Seeing William Clark looking so dejected and pitiful, Old Preacher carried him into the inner room and laid him on the bed. With the heavy rain yesterday, there was no hope for dry quilts or anything— even the bamboo bed was soaked with rainwater.

“Old Preacher is already over a hundred years old, and still has to take care of a little brat like you. What a loss for this master to have taken you as a disciple.”

Fortunately, it was summer, so there was no risk of catching a chill. After settling William Clark in, Old Preacher turned around and went down the mountain again— of course, not without grumbling under his breath.

Over an hour later, Old Preacher returned to the temple carrying a fish and a hen. Seeing little William Clark sleeping soundly, he didn’t wake him, but instead started cleaning the fish and butchering the chicken, preparing a meal for William Clark.

“Master, what are you cooking? It smells so good!”

William Clark, who had been sleeping deeply, was roused by the delicious aroma wafting to his nose. Kids are full of energy— even though he’d lost a lot of blood yesterday, after a few hours of sleep, he was almost fully recovered.

“Wow, an old hen and fish soup! Master, you’re so good to me.”

Lifting the lid off the pot, William Clark exclaimed. He’d known Old Preacher for five or six years, but this was the first time he’d enjoyed such a treat.

“Seeing you got hurt, Old Preacher went down the mountain to buy you a fish…”

Hearing William Clark’s words, Old Preacher blushed a little. The fish was indeed bought, but the old hen had been conveniently snatched from a woodpile on his way up the mountain.

It wasn’t that Old Preacher was stingy, but first, he was short on money, and second, in the countryside, no one was willing to sell a laying hen.

As the saying goes, the older you get, the craftier you become— there wasn’t much Old Preacher didn’t know how to do. Even though he lacked seasonings, with a few mountain herbs, the chicken soup was fragrant and delicious.

After drinking the chicken soup, the pallor on William Clark’s little face finally faded a bit. His eyes darted around, and he looked at Old Preacher, asking, “Master, did you manage to collect any donations when you went down the mountain? If this temple doesn’t get repaired soon, I’m afraid you won’t even need a coffin when the time comes.”

“You little rascal, can’t you speak properly?”

Old Preacher’s face turned a little green at William Clark’s words. He wanted to scold him, but seeing William Clark’s injuries, he held back, straightened his face, and said, “Recite the Eye Chapter from ‘Physiognomy of the Hemp-Clad’, let me see if you’ve been slacking off.”

“Okay. ‘The eyes should be as bright as the sun and moon, phoenix eyes and dragon pupils must be clear, beware of yellow sclera and red veins, for a life of misfortune and failure.’”

Seeing Old Preacher’s stern expression, William Clark obediently began to recite, glancing at Old Preacher’s eyes as he did so, but in his mind he was wondering why this old guy didn’t have yellow sclera or red veins.

“Huh? What… what’s going on?”

Just as William Clark looked at Old Preacher, he suddenly felt a wave of dizziness in his head. It only lasted a few seconds, but when he returned to normal, William Clark realized that something new seemed to have appeared in his mind.

Chapter 003: Physiognomy

“What is this?”

After the dizzy spell, William Clark found that a palm-sized tortoise shell had appeared in his mind, densely engraved with all sorts of patterns.

When William Clark looked closely, the tortoise shell suddenly vanished, replaced by a line of seal script. But this wasn’t difficult for William Clark, since he’d been learning seal script from Old Preacher since he was five.

“Li Shanyuan, from Huayin, Shaanxi, born in 1880, three brothers, four sisters, became a Qing dynasty xiucai in 1896, disciple of the 49th generation inheritor of the ‘Mayan Divine Physiognomist’.”

Staring at these words that had inexplicably appeared in his mind, William Clark was dumbfounded. Just by glancing at Old Preacher, he seemed to know a lot of things all of a sudden?

Even if William Clark was slow, he knew this information must be related to Old Preacher, but as for whether it was true or not, he had no way of telling.

“Hallucination, it must be a hallucination. How could this old guy possibly look like someone over a hundred years old?”

William Clark might be mischievous, but he was a good student. Simple math like this was easy for him— born in 1880, that would make him 106 years old now? William Clark would never believe that this old rascal in front of him was really that old.

“Hmm? Why did you stop reciting?” Old Preacher, who had been listening to William Clark recite the scripture with his eyes closed, swaying his head, heard the voice stop and opened his eyes in displeasure.

William Clark hadn’t quite recovered yet, so he casually made up an excuse: “Ahem, Master, I’ve been able to recite these since I was five. Can I stop now?”

“You’re too young, I can’t teach you the deeper stuff yet, it would go against the natural order. These are the basics, you must master them.”

Hearing William Clark’s words, Old Preacher habitually reached out his right hand, wanting to knock William Clark on the head, but seeing his injuries, he reluctantly pulled his hand back.

William Clark might be young, but he was clever. He didn’t tell Old Preacher about the information in his mind, but instead said, “Master, I’ve been learning from you for years now. How about I do a divination for you today?”

“You?”

Old Preacher turned his head, giving William Clark a sidelong glance, and said, “You haven’t even learned to walk, and you want to run? How are you going to do it? Palm reading or face reading?”

The reason Old Preacher asked this was because he’d only taught William Clark some basic knowledge. As for more advanced things like bone structure, complexion, and posture, William Clark was still too young to learn.