Tokyo: Proving one's position from behind the scenes

A few days later, they went to the mission hall on the second floor of the headquarters of the True Confession Church.

The lobby was converted from an entire floor of office space. The floor was covered with a light gray carpet, and a huge eye logo hung on the wall. Below the logo was a black leather podium with a microphone on it.

The cult leader stood behind the podium.

He was wearing a new white robe today, the fabric of which was more structured than his usual one, with fine silver-gray trim embroidered on the collar and cuffs. On either side of the platform stood a row of white-robed believers, about twenty in total, standing in neat rows with their hands at their sides.

Several people in casual clothes sat in the front row. They weren't wearing white robes, and there was a barely perceptible gap between them and the believers behind them. These people were major donors to the Truth Church: the president of a real estate company, the founder of a chain restaurant, and a director of an IT company. Their names were written on the first page of the donation record book, and the amount they deposited into the church's account each month was at least two zeros more than that of ordinary believers.

Behind them were even more believers, all kneeling, stretching from the front of the pulpit all the way to the back wall at the far end of the hall, a sea of ​​white, numbering at least a hundred.

Hongming knelt among the white-robed believers in the front row. His position was very close to the podium, close enough to see the stitches of the silver-gray embroidery on the cuffs of the leader's sleeves.

The cult leader placed his hands on the edge of the podium and leaned slightly forward.

"Ladies and gentlemen," his voice came through the microphone, echoing between the white walls of the hall, "I've gathered you all here today to announce something."

He paused for a moment, his gaze sweeping over the faces of the major benefactors in the front row, and then over the white-robed believers in the back row.

"The extraterrestrials at the center of the universe have given our church a gift."

A low commotion arose in the hall. The white-robed cultists exchanged glances. One of the prominent patrons in the front row put his leg down, while another took out his glasses from his suit pocket and put them on.

The cult leader waited until the commotion subsided before continuing.

"The aliens chose one of us and bestowed upon him extraordinary power. This person is among you. He is one of the most devout believers in our church, the one who always stands at the forefront of every mission, and the one who has proven his faith through his actions."

He raised his right hand from the podium and stretched it out towards Hongming, palm up, fingers together, making an inviting gesture.

"Hiroaki."

All eyes followed the direction of the cult leader's palm.

Hongming rose from his kneeling position and walked toward the podium at a moderate pace. The white-robed followers lowered their heads slightly as he passed by, while the eyes of the major benefactors in the front row followed his figure, their faces showing varying degrees of curiosity.

He stopped to the side of the podium, turned around, and faced the hundreds of eyes in the hall that were looking at him.

"Please demonstrate the power bestowed upon you by extraterrestrials in the universe." The cult leader stepped back, making room for the person directly in front of the podium.

Hongming did not move.

He stood there, his hands hanging naturally at his sides, his gaze sweeping over the faces of the major benefactors in the front row, over the faces of the hundreds of white-robed followers in the back row, and finally landing on the face of the cult leader.

"Master," he said.

The voice wasn't loud, but everyone in the hall could hear it clearly.

"You said that this power was bestowed upon you by extraterrestrials from the center of the universe."

You are lying.

The air in the hall suddenly froze, and the white-robed cultists began to discuss among themselves with the cultists around them.

The cult leader's smile hadn't completely disappeared; the curve of his lips was frozen in an awkward position.

"This power was not bestowed upon me by aliens," Hongming's voice continued, as calm as the surface of a spring gushing from the depths of the earth, without any ripples. "This power was given to me by a being called 'Celestial Venerable Transmitting the Dharma.' The Celestial Venerable Transmitting the Dharma entered my dream and transmitted the Dharma to me."

His gaze fell on the cult leader's face.

"The Celestial Venerable of Transmitting the Dharma has never mentioned any aliens at the center of the universe, nor has he ever mentioned your existence, Master. When you heard that I had gained power, you claimed it was a gift from aliens, a glory of the church, and proof of your effective leadership. You falsely claim to be the name of truth, but in reality, you are deceiving the world and stealing fame."

The cult leader took half a step back.

"Hongming, you—"

"Gentlemen."

Hongming turned around, facing the several great benefactors in the front row and the hundreds of white-robed believers in the hall.

"The Celestial Venerable Who Transmits the Dharma is real. He appeared in my dream, dressed in white robes with white hair, holding a bamboo staff. He touched my forehead with the staff and transmitted magic to me. This power is real, the Celestial Venerable Who Transmits the Dharma is real, and the truth is real. But this person—"

His gaze fell on the cult leader's face again.

"—I have misled everyone."

【箕水】 (Ji Shui) refers to well water, which governs wind and speech. Each word of Hongming's teachings is like the first gust of water gushing from a spring, clear, undeniable, and carrying the mineral scent from the depths of the earth. The water seeps into the listener's consciousness, washing away their original thoughts, then settling on the cleansed riverbed, forming a new, solid, and unshakeable conviction.

The cult leader's face flushed red, and he made a muffled sound, as if someone was choking him. He raised one hand from the edge of the podium, pointing at Hongming, his knuckles trembling.

"You're crazy—"

A stream of water, as thick as an adult's little finger, shot out from Hongming's raised fingertip. The water was so clear it was almost transparent, reflecting a faint, cold white luster under the white lights of the mission hall. The water drew an arc in the air and disappeared into the leader's forehead.

The cult leader's voice abruptly stopped, and the end of the water flow spread out in the cranial cavity, dividing into more than a dozen smaller branches. Each branch was like an extremely thin finger, probing into the soft, gray folds of the cranial cavity. All of the branches stirred gently at the same time.

The cult leader's body suddenly stiffened.

His eyes were still open, his pupils slowly dilating under the white light of the fluorescent lamp. His mouth was still open, his tongue pressed against the roof of his mouth, and a muffled gurgling sound, like the sound of water bubbling from the edge of a kettle lid when it boils, came from deep in his throat.

His body fell straight backward, the back of his head hitting the black leather surface of the podium with a dull thud, before he slid off the edge of the podium onto the carpet.

Hongming walked back to the front of the podium. His gaze swept over the faces of the several great benefactors in the front row and over the faces of the hundreds of white-robed followers in the back row. Everyone had their heads down, a sea of ​​white, like a wheat field blown down by the wind.

"The leader has falsely claimed the name of truth and has been punished by the power of the Heavenly Venerable of Transmitting the Dharma." Hongming's voice was calm. "From now on, I, Akiyama Hongming, will succeed as the leader of the Church of the Beginning of Truth."

He paused for a moment.

"I take refuge in the Truth Teachings and from this day forward, I will venerate the Heavenly Venerable Who Transmits the Dharma."

His voice wasn't loud, but everyone in the hall could hear him clearly. The corner of his mouth twitched slightly, as if confirming that something he knew would happen sooner or later had finally occurred.

In the corner, the former leader sat leaning against the wall, drool still dripping from the corner of his mouth, the wet patch on his white robe growing larger. His eyes were still open, the pupils still large, but his gaze was no longer fixed on anything. His mouth opened and closed, uttering meaningless, indistinct syllables like those of a sleeping infant.