Jason Bolton is notoriously stingy; as long as the news is confirmed to be true, perhaps a gift could secure a spot to stay.

Unfortunately, the little money he just managed to save is about to be gone again. Brian Bolton had just left the Dao Registry Office and hadn’t gone far.

Behind him, two sweeping Daoists, their eyes shifty, glanced at his bulging chest and both paused their movements.

The two exchanged a look, quietly picked up their brooms, and followed Brian Bolton without drawing attention.

These two were tall and muscular; sweeping here was just a pretense—their real job was to stake out and see which disciples would come to offer bribes.

They had all heard the news spreading from Qinghe Palace.

This was a decision handed down by the highest supervisor, second only to the palace master, and no one could change it.

As soon as the news spread, those with connections used them, those with money prepared it, and those like them, who didn’t have enough, could only think of crooked ways.

They had already scoped out which disciples in the palace had backgrounds and which didn’t.

Now, seeing Brian Bolton, who wasn’t one of the disciples with connections they remembered, they immediately understood.

The two followed closely behind Brian Bolton, getting closer and closer.

Soon, the three of them walked into the alleyway between two main halls.

As they walked, one of them suddenly rammed into Brian Bolton’s back from behind.

Thud.

Brian Bolton stumbled forward from the impact.

He quickly steadied himself and turned to look behind.

But just then, the two Daoists lunged at him, one in front and one behind, trapping him.

“Hey kid, you stole my money and still dare show your face here!”

The taller, darker-skinned Daoist pointed at Brian Bolton and shouted.

“...” Brian Bolton followed his gaze to his own chest and understood their intent.

Both men were bigger and stronger than him; facing them head-on, he was clearly no match.

This place was narrow and deserted, and he didn’t have any friends loyal enough to help. The chances of keeping his money were slim.

So... after a moment’s silence, Brian Bolton suddenly raised his right hand, reaching for his hairpin.

“What are you doing!”

Suddenly, a crisp female voice called out from behind.

Brian Bolton froze mid-action and stopped.

The two Daoists, about to pounce, also halted.

The three of them looked toward the voice and saw two young girls, one tall and one short, quickly walking into the alley.

The one who had just spoken was a delicate girl with a red hair ribbon in a bun.

“Senior Sister Shaw!”

Brian Bolton recognized her as the only daughter of the instructor in charge of the menial disciples—Emily Shaw.

“You two!”

Emily Shaw ignored Brian Bolton and instead fixed her gaze on the two burly Daoists.

Before she could finish, the two, sensing trouble, turned and ran.

The two Daoists dashed out of the alley in a flash and disappeared in an instant.

Emily Shaw wanted to chase after them and teach them a lesson, but they vanished in a blink, making her stomp her foot in frustration.

“Let’s go, William Quinn!”

She called to the other girl, and as they passed Brian Bolton, she didn’t even glance at him.

As if he didn’t exist at all.

The two wore long blue skirts with white short jackets over them, a lock of long hair swaying behind as they quickly left the alley.

“Brian Bolton thanks Senior Sister Shaw.”

Brian Bolton didn’t mind her attitude; regardless of Emily Shaw’s reasons, help was help.

He clasped his fists with both hands and bowed deeply in the direction the two had left.

Chapter 3: The Situation (Part 1)

In the alley, Brian Bolton watched in the direction Emily Shaw and her companion had left, not turning away until their figures had completely disappeared.

Along the way, he frequently encountered disciples in light blue Daoist robes with white jackets over them.

Each time, he would stop, step aside, and bow his head in greeting.

Within Qinghe Palace, disciples were divided into cultivation disciples and menial disciples.

Strictly speaking, menial disciples were considered temporary workers and could be dismissed at any time.

But cultivation disciples were different, so the rules of etiquette were extremely strict.

Any breach of etiquette could result in punishment—at best, facing the wall in reflection and doing the hardest labor; at worst, dozens of strokes with the staff, or even being beaten to death and thrown off the mountain.

Brian Bolton soon arrived at the laundry room and, together with a dozen other menial workers, began sorting through the buckets of dirty clothes brought in.

Robes, Daoist crowns, flat shoes, tall boots, belts, and so on—everything that needed cleaning was dumped here.

After a hard day’s work, it wasn’t until after ten-thirty at night that they finally finished and could rest.

As soon as it ended, Brian Bolton didn’t linger. With the money tucked in his chest, he headed straight for the Dao Registry Office.

Before long, he came out of the office, his silver wallet completely deflated. The two taels of silver he had saved for so long were almost gone.

He breathed a sigh of relief and looked ahead.

At night, Qinghe Palace was lit everywhere with oil lamps and candlelight.

From the direction of the three main halls and the Daoist training grounds, faint chanting could still be heard—not from the Daoists, but from some devout incense-offering guests staying in the palace, reciting scriptures.

They were chanting the Infinite Measure Heart Sutra.

Brian Bolton followed the cobblestone path toward the disciples’ dormitory area at the back.

The sound of the evening drum, dong dong dong, drifted from afar, rising and falling with the wind.

Along with the wind, waves of a certain grilled meat aroma also wafted over.