Henry Walton couldn’t help but continue pondering—

How could he make it reveal more?

Where could he find cultivation techniques and spells?

There was a Temple of the Three Goddesses in the village, dedicated to the Three Goddess spirits, said to be quite effective. The temple keeper was someone he knew—a perfectly ordinary widow from the village, who, after losing her support, took on the task of tending the temple. She swept the temple and wiped the statues daily, using incense money to buy rice, vegetables, meat, and cloth. This was considered a kindness from the elders of the Shu family in the village, looking after her. In truth, the woman didn’t know any spells or possess any supernatural abilities.

At least, that was how it seemed to Henry Walton.

As he thought about it, his mind drifted back to last night.

That monster—he still didn’t know what it was. But after spending the whole night dealing with it, it didn’t seem all that different from a person. In fact, on closer reflection, it was even more interesting than many people Henry Walton knew in the village.

How many demons and ghosts are there in this world?

Are they all like this?

Or are they all sorts of strange and wonderful things?

How much truth is there in those tales of the supernatural, and how much is fiction?

With his mind wandering through all sorts of thoughts, he eventually fell asleep.

Until he was woken up by his aunt to eat.

For an ordinary family that had just suffered illness and hardship, the food was naturally extremely simple. But knowing that Henry Walton had gone to the Wang family ancestral hall in Heng Village last night and spent the night with a demon, and seeing that he looked a bit drained today, plus the fact that they’d received thirty taels of silver from the Wang family—which solved their immediate crisis—his aunt still cooked a pot of fish porridge and boiled an egg meant for his uncle, letting him nourish himself.

“Auntie, you don’t need to worry. Of these thirty taels of silver today, twenty were given by the Wang family as thanks, and ten were given by Old Master Wang for medicine. Old Master Wang said they’ll take care of uncle’s illness.”

“They’re just being polite—how can you take it seriously?”

The woman already showed clear signs of age, with many wrinkles, and her brow was furrowed tightly.

“Old Master Wang has always loved to do good deeds and cares a lot about his reputation. Besides, his descendants are officials in the capital. Since he’s promised, he won’t go back on his word lightly.”

“Mother is right. How can we pin all our hopes on others?” his cousin chimed in, his face dark and thin. “If this money is enough to cure the illness, that would be best.”

“That’s true…”

Henry Walton lowered his head to eat, more or less agreeing.

Then the two of them reminded him again that he must never do such things in the future, saying things like he carried the hopes of the Lin family and had to answer to his father. He just listened quietly.

His mind was still a bit foggy…

But with trouble at home, how could there be any peace for recuperation?

His cousin ate the fastest, and after finishing, went to take care of uncle. Henry Walton took his basket and sickle and went out to cut grass.

The grass was for feeding cattle.

But not the Lin family’s cattle—these were the village’s cattle.

Not any one family’s, either, because except for Henry Walton’s family upstream of Jiyang Creek, the rest of the village was basically one big family. Strict clan and filial piety ethics bound them all together, inseparable. Having the Lin family cut grass and tend the cattle was like having that widow serve as the temple keeper at the Temple of the Three Goddesses—it was the Shu family’s kindness and care for them.

Henry Walton didn’t mind cutting grass.

He had free time anyway—work is work, whatever it is.

But today he felt a bit weak, his mind drifting with thoughts, so he cut slowly. Only when his back ached and the basket was full did he head home.

On the way, he was spotted by a group of children.

“Hey! William Walton!”

“Who? It really is Edward Walton!”

“William Walton, didn’t you say you were going to the haunted Wang family ancestral hall in Heng Village? Did you go?”

“When did you go?”

Before Henry Walton could answer, he heard another voice behind him:

“Henry Walton.”

Henry Walton turned around with his basket and saw an old man leaning on a cane, looking at him with concern. “I heard you didn’t come home last night. Did you really go to Heng Village?”

“I did.”

Henry Walton could only answer truthfully.

“To the ancestral hall?”

“Yes.”

“How was it? Did you encounter anything?”

“Grandpa Turner…”

Henry Walton looked at the village elder—the one who had told him many tales of the supernatural, and who had pointed him toward the Wang family ancestral hall yesterday. He paused for a long time, lost in thought, and finally sighed:

“There really are demons and ghosts in this world…”

That one sentence was filled with emotion, his tone carrying a brand new understanding of the world.

And all of it had happened in just one night.

“You really encountered one?”

The old man, seeing his expression, looked at him with deep feeling as well. “Well, so be it. The world is vast and full of wonders. Don’t be afraid, and especially don’t scare yourself. Get plenty of rest—it’s nothing!”

“Grandpa Turner…”

“What is it?”

“You said, since there are demons and ghosts in the world, are there immortals? Is there cultivation and magic?”

“Of course there are immortals! If there weren’t, what have we been worshipping all these years?” the old man answered without hesitation. “As for those masters and their arts, once you go out into the world, with time, you’ll see a bit of everything—real and fake alike. It’s up to you to tell the difference.”

So, in other words, they do exist.

“Then where can I see these masters and their arts?”

“That depends on fate.”