The Old Fisherman cursed furiously, "Damn it, such a big piece of flatbread still can't shut your mouth. You have food and yet you keep complaining, you little bastard. Starve you for three days and let's see if you don't find shit delicious..."

He seemed unable to stop once he started talking. Samuel Carter just laughed, biting into the dry bread with renewed energy, feeling a bit masochistic.

Ferrying people across the river only cost a few copper coins, but Samuel Carter generously gave The Old Fisherman a piece of broken silver. The Old Fisherman didn't feel the least bit guilty accepting it, pocketed it right away, and still wore the look of a creditor on his face, probably thinking the payment was too little. As soon as they reached the other side, The Old Fisherman couldn't wait to shoo him off: "Get lost, get lost, don't waste my time."

Samuel Carter lazily tossed the last piece of bread into his mouth, stretched, crawled out of the cabin, and mumbled, "Are you in a hurry to reincarnate?"

The Old Fisherman's eyes bulged like copper bells, looking as if he wanted to curse out all eighteen generations of Samuel Carter's ancestors, but then seemed to remember something and swallowed his words, rowing away in a huff.

It was just as well that this old guy didn't really make a living here; with such a fake identity, if he truly relied on ferrying, he'd be too poor to afford pants.

Watching the little boat wobble away, Samuel Carter finally said calmly, "Damn it."

He had spent half his life among a bunch of refined scoundrels, always speaking in roundabout, scholarly ways, never having cursed so openly in broad daylight. Yet, blurting it out now felt incredibly satisfying, as if all the stuffiness in his chest had been poured out.

He was surprised to find that cursing was actually such a pleasant thing, so he grinned and muttered quietly, "You old bastard, taking money and not doing your job, eating but not shitting for others."

After savoring the words, he felt his mood lighten and his mouth linger with the aftertaste, so he contentedly strolled along the riverbank.

Samuel Carter wandered east and west the whole day, and by nightfall, he had roamed outside the city. He found a small pond and finally washed off the stench even he could barely stand, scrubbing himself until he looked somewhat human again. Then, thinking to find a place to spend the night, he walked about a mile and saw a dilapidated, abandoned temple. He went inside, spread out some straw, curled up at the Buddha's feet, yawned, and fell asleep.

Even though he was at ease now and could sleep soundly until dawn as soon as his head touched the straw, as long as no one disturbed him, a burst of footsteps and voices nearby in the middle of the night still woke him up.

Three people appeared at the entrance of the abandoned temple, a strong smell of blood wafting in. Samuel Carter opened his eyes and frowned.

The injured man wore a bamboo hat, and it was unclear if he was conscious. He was being supported by a boy of about fourteen or fifteen, who seemed to have some martial arts skills but was clearly exhausted, panting like a sick ox as he struggled to hold up the wounded man. Beside them was an old woman dressed as a servant, clutching a cloth bundle, stumbling along in a half-run.

The moment the boy entered the temple, he looked around warily like a startled little animal. Samuel Carter was lying in the shadow of the Buddha statue, breathing so lightly that the boy didn't notice him at first. He whispered to the man in the bamboo hat, "Uncle Thompson, let's hide here for a while. I can check your wounds..."

Before he could finish, the half-dead man broke free from the boy, forced himself to stand straight, and cupped his fists in Samuel Carter's direction: "Cough... friend..."

As he lifted his head, his words stopped abruptly. Samuel Carter could see clearly now—it was the very same The Old Fisherman who had ferried him earlier, with knife wounds on both his chest and back, his whole body like a gourd of blood. Samuel Carter immediately sat up. "It's you?"

The Old Fisherman gave a bitter smile. "Damn, it's you, you beggar..."

Before he could finish, he collapsed forward. The boy hurried to catch him but was too weak and fell to the ground with him, his voice choked with tears: "Uncle Thompson..."

The Old Fisherman's whole body convulsed. Samuel Carter couldn't help but lean forward and saw that the blood oozing out had a strange purplish tint, and even his lips were iron blue. Samuel Carter frowned.

The Old Fisherman forced a smile and said in a low voice, "Are you even a man, whining so much? I... I'm not dead yet..."

The woman beside them wiped her tears and said, "Mr. Thompson, if anything happens to you, who will our young master rely on?"

The Old Fisherman glared at her, took a deep breath, and trembled as he said to the boy, "I... am a useless man... but I owed your father a debt of gratitude back then. I've repaid it with my life, and have nothing else left..." He started coughing, his body convulsing with each cough. "Boy, remember this..."