Having found nothing at Beth-Shean, Abram and his group quickly moved on.
The plain eventually gave way to hills, and Abram sketched the rich, layered terrain of Canaan, just as he had done along the way. Half a day later, they arrived at Shechem in Ephraim.
Abram spotted an oak tree and stopped.
The hills here were gentler than those in Galilee, and they encountered more Canaanites. Unlike the people of the Mesopotamian plains, who built tall houses, these Canaanites typically built their homes beneath large trees to make them easily identifiable. All along the road, they had seen many fine trees already claimed by families, with tents pitched beneath them.
But beneath this particular oak—with its thick trunk and luxuriant branches—there was nothing.
The oak spread its canopy, its shade swaying in the breeze. Its elegant, tower-like crown stood with imposing majesty against the blazing sun.
"It's even bigger than the oak in Haran!" they exclaimed, circling the tree in awe and delight.
"We have to stop here, Auntie, don't we?" Lot said, reluctantly stroking the trunk. "We could set up our tent beneath this oak, just like the Canaanites do."
"I don't know," Sarai replied, shaking her head, though her face also shone with a captivating radiance. "You'll have to ask your uncle."
"Look, he's back!"
Abram returned, radiating joy and vigor that made him appear years younger.
"I think this is the place," he told his wife and nephew. "I asked around, and Jerusalem is just a little way south of here."
Lot and Sarai stared at him in confusion.
"Didn't you hear?" Abram's voice trembled with excitement. "Melchizedek, the Priest-King of Salem, is right here! I've decided to visit him!"
Lot and Sarai exchanged glances. Finally, the young man tentatively asked, "Should we set up our tents here then?"
Abram waved his hand dismissively, indicating they should do as they pleased. He immediately began rummaging through his pack, preparing to select a gift for the King of Salem.
Though he didn't have much, he wanted to offer the most sincere gift possible.
After a brief rest, Abram set out for Jerusalem just after noon. He left Eliezer behind to guard their family and belongings, while he went alone to meet the legendary Priest-King.
As they drew closer to Jerusalem, the atmosphere of the Creator God grew stronger. Abram felt like a stray fish finally returning to its habitat.
In the distance, he saw a majestic palace built of mud brick. As they drew nearer, its grandeur only intensified.
The courtyard in front of the temple was filled with chariots and carriages. As he approached, a delicate, fragrant aroma wafted toward him, filling his heart with joy. He called over a Junior Priest at the entrance and explained that he had traveled a long distance to worship God and wished to meet the Priest-King of this place.
The Junior Priest frowned slightly at Abram's travel-worn appearance.
Most visitors here were neatly dressed, as this was the sacred city of the Creator God on earth. However, the King had instructed them not to look down on anyone seeking help. So, the priest said, "Please wait here. The King is currently in council with someone. I will go in and inquire for you."
He did not allow Abram to enter directly, as Melchizedek was currently meeting with a king.
The largest city in the Jordan Valley was Sodom. Today, their King Bera had come seeking assistance, bringing gifts so abundant they required ten chariots to transport.
If only every believer were as generous as the King of Sodom,the Junior Priest thought to himself. He tiptoed toward the reception hall and could hear only the voice of the King of Sodom, who was asking Melchizedek how to counter the growing power of Elam.
Oh, the poor king. His troubles are far more severe than those of others.
The King of Elam's public humiliation of the King of Sodom had already spread throughout the land of Canaan.
"We Sodomites are like the Jebusites—both descendants of the first ancestor Ham," King Bera of Sodom said, his face etched with worry as he sighed repeatedly in the inner chamber. "How much longer must we endure the curse Noah laid upon Canaan?"
"Why must we suffer such humiliation?"
The Junior Priest was a Jebusite, and these words struck a chord with him. After listening for a while longer, he quietly slipped out.
"Can't you, for the sake of your Jebusite subjects, show me a way out of this?" Bera asked Melchizedek, who sat on the throne.
All of Canaan was descended from Ham, but Melchizedek remained an enigma. In this desperate hour, Bera had no choice but to seek counsel from the wise and enlightened.
"Elam is at the height of his power. Confronting him directly now would be foolish," the Priest-King said, seeing the king's fiery temper and eagerness for revenge. He could only offer this cautious advice.
"Then when should I wait? Today? Tomorrow? The people's discontent grows daily. What can I do?"
"A king who allows himself to be bullied and humiliated will never be respected by other cities!" Bera declared, his voice rising in anger as he stared directly at Melchizedek.
"I care nothing for wealth—take as much as God demands! I only want to know when you will help me cast off Elam's oppression!"
