Thomas Baker grew more and more irritated at his words, dismounted in a huff, and ordered Samuel Baker to fetch paper and brush from the bundle. He drew water from the stream, ground ink on a stone, and wrote a letter of expulsion, handing it to The Traveler and saying, “Monkey! Take this as proof. I no longer want you as my disciple! If I ever see you again, I’ll fall into Avīci Hell!” The Traveler hurriedly accepted the letter and said, “Master, no need to swear. Old Sun will leave now.” He folded the letter and tucked it into his sleeve, then gently pleaded with Thomas Baker, “Master, after all, I’ve followed you for some time and received the Bodhisattva’s guidance. Now, to give up halfway without achieving any merit—please, sit and accept my bow, so I can leave with peace of mind.” Thomas Baker turned away, ignoring him, muttering, “I am a good monk; I won’t accept the courtesy of a villain like you!” The Great Sage, seeing he was ignored, used his magic: he plucked three hairs from behind his head, blew on them with immortal breath, and cried, “Transform!” Instantly, three more The Traveler appeared, making four in total, who surrounded the master and bowed to him. The elder could not escape left or right, and in the end, had to accept the bow.

The Great Sage leapt up, shook himself, and retrieved the hairs, then instructed Samuel Baker, “Good brother, you are a good man. Just be careful of Bajie’s words, and be extra vigilant on the road. If, by chance, a demon captures Master, just say Old Sun is his senior disciple. The monsters of the West, hearing of my skills, won’t dare harm my master.” Thomas Baker said, “I am a good monk. I won’t mention your villainous name. You should just go back.” Seeing the elder’s repeated refusals and unyielding heart, The Great Sage had no choice but to leave.

Suppressing his anger, The Great Sage bid farewell to his master, rode his somersault cloud, and returned straight to the Water Curtain Cave on Flower-Fruit Mountain. Alone and desolate, he suddenly heard the deafening sound of water. Looking from midair, he realized it was the roar of the Eastern Sea’s tide. At the sight, he thought of Thomas Baker again, and could not hold back his tears, which fell down his cheeks. He paused in the clouds for a long while before finally moving on.

When William Carter told the story up to this point, many in the audience were already shedding tears along with the characters.

Some people were making a commotion—some cursing the demons for their cunning, some blaming Thomas Baker for being so stubborn—but all sympathized with George Adams, and were eager to know what would become of him next. There were even some hoping to see Thomas Baker get his comeuppance.

But after waiting for a while, they heard the little prodigy say, “Thank you all for your support these past days! The story ends here! There’s nothing more to tell!”

As he said this, William Carter was actually filled with anxiety, not knowing what might happen next.

At these words, the crowd erupted in an uproar!

Some clamored for William Carter to continue, some bluntly insisted there must be more and demanded he go on.

But no matter what they said, William Carter remained firm, repeating almost the same line: “There’s nothing more to tell!”

In truth, William Carter paid no mind to the crowd’s uproar. His entire attention was fixed on those intimidating fellow storytellers, until he saw the most inscrutable of them silently turn and leave, and many others gradually depart as well. Only then did William Carter finally breathe a sigh of relief, temporarily setting aside the heavy weight on his heart.

Yes, temporarily.

He was deeply afraid that one night, just as he awoke from meditation, he’d find himself kidnapped to some remote mountaintop, and someone would say to him, “Hey! Kid! Quickly and honestly tell me everything you know! Or else, I’ll skin you alive!”

This was no joke! It was something that could very well happen!

With such anxiety, William Carter spent two sleepless nights.

On the morning of the third day, after breakfast, someone reported outside the Maple Forest Mercenary Corps compound: “Lord Charles Baker is here to visit!”

It was that very fellow storyteller who made William Carter feel so unfathomable.

This person named Charles Baker carried himself with a calm dignity, the likes of which William Carter had never seen—neither in his past life nor this one.

Yet despite his dignified bearing, his manner was so gentle that William Carter felt almost flattered. After a tentative conversation, the topic naturally turned to magic.

Charles Baker generously shared a wealth of knowledge with William Carter—from magical meditation to the application of spells. Even a few words from him would often bring William Carter great inspiration.

In just about half an hour of conversation, William Carter gained unimaginable insights.

The original owner of William Carter’s body had inherited a systematic progression from magic apprentice level one to nine, but had no one to guide him in his studies and cultivation. After absorbing the original owner’s knowledge, William Carter had thought it didn’t matter whether he had a teacher or not. But now, after receiving guidance from this fellow named Charles Baker, William Carter realized how utterly mistaken he had been!

A single casual remark from such a person could save him countless hours!

A conversation with a wise man is worth ten years of study.

That was exactly how William Carter felt at this moment.

After another half hour or so of discussion, Charles Baker finally smiled and made a request: could William Carter copy out the “Journey to the West” story he had told earlier for him?

Could William Carter refuse?

Of course not!

If he did, it would be like a dog riding in a sedan chair—unable to appreciate the honor. William Carter had no desire to experience the consequences of refusing a toast only to be forced to drink a forfeit!