Franklin Warren said, “So her name is Daisy, and she’s not a local—she came over from Zhezhou to seek out some relatives. But when she arrived, she couldn’t find them. With nowhere to go, cold and hungry, she fainted by the roadside.”

Jason Brooks thought to himself, “How cliché,” and asked, “And then?”

Franklin Warren replied, “I saw how pitiful she looked, with no family or place to go, so I took her in and let her stay temporarily at my villa in Jiangzhou.”

“And then?”

Franklin Warren actually blushed, which was rare for him. “Heh, well, late at night when it was quiet, I couldn’t quite restrain myself, so I ended up doing some, uh, clothes-disheveling things with her.”

So-called “clothes-disheveling” meant taking off clothes—just as expected...

Jason Brooks looked at him, his mind clear: Did some clothes-disheveling things? Lost so much weight in five days? I bet you’ve been doing it every day. But whether this is Daisy luck or a Daisy curse, that’s hard to say.

At the moment, Jason Brooks couldn’t really say anything. What could he say? After all, he couldn’t even be sure what was really going on.

Besides, his relationship with Franklin Warren was, to be honest, just a casual acquaintance. Even if he spoke frankly, the other might not believe him, and it could even backfire. All he could do was hint—

“Brother Fútái, have you noticed anything off about this Daisy?”

Franklin Warren was taken aback. “Off? Not at all, she’s perfectly fine.”

“That’s good, then.”

Jason Brooks forced a smile.

This round of drinks left him a bit restless. Most of the time, it was Franklin Warren talking, animatedly describing how gentle and tender Daisy was, how virtuous and kind, and how she could cook delicious meals, and so on.

In the end, he even mentioned that he was planning to take Daisy as a concubine.

Jason Brooks just listened absentmindedly.

At that moment, Franklin Warren suddenly slapped his thigh and said, “I got so caught up talking, I almost forgot the important matter.”

“What important matter?”

Franklin Warren said, “It’s like this: with the Spring Festival approaching, my father asked me to invite you to write a ‘福’ character to hang in the main hall.”

Jason Brooks laughed and said, “That’s a small thing, not worth mentioning. I’ll go back and write it right away.”

Franklin Warren cupped his hands in thanks. “Thank you in advance.”

They settled the bill and prepared to return together to the The Brooks Family.

Suddenly, they heard the tinkling of a bell outside the tavern, and someone loudly recited, “All the hustle and bustle in the world is but a dream; all earthly riches end in emptiness. If you ask where to seek the Way—among the white clouds in the caves of Mount Lao.”

With the voice, a Taoist priest soon entered, about thirty years old; he was quite tall, wearing a bagua-patterned robe, dignified in appearance, with three long wisps of beard, exuding an ethereal air. He carried a peachwood sword on his back, shook an ancient-looking bell in his right hand, and held a bamboo sign in his left, inscribed with four large characters: “Taoist of Mount Lao.”

He looked like a wandering Taoist, making a living by fortune-telling and divination.

Jason Brooks and his companion paid him no mind and headed straight for the door. But as they brushed past each other, the Taoist suddenly flared his nostrils, sniffing hard like a dog, as if he’d caught a whiff of something unusual. His eyes flashed, and he called out to Franklin Warren, “Young master, please wait.”

Chapter Eight: The ‘福’ Character

Franklin Warren was startled and asked, a bit baffled, “You’re talking to me?”

The Taoist bowed. “Indeed.”

Franklin Warren’s face darkened at once. “What do you want?” He had never liked wandering Taoists or monks, since such people were often synonymous with swindlers.

The Taoist was unfazed and said, “I see evil energy swirling around you, and a strange scent. I wanted to ask if you’ve recently encountered anything unclean.”

“Pah! Nonsense!”

Franklin Warren instantly jumped up like a mouse whose tail had been stepped on. “The filthiest thing I’ve run into is you, you stinking Taoist! The wise do not speak of monsters and spirits—don’t try to play tricks in front of me, or I’ll report you to the authorities for spreading superstitions, have you doused in black dog’s blood, and sentenced to a beating.”

In the Tiantong Dynasty, Confucianism was held supreme, and the court strictly regulated Taoists and Buddhists. Anyone wishing to become a monk or Taoist had to first obtain a recruitment certificate from a temple or monastery, then register with the authorities for approval. Without such documentation, they were considered wild Taoists or monks; if caught, they would be doused in black dog’s blood and beaten with sticks.

Hearing this, the Taoist sighed, “How foolish the world is, facing death and still unaware.”

He said no more, shook his bell, and turned to leave.

Jason Brooks felt the Taoist’s words had substance and seemed pointed, so he hurriedly said, “Brother Fútái, why not ask the Taoist to take a look at you?”

Franklin Warren snorted, “Such alarmists—what skills do they have? All they do is pretend to be sinister to scare people and extort money. Ethan, I’ve seen plenty of Taoists like this. Just scold them and drive them off, no need to waste words.”

Jason Brooks stamped his foot. He couldn’t be sure of the Taoist’s identity, but the man spoke with such conviction, it didn’t seem baseless. He’d wanted to ask for advice, but before he could, Franklin Warren had already driven the Taoist away.

Still, Franklin Warren’s reaction was normal, and Jason Brooks couldn’t argue. Helpless, he brought Franklin Warren home, spread out paper and ink, picked up his talisman brush, and wrote a large “福” character for him.