Those people hacked the black-clothed wizard Wang Hua to death, and before the black-clothed wizard died, he muttered to himself: "I am the most evil black-clothed wizard, I will not die like this." ”

Those indigenous puppets also fell to the ground one after another, and these people were all cut down to the ground by Tang Zhangwei's men.

These people were all wiped out by Tang Zhangwei's people, and everyone said: "These indigenous legions look vicious and abnormal, and they can't compete with our righteous army of the Tang Dynasty." ”

Tang Zhangwei led his army to begin a siege on kangaroos and thylacines, which were very arrogant.

Tang Zhangwei led the army to shoot sharp arrows at the group of kangaroos, and these kangaroos fell to the ground one after another.

The local indigenous tribe was rescued by Tang Zhangwei, who came to their senses and began to help Tang Zhangwei skin and cut meat.

The kangaroos had to flee in all directions, and the 50 million kangaroos were regarded by Tang Zhangwei as a good source of food.

The altar in the east wing of the church is divided into two rooms. The room near the nave has rows of long seats for the monks to sit or stand while praying. The outer room is a chapel with coffins of saints. Philip walked around from behind the altar, trying to find a place in the prayer room; At this time, he suddenly saw a coffin.

He stood in amazement. No one told him about the death of a monk. Of course, he only spoke to three people: Paul was old and a little absent-minded; And the two grooms, he didn't give them a chance to speak. He walked over to the coffin to see who was dead. He looked inside, and his heart sank.

It turned out to be Vice Dean James.

Philip was dumbfounded. Now everything is about to change. There will be a new vice president here, a new hope—

It is not right to be so happy about the death of an older brother, no matter what is wrong with him. Philip adjusted his mind and countenance in a mournful manner. He looked at the dead. The vice president was originally full of white hair, a thin face, and a little hunched back. Now his long-standing expression is gone, and he doesn't look troubled and uneasy, and he seems to be very peaceful. As Philip knelt beside the coffin and prayed in a low voice, it was not clear to him whether there was any great annoyance weighing on the old man's heart in his old age: an unrepentant sin, a woman who had been hated all her life, or an innocent person who had been wronged. Whatever it was, he couldn't say it now, so let's wait until the Last Judgment Day.

Despite his determination, Philip could not help but turn his mind to the future. The indecisive, worried, and feeble Vice-Chancellor James had already touched the monastery with a dead man's hand. Now there must be a new man, a man who can restrain the lazy employers, repair the collapsed churches, and manage the vast property, so that the vice president will always be a formidable force. Philip was too agitated to stay still. He stood up from the coffin, walked into the prayer room with a new easy step, and found an empty seat in the back seat.

The prayer was presided over by a priest named Andrew of York, a red-faced man with a temper tantrum, who seemed to be on the verge of a stroke for many years. He was a senior clergyman in this great monastery, one of the deacons of the monastery. His duties were all sacred things: prayers, texts, relics, vestments, altar cloths, worship articles, and, above all, the construction of church buildings. He was commanded by a singer who oversaw the music and a treasurer who kept the precious gold and silver candlesticks, communion cups, and other holy vessels. The only priests were the deputy dean and his assistant Remigius, Andrew's best friend, and nothing else.

Andrew was reciting the prayer in his usual fiery tone. Philip's mind was in a mess, and it took him a moment to realize that prayer wasn't going in a ceremonial way. A group of young monks were talking and laughing. Philip could see that they were making fun of an elderly apprentice monk who had fallen asleep in his place. The young monks, most of whom until recently had been apprentices under the old mentor and perhaps even suffered from his whipping, were throwing small mud pills at him. Every time it hit him in the face, he shook a little, but still didn't wake up. Andrew seems unaware of what is happening. Philip looked around to find the patrolman. He had been at the other end of the room, talking to another monk, not wanting to pray or behaving in the young man's manners.

Philip observed for a moment. Most of the time, he has no patience for this kind of thing. One of the monks, who seemed to be troublemakers, was a pretty lad of about twenty-one years of age, with a mischievous smile on his face. Philip saw him put the tip of his fork on the tip of a burning candle, pick off the melted wax, and bounce it on the apprentice monk's bald top. When the hot oil fell on the old friar's scalp, he woke up and screamed, and the young friars laughed excitedly.

Philip sighed and left his seat. He approached the young man from behind, grabbed him by the ear, and forced him out of the room and into the passage of the south wing. Andrew looked up from the prayer and frowned as Philip walked out, he had never seen such a commotion.

When they came to a place where the other monks could not hear, Philip stopped, opened the young man's ears, and said, "What is your name?" ”

"William Bowes."

"What devil possessed your body for such a momentous mass?"

William's face tensed. "I'm tired of praying," he said.

The monk who complained about his fate never received Philip's sympathy. "Tired?" He raised his voice slightly and said, "What did you do today?" ”

"Morning songs and hymns in the middle of the night, morning prayers before breakfast, then the third prayer, prayer room mass, study, and now the big mass," William challenged. ”

"Have you eaten?"

"I've had breakfast."

"You're waiting for lunch?"

"Yes."

"Most people of your age have to bend over the fields from sunrise to sunset to get breakfast and lunch—but they have to give you some of their bread. Do you know why they do it? ”

"Yes," he said, moving his feet around, his eyes on the ground.

"Go on."

"They did it because they wanted the monks to pray for them."

"Yes. The hard-working peasants give you bread, meat, and stone-made dormitories, and a fire in the winter – but you are tired of not sitting motionless from the beginning to the end while you celebrate a great Mass for them! ”

"I'm sorry, brother."

Philip looked at William for a moment. He didn't do anything bad.

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