As they walked along, the city was indeed much livelier than usual, and the closer they got to the Luo Immortal Temple, the more bustling it became.

At the same time, there were many more people speaking with out-of-town accents.

This kind of temple fair happened once a year, sometimes large, sometimes small. Even the same fair could have “big years” and “small years.” It was said that the largest temple fairs could influence several prefectures, and when it was a “big year,” merchants and curious scholars from all over would set out half a month or even earlier to join in the festivities.

The Luo Immortal Temple Fair wasn’t particularly large, but thanks to the prosperity of local merchants in recent years, it was by no means small either.

Even in the early morning, many people had already claimed spots in the streets and alleys, setting up stalls and booths. Out-of-town accents were actually in the majority, and even the city patrol officers had switched from iron rulers to wearing swords at their waists.

Henry Walton saw quite a few people selling medicinal herbs and medicinal wine.

He asked about the prices, didn’t linger, stuck to the main roads and avoided the alleys, and quickly made his way to the old, established pharmacy in the city, Jishi Hall. Using the prices he’d asked about earlier as a reference, and since he was buying a lot, he managed to get a good discount from the shopkeeper.

By the time Henry Walton walked out with the medicine on his back, it was even livelier outside than before.

The street was packed with people, like a flowing river.

The noise was truly deafening, with all kinds of sounds drilling into his ears, making it impossible to distinguish anything for a moment.

Even in his previous life, he had rarely seen such excitement.

Henry Walton looked around, then swung his small basket to his front and tried to squeeze into the crowd.

Heading toward the Luo Immortal Temple, he hadn’t gone far before he saw a group of people gathered together. Standing on tiptoe, he could see a clearing in the middle, and from there came frequent exclamations—it seemed someone was performing magic tricks.

Chapter 7: The Trickster

There were too many people to squeeze through, so Henry Walton simply stood on the steps at the edge of the street, stood on tiptoe, and craned his neck to look.

Sure enough, someone was performing tricks.

He saw that the crowd had formed a square clearing about two zhang wide. In the middle was a wooden table, and in front of it sat a man in plain clothes. Before him were three bowls and a few peach pits, which he moved around under the bowls.

He was performing the “Three Immortals Return to the Cave” shell game.

The onlookers frequently cheered and made guesses, as if competing in wits with the trickster.

Henry Walton frowned slightly.

He had seen this kind of trick before; it mostly relied on sleight of hand and psychological misdirection. The more skillful the technique, the more impressive it was, and the better the performer understood the audience’s thinking.

Looking more closely, he frowned even deeper.

If the clearing were wide enough, with just one person and one table, and people surrounding them on all sides, and this man could still perform the trick smoothly, then in a world with monsters and magic, Henry Walton would have left open the possibility that “this person might really have something supernatural about him.” However, the table was set against a wall with its back to the street, and there were few people behind and to the side of the trickster. Several companions stood behind him, blocking the spots where flaws would be easiest to spot.

Henry Walton looked around in those directions.

Indeed, it was easier to see through the trick from the side and behind. Although there weren’t many people standing there, judging by their expressions, it seemed some had noticed something.

But perhaps they hadn’t seen clearly, or maybe they thought the performer’s skill was already impressive enough and saw no reason to ruin someone’s livelihood for no reason, so no one stepped forward to expose him.

Most of the audience, on the other hand, were thoroughly entertained.

After all, such lively occasions were rare, and such strange performances were seldom seen.

Henry Walton said nothing and continued to watch.

After a while, a bearded middle-aged man covered something with a colorful scarf, produced a copper basin, covered it again, and then produced water from the empty basin, followed by a brocade carp.

The crowd cheered again and again.

Many people’s eyes were wide open, shining with excitement.

After the fish-from-scarf trick, there was the “empty box produces objects” trick.

Not only did he produce fruits and vegetables, kittens and puppies, but he could even produce items that audience members had on them. Someone jokingly called for him to produce the red bellyband from the widow’s house at the end of the street, and he actually managed to do it.

Henry Walton was half-convinced, his brow tightly furrowed.

He held onto hope, and also patience.

As time passed, it grew later and the sun climbed higher, and the crowds in the street reached their peak.

On the clearing ahead, the trickster’s apprentice knelt on the ground collecting money, while the older trickster walked around and said:

“Thank you all for your support. We’ve come here and earned enough for our travel expenses. In the earlier performances, there were both real mystical skills and hard-practiced techniques. Thank you all for your enthusiastic support, and thanks as well to those discerning folks who saw through the tricks but didn’t call them out. I am grateful to you all.”

With that, he clasped his fists and bowed.

The crowd was thoroughly entertained, and hearing his pleasant words, they naturally called out for more, urging him to perform more good tricks.

“I haven’t had breakfast, my stomach’s growling, and I was thinking of taking a break to eat and drink some water. But since you all want to see more, of course we can’t disappoint our honored guests.”

With that, he waved to the side.

A boy of about thirteen or fourteen ran over. In this chilly early spring weather, he wore only a pair of pants, his upper body bare, so thin his ribs showed.

“Ladies and gentlemen! If you have money, please support us with some coins; if not, just give us your applause. I hope this show brings some good fortune to your days. The little one hasn’t performed many times, so don’t let him get too embarrassed!”

It was still the older trickster who clasped his hands and spoke.