George Miller: "...I don't think it's very convenient for me."

　　William Clark frowned.

　　George Miller shrank his neck and said, "Bro, there are a lot of people here today, so it's not too bad. You haven't seen what our neighborhood is like at night, usually."

　　"What is it like?"

　　"It's pretty creepy. I've lived here with Grandpa for over ten years, and even now, I don't dare go to the bathroom alone at night, let alone go outside."

　　"......"

　　William Clark stood expressionless and silent for two seconds, then asked classmate George Miller to get out.

　　He closed the bathroom door, grabbed his collar and pulled off his T-shirt, revealing a lean, attractive waistline from under the fabric. He thought, not too happily, that he had originally planned to be a good person and help out this disappointing disciple. Now he felt... maybe it's better if this bloodline just dies out.

　　When this habitually withdrawn ancestor finished his shower and came out, George Miller had already received two new groups of visitors, but the woman from the genealogy chart, Michael Bolton, still hadn't left.

　　She was standing at the entrance talking to George Miller, one hand holding onto her outspoken son.

　　"Old Master Shen is going up the mountain tomorrow, right?" Michael Bolton asked.

　　"Yeah." George Miller nodded.

　　"What time?"

　　"We'll leave at 6:45 in the morning. Would you like to come?" George Miller asked politely.

　　She stared at Shen Qiao's memorial portrait and said softly, "6:45? Sigh, I might have something to do, but if I can make it, I still want to see him off. The old master had it tough. In the past—"

　　In the past, this bloodline was really powerful, just too few people, which led to the current situation. What a pity.

　　George Miller had heard this many times and could recite it by heart. But Michael Bolton was a bit better; she stopped herself after just starting, giving George Miller an awkward and apologetic smile.

　　Maybe to make up for it, she said to George Miller, "You're especially pure. We rarely meet someone as pure as you. Take care of yourself from now on."

　　After she finished, she patted her son on the back and whispered with a frown, "Bow three times, hurry up!"

　　Her son was probably in his rebellious phase. He shook off her hand, reluctantly bent his neck, his attitude perfunctory, and the last bow was barely even done. After finishing, he pushed the door open and left.

　　Michael Bolton had to quickly say goodbye and hurried after him.

　　George Miller closed the door, walked back in a daze, looked up and saw William Clark, and couldn't help but ask, "Mr. Clark, why did he bow to me?"

　　"Because he said something he shouldn't have in front of you. If he doesn't bow properly, there will be great misfortune." William Clark gestured toward the portrait of the ancestor in the distance.

　　"Oh, so the ancestor won't—"

　　William Clark: "......"

　　"Bah." George Miller slapped himself and quickly said, "I didn't say it, I stopped myself."

　　"Mm."

　　William Clark kept his head down, drying his damp hair. After a moment, he said, "Actually, a lot of people have said he wouldn't die a good death. It's just the truth, nothing will really happen. Just don't go crazy and say it in front of the portrait, especially not when offering incense."

　　George Miller asked cautiously, "Why?"

　　William Clark looked up, tossed the used towel onto the back of a chair, and stared at George Miller with pitch-black eyes, saying softly, "Because he will hear it."

　　George Miller: "......"

　　He stood there frozen for a while, quickly rubbing the goosebumps on his arms, his voice shaky: "Isn't he already..."

　　Dead?

　　Shen Qiao had told him that the ancestor, Chen Budao, had cultivated the most extreme path—no attachments, no obstacles, no emotions, no fear. Anyway, it didn't sound human. Very powerful, but ended badly.

　　What kind of bad ending, he was too young to understand, probably something like never being able to reincarnate.

　　The more George Miller thought about it, the more scared he got, glancing around as if the ancestor was floating right beside him.

　　William Clark saw how timid he looked and spat out two words: "Useless."

　　***

　　Around 9 p.m., no more guests arrived. The suona and drum players packed up their instruments, lit cigarettes, and gathered by the backyard window to chat.

　　George Miller started the stove in the kitchen, used the bone broth he'd simmered earlier to cook a few bowls of dragon beard noodles, then diced some smoked ham and crispy red cured pork, neatly arranged them on top of the noodles, sprinkled on fresh green scallions, and called everyone to eat.

　　This was the first proper meal William Clark had eaten since waking up. Although he said he was hungry, he barely touched his chopsticks.

　　George Miller almost thought he'd messed up the food, so he cautiously tasted a couple of bites himself. He found the broth rich and flavorful, the meat fragrant and crispy, and the noodles chewy and springy.

　　The suona players slurped down their noodles in no time. After wiping their mouths and thanking him, they gathered again to smoke and chat. George Miller then asked, "Mr. Clark, aren't you hungry?"

　　"I don't really eat this," William Clark replied.

　　George Miller thought he was just picky and was about to ask more, when he saw William Clark glance toward the window and say, "They're not leaving?"

　　"You mean those uncles who play the suona and beat the drums?" George Miller shook his head. "No, they're staying the night."

　　William Clark: "Why?"

　　George Miller blushed and stammered, "You have to keep vigil during a funeral. I'm the only one left in the Shen family, and I'm too scared to sleep at night, so I spent a bit more money to have these uncles stay and keep me company."

　　After he finished, he noticed William Clark was looking at him with an indescribable expression, then gave him a big thumbs up, half mocking, half speechless.