Chapter 553: The Lucky Star Monk

Approaching the edge of the Bund, Zheng Xiu looked at his hands, which glowed with a faint, treasure-like light and were as white as fine jade. His confidence soared, and he forcefully plunged them into the dense fog.

A shocking elasticity repelled Zheng Xiu’s hands. He felt a terrifying resistance.

Zheng Xiu wasn’t surprised by this. He nodded, abandoning the idea of breaking through to the outside from here.

The very fact that he called this place a “Rift” implied the existence of a boundary. To travel between the various Bunds via these Rifts, Zheng Xiu could currently only rely on Post Stations; he could not yet pass through unimpeded.

‘Behind the dense fog… is that the Darkness?’

This question gradually solidified into a strong conviction in Zheng Xiu’s mind. He was almost certain that the Darkness lay behind the dense fog.

‘Speaking of which, Cat called the Path a “Bund.” Could the scenery inside the Darkness be a “sea”?’

As Zheng Xiu mulled this over, he quickly found the exit leading directly to the Monk Post Station.

RIIIP!

As he entered the distortion, the space before him twisted like a kaleidoscope, splitting into dazzling, disorienting patches of bizarre colors.

POP~

SPLASH!

The moment Zheng Xiu stepped out of the Rift, the sound of a torrential downpour filled his ears.

DRIP. DRIP. DRIP.

Water dripped inside the building. A figure was crouched warily in a corner, clutching a wooden stick and staring at him nervously. The figure’s smooth, bald head gleamed in the dim light.

“Monk?”

“Brother?”

In the ruined temple, after months apart, the two brothers were reunited.

The Monk was filthy. His robe was riddled with holes and tears, and his straw sandals were in tatters, barely clinging to his heels. His toes were covered in calluses that had formed over old blisters.

Over a campfire, a battered pot of water was boiling. The Monk used a chipped, broken bowl to ladle a serving for Zheng Xiu. A few stray, green wild vegetable leaves floated on top. This appeared to be the Monk’s dinner; there wasn’t a single drop of oil in it.

Zheng Xiu stared, dumbfounded, at the bowl of vegetable soup. “This is all you’re eating?”

The Monk rubbed his head sheepishly, grinning. “Brother Zheng, don’t be fooled by the few leaves. The broth is quite sweet.”

Zheng Xiu surveyed his surroundings.

The ruined temple was drafty and leaking. It was pouring outside, but the corner where the Monk was squatting happened to be under an intact section of the roof, keeping him dry. Puddles had already formed all over the temple floor. If the rain got any heavier, it wouldn’t be long before the Monk’s spot was flooded too.

Zheng Xiu took a sip. The vegetable soup was so bland it made his face turn pale, but he swallowed it anyway, not wanting to offend the Monk. ‘I’ve been eating nothing but delicacies lately,’ he thought. ‘I’ll just treat this late-night snack as a palate cleanser.’

During their life on the run before the Cannibal Painting incident, the Monk had witnessed Zheng Xiu’s “Divine Travel” ability, so he wasn’t surprised by his friend’s ghost-like appearance. What he didn’t know was that Zheng Xiu had appeared in his true Main Body this time, which was slightly different from his usual method of using an Incarnation for Divine Travel.

The Monk didn’t ask, and Zheng Xiu couldn’t be bothered to explain. He downed two bowls of the soup, thinking, ‘You know, after eating so much rich food, a simple, clear soup like this is actually a nice change of pace.’ He then casually asked, “Where’s your horse?”

The Monk was taken aback. “What horse?”

Zheng Xiu stared at the Monk. “No wonder you’re traveling so slowly! Don’t tell me,” Zheng Xiu didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, “you walked this whole way on your own two feet?”

The Monk understood. He smiled faintly, placed his palms together, and said with serene acceptance, “It is this Little Monk’s path.”

‘An Ascetic Monk through and through.’ As a Mystic Monk, he had endured so much—he’d even nearly had his own personality usurped by an alter ego. His life was the very definition of hardship. And yet, while other Ascetic Monks gritted their teeth and suffered, this Monk seemed to revel in it. After a moment, Zheng Xiu understood his mindset. He looked at that smooth, bald head, remembering the Ghostly Realm called Qixin Town that resided within it, and wondered if he should find an opportunity to go in and take a look.

‘But how could a Ghostly Realm appear inside a person’s head?’

‘If they hadn’t known each other so well, he would have just gone in without a second thought. But now that they were close friends, Zheng Xiu felt his hands were tied. He couldn’t act rashly. You can’t just go barging into someone’s head. What if he went in, caused a ruckus, and turned the Monk into an idiot?’

As Zheng Xiu drank the vegetable soup, he suddenly recalled the words of the Knife Seller, Sun Erming: “When Zheng Shan kills his dearest friend with his own hands, I will come in person to collect the knife’s price.”

Zheng Xiu’s heart trembled. ‘Damn it all, he couldn’t have been talking about this, could he? If I rashly enter Qixin Town, will I end up killing the Monk?’

Although the soup was bland, it warmed them both. By the light of the fire, the Monk excitedly told Zheng Xiu about his travels, while Zheng Xiu listened with a heavy heart.

For the Monk, his life had only truly begun in General Town. For over twenty years before that, the “Fan Yao” personality had occupied his body. That is, until Fan Yao, under the identity of Lou Mengkong in the World in the Painting, was taken away by the Darkness…

“Is Fan Yao really dead?” Zheng Xiu suddenly interjected, thinking of him.

“This Little Monk can no longer hear his voice,” the Monk replied serenely. Suddenly, his expression changed, becoming mischievous. He giggled strangely. “Ooh, look at him, so concerned about our little Monk!”

In the blink of an eye, the Monk’s face changed again. His gaze turned coy and tender as he shot a flirtatious glance at Zheng Xiu. “A girl like me just adores a man so faithful and true.”

An instant later, the Monk’s face contorted with rage, his eyes bulging. “Get lost, you shameless hussy! Go be a slut somewhere else! And stop your damn yapping here!”

Zheng Xiu calmly set his bowl down. To an outsider, the scene—a bizarre monk in a ruined temple during a torrential storm—would look like the setup for a classic ghost story. But Zheng Xiu knew that “others” lived inside the Monk. He looked at the “fierce bandit” personality that had just emerged and smiled. “Alright, everyone, stop arguing. This is a rare chance for me and the Monk to catch up. So, brothers and sisters, how about you do me a favor and let the Monk come back out?”