After finishing his words, he leapt up, slung the luggage over one shoulder, grabbed Henry Carter with the other hand, stretched out his two reed-like legs, and, with his long neck bobbing like a wild pheasant, scurried away in a panic.

Unfortunately, the rain came too quickly. Even a long-necked pheasant couldn’t escape the fate of becoming a drenched chicken.

Ethan Clark tucked Henry Carter into his arms, stripped off his now-soaked outer robe to cover the little boy as best he could, and dashed madly while shouting, “Oh no, this rain is pouring! Oh, where are we supposed to hide?”

In his life, Henry Carter had commanded countless beasts and birds for transportation—but this was probably the bumpiest and most talkative “mount” he’d ever ridden.

The sounds of wind, rain, and thunder mixed with his master’s noisy chatter, and with his master’s robe draped over his head, Henry Carter could see nothing but darkness. Yet, he caught a faint, indescribable woody scent from the sleeve.

His master held him tightly against his chest with one arm, always keeping a hand protectively over Henry Carter’s head. The old man’s sharp bones pressed painfully against him, but the embrace and protection were undeniably real.

For some reason, even though this long-necked “chicken” had just shamelessly tricked him, Henry Carter felt a natural closeness to him.

Wrapped in Ethan Clark’s coat, Henry Carter silently peered through the seams at his rain-soaked master, experiencing for the first time in his life the treatment a child ought to receive. He savored the moment, willingly accepted his master, and made up his mind—even if this master was full of nonsense and unorthodox tricks, he would forgive him.

Riding on his bony master, Henry Carter finally arrived, soaked, at a dilapidated Daoist temple.

During the late emperor’s reign, a large-scale “Daoist Purge” had cleared out many shady sects, leaving behind quite a few abandoned temples. These later became shelters for homeless beggars and travelers who missed their lodgings.

Henry Carter poked his little head out from Ethan Clark’s coat and, looking up, locked eyes with the temple’s clay deity. The sight startled the clay idol itself—she had two buns on her head, a round face with no neck, cheeks painted bright red, and a huge gaping mouth full of crooked teeth, grinning widely.

His master saw it too and quickly raised a hand to cover Henry Carter’s eyes, indignantly scolding, “A pink jacket and a green robe—what a lewd and indecent outfit, and yet she dares to accept offerings here! Outrageous!”

Young Henry Carter, with limited experience, was both confused and a little shocked.

Ethan Clark righteously declared, “A cultivator should be pure and restrained, always mindful of words and deeds. Dressing up like an opera performer—what a disgrace!”

So he actually knew what “decorum” meant… Henry Carter looked at him with newfound respect.

Just then, a tantalizing aroma of meat wafted from behind the ruined temple, interrupting his master’s tirade about “purity and restraint.”

Ethan Clark’s Adam’s apple bobbed involuntarily, and he was at a loss for words. With a strange look, he led Henry Carter behind the indecent statue, where they saw a little beggar, only a year or two older than Henry Carter.

The little beggar, using some unknown tool, had dug a hole in the temple’s back hall and was roasting a fat beggar’s chicken inside. He cracked open the clay shell, releasing a mouthwatering aroma.

Ethan Clark swallowed again.

When a person is thin to a certain degree, some things become inconvenient—for example, when craving food, it’s hard for a skinny neck to hide instinctive reactions.

Ethan Clark set Henry Carter down and proceeded to demonstrate to his young disciple what it meant for a cultivator to “always be mindful of words and deeds.”

He first wiped the water from his face, put on the serene smile of a sage, and then, swaying gracefully, floated over to the little beggar. Right in front of Henry Carter, he launched into a long, flowery speech, painting a picture of a golden, well-fed, and well-dressed immortal sect overseas, leaving the little beggar starry-eyed.

Facing the big-headed, small-bodied little beggar, Ethan Clark coaxed warmly, “I see you have excellent potential. In the future, you might soar to the heavens or dive into the abyss—who knows what great fortune awaits you. Child, what is your name?”

Henry Carter thought this line sounded familiar.

Though the little beggar was quite streetwise, he was still young. Completely taken in by the master’s words, he sniffled and replied blankly, “Little Tiger. I don’t know my surname.”

“Then take my surname, Han,” Ethan Clark stroked his goatee, quietly establishing the master-disciple relationship. “I’ll give you a proper name—just one character, Yuan. How about it?”

Henry Carter: “……”

Samuel Foster, “Han Yuan”—which sounds like “grievance”… How auspicious and festive.

His master must have been starving; faced with the crispy, juicy beggar’s chicken, he was clearly talking nonsense.

☆ Chapter 3

Although Samuel Foster was a bit older than Henry Carter, by order of entry, he actually became Henry Carter’s fourth junior brother. Henry Carter only held the title of “last disciple” for a few days before becoming a senior.

Clearly, the back door of the Fuyao Sect wasn’t tightly shut.

As for that beggar’s chicken… naturally, most of it ended up in the master’s belly.