The food box seemed a bit heavy for Scholar, as if a thousand-pound weight had been hung on a tree branch. He walked away much slower than when he came, and it took him quite a while to finally get some distance.

Watchman shivered from the cold and snapped back to his senses.

Steward whispered, his face pale, “You saw it this time, didn’t you? That face... Eh? Where are you rushing off to?”

Watchman: “I need to pee.”

Steward: “……”

However, Watchman had barely gone far before he circled back, carrying his gong and clapper.

Before Steward could speak, Watchman slapped him on the shoulder and, with exaggerated winks, gestured toward a spot not far away: “Look over there!”

Across the street, a white figure quietly emerged from the night.

Having just been frightened, Steward nearly went weak at the knees, almost thinking he’d seen something unclean again. But after taking a closer look, he realized it was a monk. The man wore a thin, plain white monk’s robe with wide sleeves. From head to toe, there wasn’t a speck of color—he looked like he was in mourning, and seeing that at dawn was certainly inauspicious.

Steward didn’t get it: “I see him, isn’t he just a monk?”

Watchman said in a low voice, “When I passed by him just now, I caught a glimpse—he’s got Five Emperor Coins hanging at his waist!”

The Five Emperor Coins are said to ward off evil and protect homes; legend has it that the imperial court’s grand preceptor likes to use them, always carrying a string at his waist. Since then, the Five Emperor Coins have become the most common tool for those who make a living dealing with ghosts and spirits. While there are plenty of charlatans among them, most do have some real skill.

Steward sized up the monk from a distance and felt there was an indescribable air about him—he certainly didn’t look like a fraud. Besides, he couldn’t care less anymore; three days was his limit. If that Scholar came again tomorrow morning, he might really wet himself on the spot.

The monk walked at an unhurried pace, but soon drew near. Just as he was about to pass the stall, Steward hurriedly called out, “Master, please wait!”

The monk paused, the hem of his white hemp robe swaying gently twice, yet not picking up a speck of dust. He glanced at Steward, his gaze calm and cold, even chillier than the winter wind on one’s face. Only at such close range did Steward realize the monk was very tall—his gaze came from above, making Steward instinctively shrink back half a step, bumping into Watchman, who had also stepped back.

The collision seemed to knock Steward’s courage back into his belly. He braced himself and spoke again: “I see you have Five Emperor Coins at your waist, Master. Do you perhaps know some arts for warding off evil?”

The monk glanced expressionlessly at the coins at his waist, neither confirming nor denying.

Steward glanced awkwardly at Watchman, feeling that this monk was even colder than the winter wind, leaving him so frozen he didn’t know which way was up and couldn’t get another word out.

Watchman, being more resistant to the cold, spoke up for him. In a few words, he described the visitor who looked like Scholar, then said to the monk, “We’re not exactly familiar with that face, but we couldn’t possibly mistake it—that’s the son of the old Jiang family from the medical hall. But... but the Jiang family’s medical hall burned down three years ago. Except for the daughter who married off to Anqing, not a single one survived—they all died in the fire! As the saying goes, at the fifth watch, even ghosts are idle. For someone who’s been dead to show up three nights in a row, and always at the fifth watch—how could that not be terrifying?!”

The monk glanced at the sky, and finally spoke, sparing his words: “Where is he?”

Hearing this, Steward immediately thawed and came back to life. He pointed to a bend in the wall in the distance and said hurriedly, “Just left! He might not even be inside yet! I know the ruins of the Jiang family’s medical hall, Master, I—I’ll take you there?”

Very soon, though, Steward regretted it so much he wanted to slap himself: Why did you have to be so quick to speak!

How muddleheaded did he have to be to walk alongside a human icicle in the dead of winter? Steward felt that these few alleys were enough to walk out half his life. He kept sneaking glances at the young monk, wanting to ask questions but never daring to, and all he managed to notice was a small mole on the monk’s neck.

Before Steward froze to death, they finally reached the corner of the alley behind the Jiang family’s medical hall.

Just as Steward had expected, the frail Scholar hadn’t entered yet—he was still shuffling along the alley with the food box.

Strangely, as he walked, he muttered to himself in two distinct voices—sometimes clear and pleasant, sometimes hoarse and low.

“You went all the way to Lishan to catch a chicken for me yourself? At this pace, will you be back before the New Year?”—this was the clearer voice.

“Still faster than someone who can’t walk at all.”—this was the hoarse one.

“I think you just don’t want to live anymore.”

“Forgive me, I’ve only been dead for three years.”

“……”

Scholar played both roles himself, vividly performing “what it means to be seriously ill.” Then, he slipped through the cracks in the Jiang family’s dilapidated wall like a sheet of paper, and into the courtyard.

Hiding behind the corner, Steward accidentally witnessed the whole thing and was so spooked he wanted to run. He’d already lifted his foot before remembering the frozen monk standing beside him. In a panic, he fished out a money pouch and shoved it into the master’s arms without another word, muttering “just a token of appreciation” as he dashed off, nearly two miles away in a flash.