Seeing that Melchizedek, King of Salem, and the King of Sodom were deeply engaged in conversation and unlikely to finish anytime soon, the Junior Priest went out to tell Abram directly that the King of Salem's schedule for the day was full and that he should come back another time.
He didn't think much of it. So many people came to see Melchizedek every day, and Abram was just like the others. In fact, he looked even worse off than most.
Abram was no stranger to the look in the Junior Priest's eyes. He had often seen it before, though not directed at him, but at the wretched poor who struggled to survive. As a generous and well-regarded merchant, Abram frequently aided the poor, so he was accustomed to seeing such glances cast his way.
He never imagined he would one day be the one to receive such a look himself.
He glanced down at his dusty, faded robe and sighed. His interest in meeting Melchizedek evaporated. With his meager gift, which seemed utterly pathetic compared to what one might offer a king, he dejectedly returned to Shechem.
At Shechem, Abram spotted the towering oak tree, a striking landmark in the distance. He began to understand why the Canaanites were so willing to settle beneath its branches.
It was simply too easy to recognize, especially this distinctive oak.
Lot had already pitched his tent beneath the tree. Abram ordered them to dismantle it.
"I will build an altar here," he declared. "A priest is not God. Relying on a priest to guide me to God is less effective than seeking God myself."
"Why?!" Lot nearly exploded, but seeing Abram's expression, his voice faltered. "Uncle, we're almost finished setting up..."
"The best land should be reserved for God! Tents are only for sleeping," Abram insisted. "We can set up camp anywhere nearby."
"..."
Eliezer supported him unconditionally.
"Master, the first to start dismantling the tent is Lot. Seeing this, he reluctantly had no choice but to help.
The men immediately got busy, some building the altar and others pulling down the ropes. Sarai shrugged, indifferent to the tent's location.
"There's a water source up here. I'm going to wash clothes. Don't stay up too late—I don't want to be exposed in the wilderness at night," she said, walking away with a wooden basin.
"You too! Be back before dark!" Abram shouted after his wife's retreating figure.
Sarai arrived at the well, where several other women were washing clothes. Noticing her unfamiliarity and striking beauty, they clustered around, asking where she was from.
"Upstream of the Euphrates River. My husband, our family, and I came from Haran," Sarai answered readily, without thinking.
The women fell silent. They exchanged glances, then quietly moved away.
Sarai didn't notice anything amiss. She was accustomed to women's hostile looks, assuming they were simply jealous of her beauty.
This jealousy only made her happier.
Abram finished building the altar that day. The stone pile wasn't grand or large, but it was neatly arranged.
Abram was pleased. When Sarai brought him food, she shared stories of her day by the river, and Abram's hands gradually slowed.
"You shouldn't go to the river to wash clothes anymore," he told his wife. When she pressed him, he didn't tell her the truth. "The clothes aren't as important. The boys need to replenish their strength. You should make them more nourishing meals."
Convinced, Sarai stayed put and focused on preparing food for her family.
Abram remained anxious. The first day passed peacefully, and the second day was uneventful.
But on the third night, their tent collapsed, nearly crushing them as they slept.
"Probably just the wind..." Lot said blankly. Helplessly, they stayed up all night to re-erect the tent. The next morning, just as they were about to catch up on sleep, a crowd of people swarmed around them.
"Leave here! You people across the river!" the Canaanites snarled, their voices dripping with venom. "Look at what your king's capital did to our Canaan! How dare you still show your faces here!"
Eliezer drew his sword, its gleaming blade radiating a bloodthirsty chill. The Damascus-made blade could hold its own against ten men. He positioned himself behind his mistress, ready to die for her, while Lot raised a wooden staff and stood beside him.
"Let's go."
"Uncle!" / "Master?" Lot and Eliezer turned in surprise to look at Abram, who had spoken.
"I said, let's go." Abram took Sarai's hand, clenched his other fist, and repeated himself before turning to leave.
Compromise was cowardice.
For a man, the word "coward" was the greatest humiliation. But if he didn't make this decision, the two young men would have fought the Canaanites to the death.
There was no need for that.
Life was the most precious thing.
So if he took the lead, bearing the burden of cowardice, the two young men would follow.
"Your choice was right, outsider."
"Why didn't we see this tree before?" the Canaanites called out from behind. Abram turned to look at them, seeing them gathered around a tall oak tree nearby.
"They've set up an altar here..."
"We can't desecrate the sacred. Since they've left, we can disperse now."
Blood seeped from his palm as he clenched his fist too tightly.
"Abram, I don't understand," Sarai said beside him, her voice tinged with hurt. "They're also believers in God. Why would they treat us like this?"
