Serious monks would never end up in such a situation; anyone claiming to be homeless and without a temple is, nine times out of ten, living off ill-gotten gains—in other words, a charlatan.

Counselor gave him a once-over, his expression tinged with sarcasm. Then, putting on a show of seriousness, he shook the notice in his hand and ordered someone to bring the lantern closer, comparing it to Gavin Clark one by one.

Henry Grant, busying himself in the secret pouch, heard every word and immediately felt a bit gleeful: Serves you right, you bald fraud, for squatting in someone else’s place—now you’re about to get raided yourself! Serves you right!

He didn’t find anything useful to him in the secret pouch—aside from a peach branch and two firestones, there was only a cloth bundle. He carefully felt along the inside of the bundle; it seemed to contain some needles of various lengths. In short, none of it was what he wanted. Henry Grant instantly lost interest in lingering any longer and decided to slip out of the secret pouch while the monk wasn’t paying attention.

He was fairly confident in this regard. As long as he didn’t want to be noticed, ordinary people would never detect his movements. Henry Grant picked the moment when Counselor started speaking again, stretched himself into an extremely thin sheet, and inched upward along a small gap in the secret pouch.

But just as he poked his head out, everything went black—

That damned bald monk actually raised his hand in time and pressed his paper head back down with a single finger!

Henry Grant: "..."

This naturally rebellious troublemaker was so infuriated by being pressed down that he rolled around irritably in the secret pouch, grabbed a needle from the cloth bag, and jabbed it right at the bald monk’s lower back.

Gavin Clark: "..."

Just as Henry Grant was about to stir up trouble in secret, the Counselor blocking Gavin Clark finished comparing the notice, frowned, and shook his head: "No, that’s not right..."

"Not right?" The constables behind him glanced at the notice as well.

"The age doesn’t match—way off," said Counselor. "He doesn’t really look like him either... From a distance, maybe a little, but up close in the lantern light, he’s way too young. Besides, the one we’re supposed to catch is said to be a very formidable high monk. This master..."

Counselor’s gaze instinctively circled Gavin Clark’s waist, glancing at the dusty string of copper coins. Though he didn’t say it outright, his expression was obvious—this one’s clearly a rookie, the coins haven’t even been worn smooth yet... A high monk? What a joke!

No one would show any respect to a charlatan so easily seen through.

After glancing at his string of coins, Counselor’s expression was openly disdainful. He waved his hand at Gavin Clark and said, "Alright, nothing to do with you, little master. Move along."

Gavin Clark lifted his foot and left, as if the whole scene just now was nothing more than a leaf brushing past—just shake it off, nothing to do with him.

But after taking two steps, he glanced indifferently at Counselor’s face and said coolly, "You won’t live long."

In the secret pouch, where Henry Grant was hatching a new plan, his movements faltered and he nearly tore himself apart: "..." Wonderful, no need to waste any effort—the bald monk is practically begging for death now!

But with that slip, he accidentally pressed himself against the base of Gavin Clark’s spine, and for some reason, he suddenly felt something in his mind buzz—like someone had struck a great bell inside his head.

Chapter 4 Paper Man (Part Four)

Henry Grant was so stunned by the sudden jolt that he drifted back to the bottom of the secret pouch, dazed and suspicious.

He stayed quiet for a while, then inched his way back to the same spot inside Gavin Clark’s secret pouch. Pressing against the rough white linen, he listened, then, not convinced, felt up and down again, but nothing happened this time.

"Could it have been the effect of that needle just now?" Henry Grant muttered to himself, picking up the fine needle again.

"Ah—what just poked me?" Nathaniel Sullivan grumbled in a muffled voice. "What on earth are you up to?"

Henry Grant suddenly realized something and asked in confusion, "How come you can talk again?"

At this, Nathaniel Sullivan was also taken aback.

That’s right, the time of day has already passed—by rights, he shouldn’t be able to speak or move, so how could he suddenly talk again?

Could it be related to that jolt just now? But that can’t be. Before that, Nathaniel Sullivan had already spoken; it’s just that neither of them had noticed.

Or... could it be that the bald monk really is hiding something good? Henry Grant thought to himself, growing even more curious. Without another word, he jabbed Gavin Clark’s lower back with the needle again.

Just as Gavin Clark was about to step out of the crowd, he paused: "..."

To be so brazen even after being captured—Henry Grant was probably the first, and truly a rare talent.

Gavin Clark frowned and pulled out the restless paper man from the secret pouch. Folded several times, Henry Grant had twisted himself into a bit of a mess, but at a glance, he was just about the size of a folded letter, not remotely human-shaped, so no one else could tell what he was.

Gavin Clark unceremoniously pinched the head of the paper Grant and tried to pluck off the silver needle "stuck" to the paper.

But the needle was stuck quite firmly, as if it had grown into the paper.

Gavin Clark lowered his gaze and said coldly to the paper man, "Let go."