Chapter 45: We are all trying to live

The old man was missing a front tooth, his pleading spittle spraying onto the priests’ robes.

Seeing the scene, Duoluosa felt her head swell two sizes—yep, another “see injustice, draw the sword” moment.

She scanned the old man quick—no kids in sight—and exhaled a touch.

This one’s savable; that one’s savable.

Duoluosa eyed Liang Lai’s moves, spotting the furrowed brow and forward step—kind spinster miss gearing for “meddling” again.

So she squared her shoulders and strode up first.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Duoluosa boomed from behind the two green-robed priests.

The pair jolted at the sudden voice, whipping around—only clocking Duoluosa charging solo at first, jaws dropping for a rage.

But Liang Lai materialized behind her then.

“What’s going on here?”

Liang Lai chimed in too.

The green robes wilted at the sight of pristine white saintess garb.

“Third Saintess…”

The two bowed deep and deferential to Liang Lai.

Two months in this world, and Liang Lai still chafed at the protocol—but she pantomimed a nod anyway, hands clasped behind like some bigwig lord.

“Save the bows for later—what’s all this?”

Liang Lai’s gaze pierced past the green robes, to the quaking old man clutching his jar.

“Hey,” she jaw-nudged at him, “you—tell me. What’s the deal? They robbing your jar?”

The old man flinched, eyes swimming in plea and dread.

“I-I…”

He stammered, tongue-tied and trembling.

His mousy grovel fired up the priests; one lunged in for a vicious kick, while the other slimed a grin at Liang Lai, rubbing hands like a fly.

“Oh, Third Saintess… This wretched thief hoarded light-honey, so we’re just teaching him a lesson…”

Liang Lai’s brows knit; she snagged the kicker’s arm.

“Talk it out—no need for rough stuff.”

The priests traded looks—unfazed, figuring the saintess just wanted their thuggery tidied, lest it shame the church.

They bobbed heads in eager yes.

Liang Lai turned to the old man.

“Hey, gramps—they telling the truth?” She crouched to eye-level.

The old man flicked to the saintess, then up at the bulging-eyed priests—gulped hard, then squeezed his lids shut like all-or-nothing.

“I! I’ve already handed over the church’s due light-honey—now, now this jar’s the extra! Mine to keep… Mine to do with as I please…”

Just as she thought.

Liang Lai nodded knowing.

“Alright,” she clapped the old man’s shoulder, rising back up, “I believe you, gramps.”

“You two—off with you. Quit hassling folks; I’ve caught you green robes at it half a dozen times now…”

Liang Lai knew full well: green robes were church bottom-feeders, so they squeezed dustfolk hands-on, brute-force.

Higher-ups? Their drains ran subtler…

The real bone-crunchers, swallowing whole.

The priests’ faces twitched rigid a beat; they swapped another glance, dithered—then one stepped forward.

“Saintess, the wretch is lying!”

Proclaimed all righteous, leaving Liang Lai briefly dazed.

But she wasn’t here for judge cosplay, cracking cases; she just wanted the mess cleared—obvious: old man bullied; what to debate?

“Enough, enough—if it’s the honey you want…”

Liang Lai fished a silver coin to the old man, then—under his stunned stare—snatched up the jar.

The priests gawked too; one even reached to take it.

Liang Lai arched a brow, shoving the jar back to Duoluosa behind her.

“What? I never said it was on me.”

“…”

Kind, sure—but no pushover.

“Now I’m this jar’s owner—you gonna rob me of my honey? Or buy it fair?”

Liang Lai jabbed at the jar in Duoluosa’s hold, her face all cheeky dare.

The green-robed priests: “…”

Dare they cross a saintess?

“Your things—we’d never… Our rudeness.”

They bowed and scraped—but as heads lifted, Liang Lai caught the flash of resentment in their eyes.

Sure enough, once the pair had shuffled a ways off, the muttering kicked in.

“Can’t fathom why the saintess bothers with those useless, talentless dregs.”

“Sigh—haven’t you heard about the third? Like she’s possessed by darkkin… Keeps pulling stunts that fly in the face of church sense.”

“Hah—news to me.”

“And well it should be. Wasting mercy on the worthless… I’d say she’s a hop from penitent saintess duty.”

Delucia caught every word.

She tugged Liang Lai’s sleeve, tiptoeing to her ear—relaying the priests’ spiel word-for-word.

Liang Lai’s face stayed bland; she just tousled the kids’ heads around her with gentle warmth.

“Don’t you spot the holes in what they said?”

The child blinked in fog, gazing up at Liang Lai.

“No dustfolk? Then who’s harvesting the light-honey?”

Liang Lai smiled. “Take me—I’m a saintess. If everyone’s on my gig, who harvests honey? Who hears the god-oracles? Who judges sins? All the same… Some folks’ talents just cap there.”

“Setting aside the lazybones…”

Liang Lai’s eyes drifted to the old man, still dumbstruck with his silver coin.

“The rest… they’re all grinding just to live… Only get slapped with labels and ranks ’cause their work differs…”

Her gaze swept the market’s stooped backs and callused hands, voice soft as soliloquy: “They call dustfolk lowly—but who gilt the church spires? Who grew the white loaves for the sacraments?”

She crouched low, meeting the children’s eyes level.

“Like warp and weft on a loom—one thread missing, the whole cloth unravels.”

“Remember,” Liang Lai scooped a half-moldy black bread from the dirt, fingertip muddied, “when someone says certain folks are born to be trod underfoot…”

She snapped the loaf hard; mold flakes dusted the silver embroidery on her saintess robes.

“It’s ’cause they fear folks seeing they’re perched on someone else’s spine.”

Distant, the green-robed priests barked; the wood-carver girl scrambled her chisel away, that crooked-wing angel figurine tumbling to Liang Lai’s feet.

She bent to retrieve it, brushing off the sawdust soft.

The girl’s eyes landed on Liang Lai too.