Volume One, Chapter Forty-Nine: Confession and Counsel

A priest dressed in black, with a white bandage wrapped around his neck, hurried down the road. His face radiated sanctity and humility, yet the two lizard tattoos visible at the nape of his neck, just above his collar, betrayed a former life.

When he saw the dormouse approaching, the middle-aged priest paused. Along this magnolia-scented path, he often encountered young people seeking confession. Times had changed: some young men and women who had engaged in premarital sex still suffered from guilt and confusion, while others were troubled by their sexual orientation. Especially in recent years, with the rampant spread of AIDS, those who had lost their way lived in fear and anxiety.

In truth, most AIDS cases in this region stemmed from sharing needles rather than sexual contact. Yet drug users also led chaotic sex lives, fueling their dread of death and their hope that the priest might offer divine guidance toward the light.

The young man approaching looked exhausted; the priest was certain he was tormented by demons. Unexpectedly, the visitor handed him a Da Zhong Jiu cigarette, lit it for him, and simply asked for directions.

There was only one Catholic church in Yadu. The priest had presided over many masses and frequently distributed relief goods and food to the impoverished. Though he had no recollection of the female parishioner the dormouse described, he did recognize the small hotel printed on the matchbox.

A responsible priest never gives up on the lost, just as a shepherd searches tirelessly for a stray lamb. After pointing the way to the hotel, the middle-aged priest looked kindly at the grateful dormouse and said, “Since fate has brought you here, why not come into the church and sit with me for a while?”

The dormouse glanced at his watch, hesitating.

The priest would brook no refusal. He took the dormouse’s left hand and, with firm strides, led him up the steps. The warmth and care transmitted through the priest’s right hand stirred a long-forgotten emotion in the dormouse, and he found himself following, powerless to resist.

The church was surrounded on three sides by the city’s old and new buildings, its back nestled against a lush, green hill. Apart from the tall wooden cross, the church itself was not especially lofty, and a rectangular gray wall enclosed the entrance.

The main entrance faced a pond across the road, aligning with the Eastern principle of “back to the mountain, facing the water.” The architectural style blended Chinese and Western elements, its layout clear and orderly. A few steps led up to the porch; the front courtyard was paved with blue stone, and pots of various plants and bonsai sat in granite planters. The dormouse recognized two over-a-meter-tall Japanese Podocarpus trees—likely smuggled, given their worth.

In the smaller pots grew local azalea, plum blossom, and clivia. Around some slender branches, the dormouse noticed thin wires coiled, and he couldn’t help but think of Gong Zizhen’s “Record of the Sick Plum Hall.”

The backyard and both sides of the church boasted flowers, vegetables, and a few apple and pear trees. On a small patch of furrowed earth, several wrist-thick, pruned grapevines stood. It was just the turn from late spring to early summer, and the vines had yet to sprout new shoots.

Under the noonday sun, dappled shadows danced across the courtyard, lending the small garden a sense of layered tranquility. A flock of young sparrows chirped and hopped among the leaves, breathing even more life into the vibrant spring.

The church’s exterior combined features of the basilica and Romanesque styles. The facade was dominated by a tall bell tower, its upper section a Chinese-style pavilion with flying eaves and tiled roof. At the summit stood a cross, affirming its Western identity.

What amazed the dormouse most was that the interior walls were adorned with traditional Taoist couplets in black ink on red paper. One read: “The Way gave birth to the One, the One gave birth to the Two, the Two gave birth to the Three, and the Three gave birth to the myriad things; Man follows Earth, Earth follows Heaven, Heaven follows the Way, and the Way follows what is natural.” This was a passage from the Dao De Jing.

Biblical stories were painted in oils on the walls; the figures were exaggerated, their proportions uneven, but the dormouse could still discern their scriptural origins. The floral motifs above the bracket sets were vivid, and the plant patterns on the ceiling were bright and colorful. Benches of long wooden planks were fixed to the red carpet, making the place look, at first glance, like a large classroom.

The church could seat nearly two hundred, but now it stood empty. The priest, acting on his own impulse, pulled the dormouse into the confessional and sat him down, then slipped into the adjacent booth himself. Disoriented by this strange atmosphere, the dormouse whispered, “Am I supposed to pray now?”

The priest replied, “Not prayer—confession. Repentance.”

The dormouse said, “Repentance? I don’t feel I’ve done anything wrong.”

The priest answered, “Think carefully. In the eyes of God, everyone bears original sin.”

“So what’s the point of confessing?” asked the dormouse.

“I am God’s messenger. Those who confess their sins to me will find forgiveness and salvation,” replied the priest.

“Father, does God love everyone?” the dormouse pressed.

“Of course,” said the priest. “The Gospel of John says: ‘For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.’”

“Does He love even those who do evil?” the dormouse asked.

After a long pause, the priest said, “The Lord does not like the things they do, but yes, the Lord loves them too. Punishing their evil deeds is another form of His love.”

Silence fell between them.

The dormouse spoke softly: “I have killed someone.”

A prolonged silence followed.

The priest said, “On this land of sin, people are killed every day. Some deserve to die. God merely used your hand.”

“I will kill again—today,” the dormouse said.

An even longer silence ensued.

The priest replied, “There is no need to repent for things that have not yet happened.”

Unsure what to say next, the dormouse remained silent for a long time before quietly saying, “Father, I truly have no religious faith. Confession means nothing to me.”

The priest responded, “Hmm.”

The dormouse heard the strike of a match, a sliver of light filtering through from the next booth.

The priest said, “Indeed, faith was utterly destroyed during those ten years of the Cultural Revolution. Rebuilding it will take a long time and great effort. The trouble is, this is a society obsessed with money—something tangible, visible, and enjoyable. Once people have money, it’s even harder to reclaim faith.”

The dormouse asked, “I do have a question, though. Can faith resolve hatred between people?” Memories of betrayal and the death of Amei flashed through his mind.

“With money in the equation, faith is not omnipotent. All hatred in this world stems from wealth or carnal desire; it can only be dissolved by the sinner’s self-repentance,” the priest replied.

The dormouse couldn’t help but laugh. The priest, caught off guard by a mouthful of smoke, coughed a few times and let out an awkward chuckle.

The priest said, “The Bible says: ‘I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day—not only to me, but also to all who have longed for his appearing.’”

With that, the priest began to drone a muffled chant.

The dormouse murmured, “The one I love cannot return from the dead; such righteousness means nothing to her.” He sighed. “Father, since I can’t repent and may kill today—or be killed—though I swear, those I intend to kill are all truly evil, utterly irredeemable sinners—can you speak a blessing for me on God’s behalf?”

Silence.

The priest finally replied, “I’ve always known that a man who can confess his intent to kill is certainly not a bad man. May you find something worthy of your sacrifice. Amen.”

Thinking of Amei, the dormouse felt a wave of sorrow. The priest had touched the most painful spot in his heart. He wanted to talk more, but the priest asked, “Are you armed?”

“Yes,” the dormouse answered. “Why do you ask?”

“In a place like this, a man like you without a gun would die quickly.” The priest took another drag and said, “How’s your aim?”

“It’s alright, I suppose. Why do you ask?”

The priest replied, “Oh, if your aim is poor, carrying a gun will only make you die faster.”

Another silence fell.

The dormouse imagined the booth next door was now thick with smoke.

The priest said, “May the devil sever the toes from your enemy’s feet, so that all may recognize him by his limp. Amen.”

Suddenly the dormouse said, “Father, I have one more favor: pray for a woman.”