Chapter Twenty-Five: The Disheveled Taoist Approaches on the Street, Asking for an Apple

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It was unclear whether this incident was related to supernatural events or not, for from beginning to end, the Divine Slayer Sutra had remained silent. Nevertheless, Lin Yi sensed something was amiss in the atmosphere surrounding him.

The hall was in a clamor, everyone surging toward the second floor. Imperial Fragrance Pavilion was a three-story row house, its decor reminiscent of ancient pavilions; wooden staircases flanked both sides, with no elevator installed.

The hall was spacious, most of the goods traded here, though some were on the second floor as well. Only distinguished guests would usually go upstairs; those without much money best not venture there. Even the lowest-grade jade on the second floor would sell for at least two or three hundred thousand.

At this moment, the masses were rushing madly to the second floor. Lin Yi had initially intended to ignore the commotion, but since it presented an opportunity to gain experience, he thought it best to seize it.

Thus, Lin Yi joined the crowd heading upstairs. Amid the crush of bodies, Lin Yi made it to the second floor, where he was greeted by the sound of someone crying.

“Boo hoo... Take a look, Manager Huang must be possessed. I poured him a cup of tea just now, and he claimed there was something in it, accused me of harming him, nearly splashed the tea on me and scalded me.”

“You all must judge fairly. This has nothing to do with me; it’s Manager Huang acting deliberately. It was just an ordinary cup of black tea—what could possibly be in it? He seemed to go mad, nearly sprayed the tea on me, so I ran off, and then he started smashing things in the office…”

A young woman in a cheongsam was sobbing. She looked to be about twenty, quite fresh-faced, dressed in a greeter’s cheongsam. Listening to her teary complaints, many nodded unconsciously, and, as if to echo her words, more sounds erupted from the office.

Several security guards from Imperial Fragrance Pavilion stood pale-faced at the door, unable to enter. It was no wonder: from time to time, unidentified objects would be thrown out of the office.

Phones, ashtrays—anything could be hurled. The guards dared not go in; one was rubbing his head where an ashtray had struck him.

“Don’t come in, don’t come in... I... I shouldn’t have looked... But... don’t come in... don’t come in...” came the terrified voice of a middle-aged man from within, his throat hoarse.

As Lin Yi squeezed into the crowd, he overheard several employees of Imperial Fragrance Pavilion whispering.

“Manager Huang’s face was deathly pale this morning, something was off. And now, this afternoon, he’s gone mad?”

“Who knows what’s going on. Ever since last night’s red mist covered the sky, I’ve felt strange things happening around me.”

“Exactly! Manager Huang keeps saying ‘don’t come in, don’t come in.’ Maybe there’s something unclean in that room!”

…

They talked for a long while, yet none reached the heart of the matter.

Lin Yi moved closer to the room, but the Divine Slayer Sutra never once flipped a page, making him feel there were no monsters or ghosts involved. Had there been, the sutra would have revealed some clue already.

When the pages turned, the gray pattern would surely appear.

Since nothing seemed amiss, he decided to leave. After all, An Miaoyi had mentioned there was a National Bureau of Supernatural Investigation, an organization dedicated to handling such events.

“The police are here, the police are here…”

Soon, the police arrived, and Lin Yi took the opportunity to go downstairs.

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This little episode did not delay Lin Yi for long.

Yet it left him with an indistinct sense that the aftermath of these events might somehow be connected to him.

It was an instinctive reaction.

Leaving, Lin Yi originally intended to find something medicinal to replenish himself. He didn’t stray far; now that he had money, he decided to indulge himself, eyeing some herbal dishes that would not only nourish him but also enhance his cultivation.

On Antique Street, there were certainly good places to eat. Lin Yi had his sights set on a place called Fat Lin’s Porridge Shop. Despite being a porridge shop, it specialized in medicinal porridge.

But as soon as he stepped out, Lin Yi was taken aback. He discovered, beside the porridge shop, an acquaintance.

Murong Xingyao, who had been bantering with him earlier and even talked about drinking together, was now—surprisingly—right next to the porridge shop.

