By the time Ivy snapped out of her thoughts, Ethan had already disappeared into the vast night. Her sobs turned into muffled whimpers, then transformed into desperate calls, but Ethan was already too far away to hear.
Ethan wandered aimlessly down the street, enveloped in an empty loneliness. He didn't even know where he was heading. It was only now that he felt how unfamiliar the city was. Not far ahead was a park, where two rows of stone benches were faintly visible under the dim glow of streetlights.
On one of the benches, a newspaper lay spread out, with a long object resting on it. Feeling dejected, Ethan slowly sat on the bench beside it. Glancing over, he noticed an old man, ragged and disheveled, lying on the bench nearby, his face covered with an old newspaper. The old man's snores were thunderous, as if a dozen excited pigs were snorting in unison.
Lost in his own thoughts, Ethan laid down on the stone bench, fatigue overwhelming him, and before he knew it, he had drifted off to sleep. Who knows how much time had passed when a wave of heat swept across his face, accompanied by a faint scent of sandalwood.
Startled, Ethan opened his eyes and saw a small fire burning next to the stone bench. The disheveled old man was silently sitting by the fire, continuously throwing pieces of paper into the flames. Ethan had been sleeping downwind, which explained the heat on his face.
"What is that old man burning? And why does it smell like sandalwood?" Ethan wondered, curiosity getting the better of him as he got up and walked over.
The old man squinted, muttering something under his breath, seemingly unaware that anyone was approaching. He slowly and methodically picked up pieces of paper and tossed them into the fire.
As Ethan got closer, he finally saw clearly: the old man was burning a stack of joss paper, the kind with small human figures printed on them. However, where the sandalwood scent came from was still a mystery.
Shaking his head, Ethan was about to turn and leave when he felt a tug on his pant leg. Startled, he looked down and saw the old man gripping the hem of his trousers.
"Young man, help an old man like me burn a few sheets," the old man's eerie voice sent a shiver down Ethan's spine.
Ethan's skin prickled with goosebumps as a chill ran down his spine. Is this old man some escapee from a mental hospital? he wondered. They were complete strangers, and the man was still very much alive—what on earth was he asking him to burn joss paper for?
Burning joss paper has always been a way to honor the deceased. A living person asking for paper to be burned for them was unheard of. Ethan quickly chalked the old man up as mentally disturbed.
But the old man, seeing that Ethan wasn't moved, grinned, exposing a row of stark white teeth, his hand still clutching Ethan's pant leg.
"Come on, young man, just have pity on this old dying man and burn a few sheets."
Ethan felt a sinking sensation in his chest. With a sigh, he gave in, kneeling by the fire and tossing a few sheets of joss paper into the flames. His eyes darted nervously to the old man's bulging waistline—it was clear there was something hidden there, maybe even a weapon.
He naively believed that with people like this, it was easier to go along with their wishes to avoid trouble. Just like how drunks insist they're sober, the mentally ill would never admit they were sick. If he angered the crazy old man, things could turn dangerous.
With Ethan's help, the stack of joss paper was soon burned to ash. A gust of wind scattered the black ashes into the air, like a cloud of low-flying black butterflies.
"Thank you, young man. Take this as your reward for helping me burn the paper." The old man nonchalantly pulled two stacks of crisp banknotes from his pocket and placed them in front of Ethan.
The bundles were still sealed, each containing 10,000 dollars. Ethan picked one up and ran his thumb across the edge—genuine money, with a faint whiff of ink still lingering.
Two stacks of cash sat in front of him. For someone like Ethan, who was desperately in need of money, it was impossible not to feel tempted. Even one stack could solve the immediate problems he and his sister-in-law were facing. At the same time, one thing was clear: this old man was indeed crazy—and rich.
Ethan was broke, but his conscience reminded him that if he took money from someone who wasn't in their right mind, it wouldn't just be about being poor—it would be immoral.
After a brief internal struggle, Ethan placed the money back in front of the old man and softly said, "Sir, I can't take this money. Please keep it."
The old man's cloudy eyes flashed with a strange light. He swiftly tucked the bills back into his pocket, his face breaking into a smile. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes blossomed like wild chrysanthemums as he muttered under his breath, "Good boy, not greedy, not hasty, a piece of unpolished jade. Who would've thought I'd find such a successor before I die? The heavens truly haven't forsaken me..."
Ethan didn't catch what the old man was murmuring. Rubbing his stiff knees, he prepared to stand up and leave, but just then, the old man suddenly lifted his head, and his pupils glowed with two points of gold, staring directly into Ethan's eyes.
"Look into my eyes... look into my eyes... relax... relax..."
The old man's eerie voice seemed to carry a strange power, penetrating Ethan's very soul. The floating, repeated words tugged at his thoughts, and Ethan's mind went blank. His body stiffened, then slowly relaxed, his gaze locked on the old man's shimmering golden eyes.
Gold. It was a dazzling, dreamlike color. The pair of mesmerizing golden eyes grew larger in Ethan's vision, until all his thoughts stopped. The world was bathed in that brilliant golden light. He could feel a cool sensation circling his eyeballs, sinking deep into his mind... the feeling was indescribably wonderful.
Who knows how much time passed before the golden light began to fade. The moment the glow completely disappeared, Ethan snapped back to consciousness, realizing he was sitting foolishly on the grass. There was no sign of the old man, no fire, not even a trace of the burnt ashes.
Confused, Ethan scratched his head and rubbed his eyes. Everything seemed normal.
"Was it all an illusion? No way… I swear I was burning paper for some crazy old man last night..." Ethan stood up, intending to look around. But before he could take a step, a bone-chilling gust of wind swept down his neck, causing his hair to stand on end. Not daring to stay any longer, he broke into a run, leaving the eerie place behind.
Less than a minute after Ethan left, a pile of burnt ashes mysteriously appeared by the stone bench. A disheveled old man, his face ashen, leaned against the bench, breathing shallowly. A faint smile of relief graced his lips as he slowly became still...
Not long after the old man drew his final breath, two shadowy figures appeared out of nowhere, swiftly picking up his body and vanishing into the first light of dawn