, he felt the problem might lie in two areas.

The first was the genetic stability of the short-stalked wheat — he needed to find a purer strain of the short-stalked variety. Shulec still remembered the trouble Ramon had gone to when buying the seed the first time around. Those seed stocks might not have been especially good quality to begin with.

The second was that he hadn't made full enough use of hybrid vigor. The variety Ramon had sourced back then was perhaps a closely related line — not a very wide cross in terms of origin. This time he wanted to select varieties from genuinely different growing regions, north and south, and try again.

Coming to Dunstan this trip, he had already made up his mind: apart from the instruments and performance costumes for the children, he absolutely had to find a grain merchant. Because whether it was Ramon, Bishop Holm, or even Bishop Hugo — all of them had mentioned that Dunstan, as the first city of the Northern Territories, sat on the main routes from the south, and even ships from overseas unloaded at its ports. There was a real chance of encountering rare wheat varieties here.

He was determined to succeed this time.

*

Dunstan was a coastal city, and its wind lacked even Savoy's bite — though it still snowed lightly.

The carriage had just pulled up at the location of the northern grain exchange they'd asked about.

Ramon reminded Shulec to put on his cloak.

The grain exchange sat behind a row of low-eaved buildings. A wreath of dried wheat ears hung at the door, making it look like the most unassuming shop on the whole street. Shulec had barely pushed the door open when the air inside was filled with the aroma of various grains. Directly across from him was the counter, and on it someone had a kettle heating over a small stove, the warm wheat fragrance drifting with the steam through the shop.

The shopkeeper was a red-nosed, heavyset man. Seeing Shulec staring at his tea kettle, he said with no small degree of pride, "The most fashionable barley tea in the Northern Territories right now — haven't tried it, have you?"

Before Shulec could respond, the shopkeeper was already fanning the steam toward himself, his tone dripping with satisfaction: "Smells good, doesn't it?"

Shulec, seeing the man waiting for him to take the bait, smiled and replied, "…It does."

But how had barley tea become the most fashionable tea in the Northern Territories?

At this point Ramon, having finished parking the carriage, also stepped inside and overheard the exchange. "Hasn't barley tea been around forever? I've been drinking it since summer — how is it only fashionable now?"

The shopkeeper was none too pleased at having his face punctured by this comment. "From the look of you, you've come from the countryside — as if you'd have had barley tea."

Ramon was about to retort, but Shulec cut him off.

If the shopkeeper felt his nose put out of joint, he'd be less inclined to do business.

"From this brief exchange, it's clear you have wide knowledge and a sharp eye," Shulec said, redirecting the shopkeeper's attention smoothly with flattery. "I was hoping to ask you some questions. I need to buy some wheat seed — do you have any recommendations?"

Sure enough, the shopkeeper's attention was redirected by the question, and he shifted into merchant mode. "Depends on what you're looking for. Want red wheat — cold-resistant, drought-resistant, good for storage? Or white wheat — stable yield, high flour output? Are you planning to keep it for personal use, or sell it to a mill?"

"I want varieties from completely different origins — the more different, the better."

"Completely different?" The shopkeeper frowned. "Are you looking to try new varieties and see which grows better?"

"You could put it that way." Shulec didn't elaborate.

"I've got every kind here. But southern varieties in the Northern Territories don't adapt as well, and you might end up with a failure."

"That's all right."

The shopkeeper stared at this young man with his calm, unruffled expression, feeling there was something distinctly different about him — oddly familiar, even — but couldn't quite put his finger on what was off.

Seeing how composed he was, the shopkeeper stopped asking questions and led him through the rows of sacks. Each sack had the variety type, region of origin, and name listed, and beside the nameplate hung a bunch of the corresponding mature wheat ears, so buyers could see the shape, weight, and color of the grain when fully grown.

While Shulec was making his way between the cloth sacks, head down, examining them one by one to identify the varieties he needed, the little fox in his arms jumped down to the floor and began darting around at his feet — then abruptly lay down in front of a sack of short-stalked white wheat, its tail giving a flick.

"Oh, Naxi's pick?" Shulec crouched down and examined the grain.

The kernels were small but smooth and plump, with a satisfying weightiness.

The shopkeeper watched Shulec bending down to look at a variety and couldn't help raising an eyebrow. He was unable to resist speaking up: "If you're looking for varieties with very different origins, what you've picked is actually exactly what you want. The wheat you've got there was shipped from the other side of the sea."

Shulec was about to take a closer look when the little fox Naxi pawed gently at the sack next to it — a deep brown seed — as if offering another recommendation.

This gave him a start.

Because Naxi's choice was genuinely surprising — even serendipitous.

Then again, wild creatures had their own special instincts when it came to finding food.

Which was perfectly reasonable.

Whatever the case, he said nothing, and simply gave a quiet instruction to the shopkeeper. Adding the wheat he had just selected himself, "These three kinds — ten jin of each."

The shopkeeper raised an eyebrow. "The way you've combined them — what are you planning to do?"

"The method is a bit unusual. You wouldn't understand even if I explained." Shulec smiled and placed the silver coins on the counter without further comment.

The shopkeeper pursed his lips inwardly, thinking young people these days were just haphazardly farming. But seeing how polished and composed the young man was, he decided it wasn't worth pressing further, and simply helped him weigh everything out.

With his gaze still sweeping across the remaining grain varieties, Shulec was thinking about what else he needed to buy. The shopkeeper followed his eyes, scanning his own shop once around, and that's when he noticed the cross on the young man's chest — clearly a member of the clergy. So the shopkeeper couldn't help studying him a little more carefully before asking, "By the way, where are you all from? You seem to be traveling together?"

"Together" meaning Shulec and Ramon.

The shopkeeper was growing more certain in his own mind. "From your conversation, it sounds like you know barley tea well — have drunk it before, have you?"

Shulec had given barley tea to a great many people, so he wasn't quite sure how the rumor had spread. He gave a simple reply: "Some."

The shopkeeper's eyes lit up as if something had been confirmed. He leaned forward slightly and spoke in a noticeably warmer tone than before: "Then you must also know about the statue that's been all the rage lately, yes?"

"…A statue?" Shulec felt a string inside him vibrate, as though it had been plucked without warning.

Ramon, who was nearby, was faster to the point and jumped in excitedly: "You mean that famous statue from Carson City? The one from July — right!"

The shopkeeper immediately clasped his hands together, his face taking on an air of mystery and warmth. "That's the one! The sacred wedding statue! The one now housed in the Duke's residence — it's enormously popular with both nobles and commoners. I hear some workshops are mass-producing miniature copies. Here in Dunstan it's already sold out twice. Can't find one anywhere now. If you've got connections, I'd give you a special insider price."

Shulec's mind went blank for a moment, as though something heavy had just tapped him lightly on the head.

He stared at the shopkeeper, Ramon's voice growing distant and muffled. "……"

Back in July — he really should have done whatever it took to destroy that statue.