Beside Murong Xingyao stood Murong Yueyao. Lin Yi had assumed she’d already left, but she hadn’t.

Parked beside Murong Yueyao was a Maybach sports car, a perfect complement to her beauty.

Along the street, passersby, young and old, couldn’t help but glance toward them.

Lin Yi had wanted porridge, but seeing this, he decided to leave. First, although Murong Xingyao was not Murong Yueyao’s current boyfriend, he was certainly a chatterbox and somewhat ambiguous in his stance. Second, Lin Yi had no desire to converse further with Murong Yueyao.

Who would have thought their car would be parked right in front of the porridge shop?

So Lin Yi gave up on eating.

However, glancing around, Lin Yi’s interest was piqued, and he decided to stay.

Not far away, a figure approached—dressed in ragged, filthy robes, he looked like a beggar; even his appearance seemed to emit a stench.

Without doubt, he was a Daoist priest, given his tattered Daoist robe.

Who knew how long it had been since the robe was washed; it was frayed and torn, patched in places, yet the patches did not fully cover the holes, revealing a robust physique beneath. The robe itself appeared to be an antique, likely a century old.

With his newfound clarity of mind and vision, Lin Yi could see that the Daoist’s resolute features were softened by gentle lines.

This was a handsome young man.

He looked to be around twenty, much like Lin Yi, with red lips and white teeth. Yet his face, like his robe, was smeared with grime—one could probably scrape off pounds of dirt with a hand.

Combined with the ragged robe, straw sandals exposing his toes, and a half-destroyed palm fan in hand, he resembled the legendary Ji Gong from television.

But this young man was even more striking than Ji Gong in his youth.

Of course, Ji Gong was a monk; this one was a Daoist.

Behind him trailed a group of children, a dozen or so, singing.

“Shoes are torn, hat is torn, robe is torn…”

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“You laugh at me, he laughs at me, a fan sweeps it all away…”

“Hahahaha…”

…

The children were singing songs from television, quite fitting for the scene.

This Daoist wore no hat, revealing a buzz-cut, his hair clumped together.

Aside from that, he bore a strong resemblance.

Watching the children circle him, the Daoist seemed to enjoy it, never shooing them away, always smiling at the corners of his mouth.

His appearance left nearby onlookers stunned.

Some pulled their own children away, not wanting them to follow, but the children seemed enchanted, irresistibly singing and gathering around the Daoist.

The young Daoist walked up to Murong Yueyao, grinned, showing his gleaming white teeth.

With sunlight on his smile, it even seemed to shine.

Lin Yi couldn’t help but think, “what a show-off.”

As he thought this, the Daoist pulled an even flashier move, waving his battered fan and saying to Murong Yueyao, “Miss, may I treat you to an apple?”

Without waiting for her response, he took the children to a nearby fruit stall.

Though Antique Street looked grand, life was tough for everyone; suffering abounds, and fruit stalls were commonplace and unregulated.

Next to them, a stall sold apples.

The apple vendor was a middle-aged man, tanned and burly, with a butcher’s face—fierce and intimidating.

He looked difficult to deal with.

The young Daoist strode up to the stall, smiling at the vendor. “Give me your biggest, best apple. I want to give it to that lady.”

“Our biggest apple weighs a pound and a half, nearly two. It’s called the King Apple. I won’t charge much—ten yuan will do.”

The Daoist was straightforward, shaking his head. “I have no money. Just give me the apple.”

The vendor, expecting a spectacle, was surprised to find it at his own stall. This ragged Daoist wasn’t here to buy apples, but to ask for one—the biggest one, no less, and clearly wanted it for free.

Bold—far too bold. He just wanted an apple, the largest, and intended to get it for nothing. Was it possible anyone could call themselves a Daoist these days?

The vendor rolled his eyes at the Daoist, waved him off impatiently, “Go cool off somewhere else.”

The young Daoist wasn’t offended. He glanced again at Murong Yueyao, then clasped his hands respectfully to the vendor.