Bathed in the moonlight, with the mountain wind billowing his robes, the young Taoist carrying a sword strode forward along the path, soon spotting an ancient, weathered Taoist temple.

Outside the temple, the walls clearly bore the mottled marks of time, with one side covered in climbing ivy. The golden paint on the plaque above had peeled off, leaving only the hollow traces of the three characters “德云观”.

Henry Thompson pushed open the door and entered. The spacious front courtyard was paved with blue bricks, and in the center stood a large bronze cauldron, with three thick millennium incense sticks inserted inside. Beyond the front yard was the Hall of the Three Pure Ones.

On the altar inside the hall were enshrined golden statues of the Three Pure Ones. Henry Thompson casually nodded toward the altar, as if to greet them, and then walked straight past.

As a soul from the modern world, even after arriving in a land of supernatural powers and strange happenings, he still couldn’t muster much reverence for these deities.

Henry Thompson’s thinking was simple: if believing in you could truly grant my wishes, then I would certainly believe. If not, then sorry, we’ll just go our separate ways.

On his very first day here, he had made a wish to return home, but clearly, it hadn’t come true…

The backyard was much smaller and far messier, with a dirt ground, an old locust tree with lush branches and leaves in the corner, a well sealed with a stone cover beneath the tree, and a stone table and stools beside the well. Even in the dog days of summer, the area around the well was icy cold, and sitting nearby felt like facing an open refrigerator door, so the master and disciple often cooled off and chatted here.

There were three small rooms in the courtyard: one for Brian Sullivan, one for Henry Thompson, and the other was the kitchen—which also counted as Henry Thompson’s.

Henry Thompson tiptoed into the small courtyard and quietly returned to his own bedroom, afraid of disturbing his master.

His master, the abbot of 德云观, Brian Sullivan, was a true man of the Dao—at least, according to his own account.

Mr. Sullivan claimed that in his youth, he had roamed the martial world, vanquishing demons and upholding the Dao, committing many acts of killing, which was why he had come to this small temple to live in seclusion, vowing never to take another life.

Whenever the mood struck him, he would tell Henry Thompson stories from his younger days: drinking wine and slaying demons in Zhaoge, riding the waves to kill a flood dragon in the East Sea, opening the Heavenly Gate under the moon in Kunlun… The mystical and grand scenes were too many to count, leaving one in awe!

As a result, Henry Thompson’s highest aspiration in his daily grind of fighting monsters and leveling up was to become a great cultivator like his master.

After a simple wash, he ended a tiring yet fulfilling day, undressed and went to bed, ready to sleep. In an era without cell phones or the internet, his sleep was actually much more restful.

Thinking of how his weak self had taken another step closer to his powerful master, a satisfied smile appeared on Henry Thompson’s face…

Chapter Two: Peaceful Years at 德云观

Early the next morning, the dawn was glorious.

Henry Thompson’s energy had been growing stronger lately; even with only two hours of sleep each night, he didn’t feel tired. As soon as he stepped outside, he saw his master sitting absentmindedly on the stone stool in the courtyard.

Brian Sullivan, about fifty years old, showed not the slightest sign of age. Dressed in neat blue robes, with his hair tied in twin buns, he sat upright beneath the tree, exuding an aura of immortality and Daoist grace. Just then, a gentle breeze rustled the leaves overhead, and the air of a true master seemed to overflow from the scene.

Seeing Henry Thompson come out, he glanced over and said, “Not bad, my disciple, your cultivation has improved again.”

Henry Thompson secretly marveled—sure enough, his master’s sharp eyes never missed his level-ups. He nodded and replied, “Just a little progress, thank you for your praise, Master.”

“With your current cultivation, you’re almost catching up to where I was at your age. You must keep working hard and not grow complacent,” Brian Sullivan said calmly.

Hearing this, Henry Thompson was quite encouraged and quickly said, “I understand, Master!”

Brian Sullivan nodded slightly, a satisfied smile on his face.

Earlier, Brian Sullivan had said that his sect’s core technique could only be practiced by those with a once-in-a-century Heavenly Spiritual Root, so he couldn’t pass it on to Henry Thompson, which had left Henry Thompson quite disappointed.

Fortunately, he later discovered his own ability to level up by fighting monsters, and thus began his path of cultivation. He had never dared to hope to catch up to Brian Sullivan, so today’s high praise was truly an unexpected delight.

After a simple breakfast, the master and disciple ate together, and then Henry Thompson changed into a proper Taoist robe and went to the front hall.

After all, as a Taoist priest, his main daytime duty was to sit on a meditation cushion in the Hall of the Three Pure Ones, waiting for worshippers to arrive.

Brian Sullivan didn’t need to wait here—first, because he was the abbot, and second, because 德云观 had so few visitors that it was common to go half a day without seeing a soul.

Even when someone did come, it was usually a poor villager from nearby, who couldn’t offer much incense money, so there was no need for him to greet them in person.

Only when those few well-known, generous patrons arrived would Henry Thompson run to the backyard to invite his master out.

Usually, with his rich, resonant voice and eloquence, Brian Sullivan could secure enough for the two of them to live on for a month.

At such times, Henry Thompson would always sigh behind him—now that’s what you call professionalism!

No wonder he was the idol of all the middle-aged and elderly women in Yuhang Town.

At this moment, this very idol was sitting with Daoist grace at the stone table, engrossed in flipping through an illustrated book.

The wind fluttered the pages, and as they drifted up and down, a few large characters could be seen on the cover, vaguely resembling “lamp”, “grass”, and “monk”.

…

Sitting upright on the meditation cushion.