"Indeed, why?" the angel echoed, equally perplexed. Abram believed in God, and the Canaanites also worshipped Him. Both were flesh and blood. The angel didn't know which side to favor and could only look helplessly at Yahweh.
"Why can't they coexist?"
"Faith has long ceased to be the standard for judging human nature," God replied simply.
Human morality wavered between self-interest and ideology. Though the Semites believed in Him, the Four Kings of the Plain committed evil acts, and most of them were Semites. Under the Messiah's efforts, the Canaanites had also begun to believe, but when their desires went unfulfilled or their positions threatened, this faith would crumble.
The angel watched thoughtfully, like an indifferent observer, as Abram's family faced their trials in Canaan.
After their first expulsion, they were forced to abandon that land and seek a new home. But all the good territory was already occupied. When the locals learned they came from the Plain of Shinar, their attitudes changed without exception.
They kept moving south until they reached a ruin, where no one drove them away.
They named the place Ai and set up their tents there. The western side was a barren mountain, and the Canaanites avoided this area, so it was sparsely populated.
"We're like rootless duckweed, living on land that isn't ours," Sarai wept. The two young men hung their heads in dejection, while Abram gazed at his scabbed palm in silence.
God saw that the Canaanites' expulsion and rejection had dealt an unprecedented blow to the man's pride, yet his faith remained unshaken.
The man didn't feel betrayed. Between Ai and the barren mountain, he chose a spot to build a second altar to God.
No one had ever built altars so frequently, especially after enduring such unjust treatment. This desperate act of keeping God close...
It was as if prayer was all he had left.
"He will truly become the king of all nations, won't he, Yahweh?" Haniya was deeply moved, hot tears welling in his eyes. Before they could fall, they transformed into two exquisite diamonds, which an angel quietly tucked into the man's bag.
God silently watched the man's actions, but offered no reply this time.
Late at night, Abram, lying in his tent, suddenly felt an inexplicable calling. A bright light flickered outside. As if unaware of Sarai sleeping soundly beside him, he silently rose from his bed, stepped over Lot near the door, and even the ever-vigilant Eliezer failed to notice—he left without disturbing anyone.
He drifted like a restless spirit until he stepped out of the tent and saw the flickering light. Only then did his eyes blaze with renewed vitality.
Following the light's guidance, he saw a massive oak tree, resembling the one at Shechem yet also reminiscent of the one at Haran.
But Abram felt it didn't matter which tree it was; it was undoubtedly the most special one.
Beneath the tree, he saw a ball of light, brighter than the one that had guided him.
He approached the holy light and naturally prostrated himself, as if instinctively knowing who it was.
"My Lord..."
"Hmm," God replied, gesturing for him to sit.
Abram cautiously moved to sit beside God. Even the slightest radiation of holy light thrilled him, but he suppressed the inappropriate emotion and stilled himself by imitating God's posture.
Then they sat together in silence, gazing out at the pitch-black wilderness. The wild grass...
The air around him swayed ceaselessly, yet Abram heard no wind. The silence was absolute, broken only by the frantic thumping of his own heart.
"I am deeply sorry," a voice suddenly said, causing Abram to look up in surprise.
"Why do you say that?"
"I should have believed in you from the moment I was born," Abram said earnestly. "I did not, and I am ashamed."
God chuckled at his earnestness, but He couldn't deny that the man's flattery was pleasing.
After a moment of silence, God spoke.
"Do not blame yourself. The first attempt at faith often fails."
The prayers He heard most often were complaints. Humans loved to complain, especially in times of disaster. When a sudden fire burned down someone's house, hateful words would fill the air as if God Himself had lit the flames.
Doubt was the norm, but Abram, having been cast out, felt no disappointment towards God or Yahweh. This was what truly surprised God.
Emboldened by their unusual exchange and the harmonious atmosphere, the man's courage grew.
"I am not joking, my Lord," Abram said seriously, his ears pounding. "The people of Canaan also believe in you. I must believe in you more than they do."
God chuckled again.
"Very well."
As if finally receiving an answer, Abram completely relaxed, but his expression quickly turned to confusion.
"Now I believe Yahweh is your messenger. Do you truly intend to grant me this land?" he asked, gazing at the Creator veiled in Holy Light. "On this journey, I've already experienced the 'Ten Thousand Nations' you spoke of. Each has its own charm and allure, yet they also evoke a complexity I've never known before."
Alluring, dangerous, and fatal—like poison. Abram was deeply drawn to them, yet his reason held his heart in a tight grip.
"Can I truly claim the foundation of the Ten Thousand Nations as my own?"
