Alice in the Land of Steam

Chapter 104 Will Anyone Pray on the Road?

Ling and Saint Charity stood at the entrance of Square Street. The name came from Shoreditch Square, which was built here in 1596. James Bobage's "Curtain Theatre" once built a stage here for open-air performances. It once became a lively place for citizens to stroll after dinner and was accused of "gathering and making noise among the common people".

This may be a reflection of the fact that early forms of art were often associated with violence, noise, shouting and rioting, and that this city has inherited these elements for nearly three hundred years. Linger is now witnessing them with his own eyes, rather than just feeling them from words in books.

Walk 17 meters to the left and you will enter Drewry Lane. The White Bird Theatre is hidden behind two bronze lion statues. In the mid-th century, when "The Peter Gert Papers" was performed here, citizens who bought tickets pushed down the theatre's outer wall because they were dissatisfied with the temporary increase of half a penny in ticket prices. Now there is a colorful painted panel in front of the rebuilt magnificent porch. People can take a look at the plays and ticket prices tonight when passing by. Perhaps this move can be considered as a lesson learned from history.

Across the street from Martin Street is the Dorset Gardens Theatre, where the "town folks" riot in 1801 was the most recent theatre riot in modern times. The lines in the play "The Renwittins" sparked dissatisfaction among the audience. Before the play was halfway through, "a full house of protests" was heard, accompanied by "waving fists and shouting curses". In the end, the audience removed the seats and decorative statues and smashed the theatre to pieces. A citizen who participated in the incident proudly claimed that this was to maintain the purity of art and the honor of our city.

Furthermore, the temperament of the city has been more distinctly blended in these dramatic historical events: it is natural and artificial; it is real and artistic; it is gentle and naturally violent.

So when you see a poet feeding pigeons by the fountain and reciting his own poems - or maybe someone else's poems; or when you see a painter painting a portrait and casually breaking off a twig from the flower bed next to him to use as a paintbrush; or when you see a juggler in front of the theater blowing his trumpet, startling the squirrels and sparrows in the trees, please don't be surprised.

Because this city has always been like this.

……

“It’s always so lively.”

Saint Charity stood before the hustle and bustle of the street, listening to the city's aria, and murmured to herself: "Since centuries ago, the hustle and bustle has never stopped for a moment."

He retracted his gaze and said, "Let's go."

Not to mention all the newly born humans on this street.

"Perhaps I have been here before." Saint Shallia paused and continued, "I mean, before I fell asleep."

Linger glanced at the beautiful girl, and was a little noncommittal about the nostalgia in her tone: "Are you familiar with its history?"

Because of her words, Ling Ge realized that the girl in front of him was actually the offspring of the goddess. If what she said was true, then she had already begun to overlook the world as early as the time when the world was created and civilization was born. Her long years were closely connected with this world, an exaggerated and unimaginable number. Perhaps in her eyes, Rostin City was just a young junior.

The line continued to extend forward, passing through the bustling and noisy streets, passing through the gray feathers of pigeons flying, the old-fashioned organ played by wandering musicians, the painter and his smiling model... Linger and Saint Xia Liya followed closely behind, blending into the beauty and art of this city. The young lamb raised its head curiously, looking around, and finally saw the angel statue holding the holy pot in the middle of the fountain pool.

Ten minutes later, the line turned a corner in a remote street, away from the crowds on the main road. Linger noticed that the street was empty and hesitated at first, but Saint Xia Liya had already walked past him with clean white bare feet, and the lamb even bleated at him twice, as if urging him.

The young man followed reluctantly. On both sides were old-style houses, elegant and solemn but slightly gloomy. Unlike the neat and tidy white-walled and red-brick houses in other blocks, Square Street stubbornly retained the appearance of the last century. Therefore, traces of the past era, including the heavy and dark dampness, still linger between their bricks and columns, growing together with moss, sometimes making people feel depressed.

Before I walked far, a figure in a gray robe suddenly appeared in front of me. He looked tall and strong, with long black hair tied into braids and decorated with copper rings. He looked like some ancient ethnic group in the mountains. His bronze skin also gave off a dusty smell. He half-knelt in the middle of the road, facing a building on the side of the street, with his eyes closed and silent, as if praying. In front of him was a simple shrine built with bricks and mud.

The golden line just passed by the man and turned into the building opposite him, which seemed to be a theater. Since James Bobage's "Curtain Company", drama has always been a long-lasting pastime on Square Street.

Saint Xia Liya was about to continue walking forward, but Ling Ge stopped her with his hand. The girl stopped obediently, and did not force her way in. She just tilted her head slightly, and her big golden eyes showed a little doubt.

"He's praying." The young man lowered his voice and explained, "It's best not to disturb him easily at this time."

Ling, who used to be a pastor, knew best the importance of religious rituals in the hearts of believers. Moreover, it was obvious at a glance that the other party was very pious, at least more pious than him, because he could not even pray to his own god on the street.

Saint Shalia nodded slightly, and a clear reply came out from her lips: "Okay."

The two of them stopped where they were, quietly waiting for the believer to finish his prayer. The other was still half-kneeling in front of the simple shrine, motionless, as if he didn't notice the arrival of outsiders. His prayer posture was very unique, one hand lightly pressed on the center of his eyebrows, and the other hand pressed against the ground under his feet, as if building a bridge of communication, and his face was full of seriousness and solemnity.

Linger felt vaguely that this prayer posture was somewhat familiar, but he didn't know much about other religions, so it was just familiar. Besides, which religion would pray to the theater? Could it be that they believed in the "God of Drama", "God of Art" or "God of Inspiration"?
The two waited in silence for a while, neither disturbing nor talking to each other. The already remote streets suddenly became even quieter, without even a bird singing. Only the lamb led by Saint Shalia made a rustling sound when it turned over the bricks in the corner with its hooves. Apart from that, it seemed that no one would pass by and had forgotten its existence.

A few minutes later, the man finally finished his prayer, slowly withdrew his hands from his brow and the ground, then stood up and turned to face Ling Ge and Saint Shaliya, allowing the two to see his face clearly.

He has a weathered face, with square and upright features, and a majestic temperament. In the deep sunken eye sockets, the brown eyes seem to accumulate boundless silence and oppressive power. When he looks directly at people, they will feel a sense of oppression from the heart.

He was dressed rather roughly, and except for the tattered gray robe, all his other clothes seemed to be made of animal skins. He also wore necklaces and bracelets made of wild animal teeth on his neck and wrists. This was the tradition of the people of the plateau. But compared to the brave and fierce people of the plateau, the man in front of him was more steady, like a mountain, standing there solidly, giving people a feeling of being insurmountable.

His gaze was fixed on Lingge from a distance, and his eyes were inexplicably deep.

"Now," Saint Shalia beside him asked softly, "can we go through?"

Before Lingge could answer, he heard the man in front of the theater speak and introduce himself. His voice was as heavy and calm as his appearance: "Rochelle, Walker, Fertile Soil Sect."

"Thank you for your understanding, stranger friend."

　Give me some meow
　　
　
(End of this chapter)