So the window lattice is so soft—could you close your eyes and pretend you’re gnawing on braised, tender bones?

The rays of the setting sun shone through the gap in the window paper, the light hazy and shimmering, motes of dust drifting in the air...

Why did it look a bit like the cooked flour that floats up when you flip noodles in a wok?

That thought made him wipe his mouth.

He was truly at his wit’s end.

He tucked the coins into his inner pocket and took out the letter left by his cheap master.

To be honest, this letter was quite impressive.

The envelope felt soft and slick, as if it were carefully crafted from animal hide, with cloud patterns and other motifs drawn along the edges.

It looked beautiful.

But the words on it were intimidating: “Do not open unless in utter desperation.”

Considering he was now so hungry he wanted to gnaw on the window lattice and inhale dust to fill his belly, this probably counted as utter desperation.

So opening it now should be totally fine—right?

He mulled it over, but in the end, he couldn’t resist the pitiful rumbling of his stomach and simply tore open the envelope.

A sheet of rough paper densely covered in tiny characters appeared before him.

All the writing was in traditional Chinese, and Samuel could only half-guess and half-figure it out as he read.

It was a message from his cheap master.

The letter said that staying in such a remote mountain temple was to keep a promise and wait for a destined moment.

But the destined moment never came, and now the land of Jiuzhou was facing a calamity unseen in a thousand years. His junior brother had also encountered a life-and-death crisis while driving corpses, so he decided to descend the mountain to save the world.

The more he read, the more disappointed he became.

But when he reached the end of the letter, Samuel's eyes finally lit up.

The last line on the letter read: “Disciple, you should know—the plaque under the temple gate is made of rosewood. Behind the plaque, I have carefully sun-dried some jerky, which can stave off hunger.”

This information made him slap his thigh in excitement!

No wonder he’d turned the entire temple upside down these past few days—he’d almost searched the outhouse—yet hadn’t found a single grain of rice. Turns out, the only food left in the temple was stored outside!

So sneaky!

He happily dragged a table over, climbed up, and reached behind the plaque above the temple gate. He’d never eaten meat with a rosewood flavor before.

But when he reached, he found nothing.

Only a bit of oil on his fingers.

But where was the meat?

My! Jer-ky! Where is it!

Where did it go?

Did the plaque eat it?

Samuel blankly pulled out the letter and looked at it again. Only under the sunlight did he notice there was more writing on the back.

He continued reading, and the very first line was: “It was delicious. To prevent the existence of the jerky from distracting your cultivation, I took it all with me. You needn’t worry about it anymore—just focus on your studies...”

His heart died!

Samuel lifted his head in despair.

A dilapidated temple came into view.

The Four-Eyed Temple was tiny, with a small courtyard, three rooms lined up in a row, and a stone path leading from the gate to the main hall.

The courtyard was split in half by the path—one side had a few peach trees, the other was piled with broken junk.

So shabby and ancient it was outrageous!

Speechless, he turned to look toward the western sky.

The setting sun was sinking, red clouds spreading across the sky, mountain mist drifting like orange gauze...

The beauty before his eyes shook his soul, and he couldn’t help but sigh, “Sunset industry! After all this transmigration, I still ended up in a sunset industry!”

Listlessly, he returned to the main hall of the temple, and for a moment, a wave of sorrow washed over him.

The mountain wind was cold at dusk, and the main hall was drafty on all sides.

The wind whistled through the cracks in the window lattice, making a “woo woo” sound, blowing the torn white window paper so it fluttered, some pieces so thin and brittle they were lifted into the air.

Like shredded spirit money.

The envelope was blown about the floor, and he lazily went to pick it up and pressed it down with the incense burner. Just then, a knocking sound came from behind him:

“Bang bang bang, bang bang bang!”

He jerked his head toward the main gate.

A big, fat middle-aged man was standing at the door, carrying a thin, white-haired old man on his back.

Both were dressed oddly, wearing long, stand-collared robes that Samuel had never seen in real life.

The two robes were the same color and style, with matching cuffs and lapels, and the same cloth buttons at the collar—clearly made by the same hand.

The middle-aged man leaned on a cane, holding onto the doorframe, panting heavily, his face tinged with black.

The old man lay slumped on his back, head drooping, arms hanging down, the skin on his hands wrinkled and dry like chicken skin, bluish-white and utterly bloodless.

The sun was setting.