The lingering heat of last night's wild party still hung heavily in the air.
Waking up completely alone in bed, David honestly wished someone would just come in and kill him.
He had not slept well at all. A deep, heavy sense of pure exhaustion and self-disgust pressed down on his chest.
The same thing happened over and over again. Every single time, he had absolutely no power to resist.
It was as if brothels and men were simply born to throw themselves at him.
Why did it always end up like this?
What do I actually want in life?
What kind of priest am I?
Am I really going to just drift through my entire life in this useless haze?
He used to have so many goals.
He wanted a strong body. But nowadays, he exercises less and less. He could physically feel his own muscles shrinking and wasting away.
Thinking of those middle-aged men with heavy bellies in their thirties and forties, a cold fear gripped him. He knew that was likely his own future, and the thought left him terrified and completely lost.
But what had I actually done to stop it?
Aside from drinking and sleeping around every single day, had anything else changed?
Back in London, he had finally managed to secure a low-level clerk position in a local church, desperately hoping it would force him into discipline. Looking at him now, it had clearly failed.
Even after running all the way to China, his dirty habits remained the same.
He let people down time and time again, leaving them frustrated and helpless. That was just who he was.
The most absurd part was that, looking back, it was practically a miracle he could still live such a degenerate life even after crossing the globe.
Was this really God's plan for me?
Did God simply create me to be a natural-born clown?
He could not understand it.
He used to have so many goals. He wanted to be a writer, living a free and bold life like Alexandre Dumas.
But what was the result?
He could write absolutely nothing. Or, whenever he did manage to write something, the words were so ridiculous that even his lover could not finish reading the very first chapter.
His mind drifted to that face, the one person who used to be his only real anchor in the world.
Only someone who had fought and scraped their way out of an orphanage could truly understand what that kind of reliance meant.
Letting out a heavy sigh, he slammed his fist hard against the wooden bed frame.
A sudden thought hit him.
He needed to drop to the floor and do some push-ups. Starting right now, he had to change something, even if it was just a little bit.
Just as he was about to get down, another heavy knock came at the door.
A servant led David downstairs to the front courtyard, where a small sedan chair was already waiting by the gate to pick him up.
He climbed into the chair in a sleepy daze and actually worried for a moment that he was being taken to the wrong place.
That worry finally faded when the chair stopped outside a crowded, noisy local eatery.
Looking through the open doors, he immediately spotted Archie sitting inside, looking completely relaxed.
The old Scot sat at a round wooden table, and he was surrounded by middle-aged local diners.
Most of them looked deeply displeased by the sudden presence of foreigners.
Archie, however, remained completely unbothered by the heavy, hostile air in the room.
Treating his chopsticks exactly like a pair of stabbing forks, he was eating and drinking heavily without a single care.
Hong Xiuquan sat at the same table. Seeing David walk in, the young man politely stood up to greet him.
"Good morning," Hong said with a bright smile.
"Good morning."
"You sleep well?"
"Fine," David replied, pulling out a wooden stool and sitting down.
He had absolutely zero appetite. The dishes covering the table were completely different from the breakfasts he was used to, with almost everything shining under a thick layer of grease.
Archie, on the other hand, could not stop praising the food, loudly claiming it was the best breakfast in the entire world.
All David wanted was some plain bread, boiled potatoes, and boiled eggs. But looking around, the only bland thing available was a simple bowl of white rice porridge.
Pulling a bowl of the watery porridge toward himself, he picked up a ceramic spoon and began slowly feeding it into his mouth, little by little.
Still bursting with the same high energy as yesterday, Hong eagerly started chatting with David again.
"Lieren. Do you know?" Hong Xiuquan asked.
He stared blankly at his porridge and did not care at all. "I do not know."
"They rotted, kill monsters. They bad spy, spy of Manchu," Hong explained in his heavily broken English. "Bad SPY."
He kept going.
"Sad. People here no fight back. Only you, English, fight back."
"What do you mean?"
"This country, dirty, Manchu people, dirty." Giving an answer that completely missed the actual question, Hong moved straight on.
David was already quite used to this.
The young man started rambling again. In an incredibly confusing mix of words, he tried to explain why he was God's chosen messenger and how God spoke directly to him during his sleep. To David, Hong's personal version of Christianity sounded absolutely weird. He was not even sure if the absurdity was simply caused by the massive language barrier.
Not that it mattered anyway. All David wanted right now was a little peace.
Chattering endlessly, Hong quickly pushed David straight to the edge of deep annoyance, especially this early in the morning. Seemingly having no idea when to stop, the young man showed an anxious urge to preach. But from David's personal view, what Hong was pushing was definitely not Christianity. It was an entirely new religion built completely inside his own head. Although his tone sounded highly emotional and driving, his actual words were pure nonsense.
"If believe in God, no monsters," Hong stated.
David at least managed to understand this.
"No believe, then it’s hell. Monsters, are hell," Hong added. “Not believe, then Monsters.”
That was actually an interesting perspective. David had never thought about it like that before.
Creatures like these really did not appear anywhere in the modern West. Perhaps they existed in Russia? Or maybe deep in the Americas or Africa?
Maybe he is right, he thought to himself, slowly stirring his plain white porridge.
Suddenly changing the subject, Hong began to deny his own statement.
"Monsters and Lieren, both lies," he said. “God told me already.”
“And I know one, its name is Xiao Yan." Flashing a bright smile, the young man continued, "People want it dead. We should kill it. In God's name."
"What?"
"A bad creature, a SPY," Hong emphasized again. "God want us kill it. That’s our mission."
"Who again?" David asked, his stomach suddenly dropping.
"Xiao Yan."