"Exactly."

"Oh? And why is that? Tell me in detail!"

"Last night, we..."

Henry Walton then recounted everything truthfully, leaving nothing out.

Gradually, more and more people gathered in the main hall—mostly those with status or favor in the family—listening with wide eyes. Some people crowded around the doorway, leaning on the doorframe, all with faces full of curiosity.

Henry Walton patiently continued his story.

There were only follow-up questions, never interruptions.

He was forced to speak in even greater detail.

There were only held breaths, astonished looks, and at most a few scrutinizing gazes—no one openly questioned him.

"In the end, I woke up just before dawn."

Henry Walton finished earnestly, then sat still in his place.

At the head of the room, Old Master Bennett was silent for a moment, still pondering the last words the monster had said to Henry Walton.

"......"

In the end, he said nothing more, just took a sip of tea, then looked again at Henry Walton: "If that thing really is gone, then our Wang family truly owes you our thanks."

"It's not quite right to say that." Henry Walton thought for a moment, then replied seriously and honestly, "The reason it left today was, first, because of the old gentleman's reward method, which made it uneasy; then, because the scholar and the county butcher—both not easy to deal with—went in, making it feel things were getting troublesome. By the time it got to me, it was simply the right moment. It wasn't just my final push that did it."

"Heh heh..."

Old Master Bennett smiled at these words, then asked, "How old are you this year?"

"Just turned fifteen."

"Remarkable, remarkable..."

Old Master Bennett nodded repeatedly, then thought for a moment:

"Let's say you didn't lie today, and that thing didn't deceive you and has truly left. No matter what, the greatest credit is yours.

"Since even that demon remembered your filial piety toward your uncle, and our Wang family is well-known in these parts, we certainly can't be outdone by a demon. Besides, we're from neighboring villages. Your family is in such difficulty—if we have the means, both sentiment and reason say we should help.

"Here's what we'll do: last night, only you stayed the whole night, so I'll give you the other share of the reward as well, as a token of thanks. Also, your uncle's medical expenses will be covered by our Wang family.

"What do you think?"

After hearing Henry Walton's conversation with the monster in the ancestral hall, at some point, Old Master Bennett had shifted from putting on airs to taking Henry Walton much more seriously. Now, he even turned his head to consult him.

"Thank you, sir."

Henry Walton quickly stood up and bowed.

Modesty is one thing, honesty another—this was not something he could decline.

Old Master Bennett looked him over, and the more he looked, the more impressed he became. He then said, "Give him twenty taels of silver instead, so it's easier for him to carry."

"Thank you, sir."

"No need to rush home. Our Wang family has prepared a fine meal for you—please stay and eat before you go."

"I appreciate the thought. But after being out all night, my family must be worried. Besides, my uncle is bedridden and suffering, and my aunt and cousin have been tending to him tirelessly, cutting back on food and clothing. How could I dare to enjoy a good meal here?"

Henry Walton immediately declined.

"Very well."

Old Master Bennett still smiled, waving his hand: "Then prepare the food and wine and send it to your home later."

"I gratefully accept..."

"If you ever need help in the future, just come to us."

"Thank you, sir."

Henry Walton had nothing more to say, so he could only thank him repeatedly.

After a hazy, dreamlike night, Henry Walton now had three pieces of sycee silver in his pocket, each worth ten taels, with an extra piece for buying medicine. They weighed heavily, tugging at his coarse clothes. Bathed in the bright morning light, as Henry Walton walked out of the Wang family residence, he felt a sense of possession that was hard to describe.

He floated back to Shu Village, his steps light. The sense of wonder from last night's experience was not dispelled by the gain of money and possessions; instead, it grew stronger and more mysterious with time.

There was also a sense of unreality, as if he had lived through another lifetime.

On his way into the village, passing by the bridge pavilion at the corner, he saw the village elder and the group of children again.

Perhaps it was because he had barely slept last night, or because the struggle with the demon had drained him, or maybe because he had just glimpsed a strange side of the world and felt exhausted—Henry Walton couldn't help but stop, leaning against the wall, staring blankly in that direction.

The village elder was still telling tales of gods and ghosts.

The children were still listening intently.

The story drifted into Henry Walton's ears, and suddenly, all the stories he had ever heard seemed to swirl together in his mind.

Foxes, ghosts, good and evil, gods and spirits.

Cultivation, magic, immortals, eternal life.

A single golden elixir to ascend to the heavens;

A single evil deed to fall to the earth.

Half true, half false, half real, half illusion—existing only in the words of people.

The flavor of these stories is hard to describe in words; perhaps it can only be felt with the heart. They are not thrilling, nor strictly logical, but are strange and romantic, full of vivid imagery.

Henry Walton stood there involuntarily, listening in a daze, but his mind couldn't help but ponder that question—

What kind of world is this, really?