Chapter Twenty: A Sermon on the Trash Can

Perhaps they were heading in the same direction, or perhaps Stelle simply lacked a clear destination. Regardless, Stelle and Old Neil decided to walk together.

This journey was an eye-opener for Old Neil. It was his first time meeting such a vibrant girl. Beside her, Rozanne seemed like a perfectly obedient child. Along the way, Stelle would occasionally rummage through trash cans or suddenly stop to converse with a streetlight.

After some time, Old Neil gradually began to understand the inner workings of Stelle’s mind. Whenever light hit an object and created a reflection, Stelle viewed it as having an "interactive option." Sometimes, even without light, she would insist that an object was "interactive." Old Neil didn't know what an "interactive option" meant, but he gathered it likely translated to something that could be "communicated with" or "engaged."

Though he couldn't quite grasp why Stelle could spend a long time interacting with a roadside stone, it didn't stop him from feeling at ease in her company. As it turned out, people grew to love the company of energetic youths as they aged; it made them feel young again, as if their veins still flowed with blood rather than the stagnant sludge of twilight.

Old Neil grew curious—curious about how the world looked through this child's eyes. Seers were always interested in novelty. He called out to Stelle and asked why she was so fond of trash cans.

Stelle looked quite excited, like a child introducing a friend to an elder. She pulled Old Neil to the roadside, sifted through a bin, and selected one she deemed most suitable for him to observe.

"Beginners should start with this kind of cleaner trash can," Stelle instructed earnestly. It was clear she sincerely wanted to teach Old Neil how to appreciate them.

It was an ordinary trash can, so common it could be found on any street corner. It was plain and featureless. It didn't even contain any trash, precisely because it was so ubiquitous that not even refuse was spared for it.

"What do you see?" Stelle asked.

Old Neil thought carefully for a moment. "I see a lot of rust on this trash can. It must have been used for a very long time."

"It is an old man," Stelle affirmed, her eyes filled with encouragement, urging him to continue.

"And it's quite clean? I mean, compared to other trash cans, there is no waste inside," Old Neil tried to understand through Stelle’s perspective. "Is this its virtue? Is that correct?"

"No!" Stelle immediately refuted. "A trash can without trash is like a man without money."

"Hmm... so it is an old and poor trash can..." Old Neil mused. It was unremarkable, just like himself—an old man still stuck at Sequence 9. For a moment, he suddenly felt that this trash can was quite a match for him.

He tentatively reached out to touch it; it felt cold. He discovered that not only was it clean inside, but its exterior was just as pristine. It was like a well-dressed gentleman. It was a worthless object, yet its worthlessness was beautiful. It was as if a gentleman in a patched but tidy suit was telling him: there is no such thing as natural-born trash in this world; you must always believe in yourself.

Perhaps it had a dream: to rid the city of all trash. It was a difficult, nearly impossible dream.

"I see. It has its own value... Does it also have things it wishes to accomplish?" He felt the dignity of the trash can, though it was hard to imagine why a trash can would have dignity. Yet, its dignity felt remarkably heavy.

His life was full of worries and joys, and his fate had never been fair. Yet, hope was priceless. He understood now—he understood the trash can, and he understood Stelle.

He stroked the trash can, feeling its surface. He felt as if the trash can had changed; it was no longer covered in rust, and it felt much smoother. The texture under his touch was no longer cold or rough. It had become warm, smooth, and refined.

"You have become young again, too. Is it because of the persistence in your heart?" Old Neil whispered his question to the trash can. "Even if your ideal is impossible to achieve, you will not give up, will you?"

The trash can did not answer. Such an unquestionable matter required no response. Reflecting the sunlight, the sun was about to set, but the bin stood tall and unyielding. Until its ideal was realized, it would not surrender.

Old Neil stood up and tipped his hat in a slight gesture of respect.

"Once a person steps onto this path, there is no turning back," Stelle sighed behind him.

Old Neil took two steps back and looked around once more. He realized the world seemed different now. He had never found the world so interesting before. Various objects on the roadside shimmered with light, communicating with each other in a language humans could not fathom. He would need more time to learn how to participate.

"Thank you." Old Neil felt a genuine sense of happiness. He had fortified his convictions and gained a kindred spirit. He turned back to Stelle. "And thank you, too."

Stelle looked at Old Neil with a smile. "Would you like to hear a story?"

"Of course."

Stelle produced a harp from nowhere and, like a bard, began to play while she spoke: "The story I wish to tell begins in the ancient times, when the gods still walked the earth. The King of Trash fell from the sky, filled with curiosity for everything in the world..."

***

The next morning, after supervising Melissa onto the public carriage, Klein and Benson parted ways at the street corner and headed to the company. He had to watch Melissa hand over the exact fare, otherwise, he felt she might pay less and get off halfway. But if the correct amount was paid, even Melissa would be too embarrassed to ask the conductor for a refund.

As soon as Klein stepped through the gate, he saw Old Neil and Rozanne chatting at the reception desk. The former was still wearing his classic black robe, completely indifferent to the gazes of others, while the latter had changed into a light yellow, casual dress.

For some reason, he felt there was something different about Old Neil today. He seemed more confident, younger.

He heard Old Neil telling a story to Rozanne: "The trash can sought its own answer, yet could not understand the chaos of the mortal world. The Bard of the Bin strummed the strings, and the Harp of Trash provided the answers one by one..."

"Good morning, Mr. Neil, Ms. Rozanne," Klein said, tipping his hat.

Old Neil glanced at Klein. "Good morning. Did you hear anything you shouldn't have last night?"

"No, I slept very well." Klein found this strange, too. He remembered Old Neil saying he should hear such things often. He could only attribute it to his own spirituality not being high enough yet.

"Haha, don't worry about it. It’s not actually that easy to hear," Old Neil said, gesturing toward the partition. "Go to the armory; we will continue our occult lessons this morning."

Old Neil had almost forgotten that he heard things he shouldn't only because he prayed to the True Creator. Klein had not.

Klein nodded and followed Old Neil down the stairs, entering the basement and the armory, where he relieved Bright, who had been on night watch.

"What are we learning today?" Klein asked curiously.

Old Neil let out a long "hmm" and said, "Some complex, foundational knowledge. But before that, I'll teach you an interesting technique."

He pointed to the silver chain wrapped around his wrist, from which a small, silver trash can ornament dangled.