"Establishing a foundation is a long process. It would indeed be difficult to accomplish on your own," God replied gently.
Just as I feared, Abram lowered his head in disappointment.
"Why did you build this altar for me today?" God asked.
"Because I believe in you," Abram said. "Though I'm afraid. Fear has shaken my resolve. You've never truly promised me anything, and I fear this might all be just my wishful thinking."
Bewilderment flickered in his eyes. "But I have no choice but to believe in you."
Driven to desperation, he had no other recourse.
He spoke his honest thoughts, and that single sentence proved more valuable than ten million eloquent lies.
"Why despair, Abram? Failure holds no terror. Just know that I will always be with you through it all."
"You will always be with me?"
"If you believe me, a nation will be established through you, and a king will arise from you." (See Note)
In Abram's eyes, God suddenly loomed immeasurably tall, His golden eyes radiating unfathomable power, His voice thundering with divine authority.
"I will give this land to your descendants, and I will make you the father of many nations."
He jolted awake, instinctively touching his body. His close-fitting clothes felt as cold and rigid as iron, as if he had just returned from the wilderness, but this was only because his body was exposed to the air outside the covers.
His skin was dry, without the dew of the night, yet this did nothing to cool the burning heat in his heart.
The divine promise still echoed in his ears, and Abram was far from foolish—in fact, he was quite clever.
He was not blinded by the promise; instead, he immediately discerned its deeper meaning.
When the divine messenger spoke, he could have the foundation of many nations. Everyone's first thought would be that he would become king of all nations.
The fruit of fantasy was incomparably sweet, but the anticipation and future felt like castles in the air without foundations, lacking any sense of solid ground.
But now, everything was different.
"What's wrong?" Sarai asked, looking sleepily at her husband, who had suddenly sat up, full of vigor.
He had truly seen the Creator, and he was certain it was not a dream.
What I do is approved by God and holds true meaning.
Abram didn't consider the glory bestowed by the Creator God in the name of the Father to be mere vanity.
"That is the promise of the true God!" He lay back down, but sleep eluded him, his excitement making him toss and turn.
"I may wander and live as a sojourner for my entire life, but my descendants will surely become kings of this land!"
Descendants? Sarai wondered, puzzled by her husband's late-night madness. Could it be he's finally decided between Eliezer and Lot as his son?
That night, two people were kept awake. Eight pairs of eyes in the tent remained open, yet no sound broke the silence except for Abram's murmuring.
After sending Abram back, God remained seated in the wilderness, gazing at the twinkling stars in the night sky. For ten thousand years, they had moved in the same way, following their predetermined orbits.
The Creator often wondered why He continued to watch the world, for its workings constantly changed, often contrary to His will.
The closer He drew to the end of His time, the more deeply He felt this.
And at that moment, He had gained a fervent believer.
Of course, God had no shortage of followers. Even if Hell shook people's faith, some fundamental truths remained unchanged.
The Creator God was the eternal God, his foundation in this world unshakable.
But Abram was different. He wasn't perfect, and in fact, he was full of flaws. In the past, God might not have even noticed him.
Yet through a series of coincidences, from Ur to Haran, God intervened in every major decision Abram made.
He had known for a long time that humanity would ultimately divide into believers and non-believers, a distinction he had once disregarded.
But now his perspective had shifted.
The casual promise of a nation of nations was fundamentally different from the sincere gift of the glory of the Father of Nations. He truly wanted to make Abram the Father of Nations.
Glory and titles are meaningless in themselves; they gain meaning only when God invests them with his attention.
Though the promise had been made on a whim, Abram showed him another form of faith.
Abram believed in Him, built altars for Him, preached His name, and cried out for Him. A righteous man, steadfast in reason and goodness, would not have acted so wildly. They too believed in Him, but they lacked this vitality and infectious fervor. As the saying goes, God acknowledged that He was pleased.
There was no perfect faith. Whether pragmatic or pure, He could never refuse those who turned toward Him.
This man, this race, these creations—even this world—though He watched it, He often had the illusion that it was opposing Him.
He dismissed it as an illusion, for everything had remained within His allowance from beginning to end.
Golden divine light flickered intermittently. Beneath Aedi's crude altar, an angel saw the one he sought.
"Yahweh?"
His silver robes, stirred by the cold wind, fluttered like wind's own trajectory. Golden eyes glanced sideways, as if containing eleven thousand stars, unfathomably deep and vast, yet reflecting no shadow.
As if suddenly awakened from a warm bed, Haniya stumbled back in shock. He realized those were not the eyes of a creation.
They were eyes no creation could possess.