The rainy season had arrived.
Chen Fan donned a straw raincoat and looked up at the sky, seeing a vast expanse of dark clouds.
A raindrop the size of a bean splashed onto his face, and Chen Fan instinctively wiped his face with his hand.
The entire broken temple was filled with a rotting stench.
Just a couple of days ago, someone passing by the temple caught a whiff of the foul odor and immediately assumed that Chen Fan had died.
They ran straight back to town to spread the news.
That incident left Chen Fan feeling depressed for days, asking anyone he met on the streets why he wasn't dead yet.
Sigh...
If he ever had the money, he'd fix this place up properly.
At the very least, he needed somewhere he could live with dignity.
Chen Fan reached into his pocket and pulled out a few copper coins.
He counted them—seven in total.
... He stared at them silently for a moment.
With so few coins, what was the point of talking about renovations? Better to go have a drink instead.
Struggling to get up, Chen Fan propped himself on his crutch and hobbled out of the dilapidated temple.
The rain came down in a fine drizzle, pattering against his straw raincoat before dripping through the seams.
Chen Fan didn't walk quickly, so before long, he was soaked to the skin.
Suddenly, a figure darted past him at high speed.
Chen Fan looked carefully and recognized the old blind man who begged on the streets.
Ahead of him were two puddles, one on the left and one on the right. The old blind man was about to step into them.
Chen Fan couldn't help but call out:
"Blind man, there's a puddle!"
The old blind man was remarkably quick to react. The moment he heard the warning, he made a movement to dodge.
Then, right in front of Chen Fan, he leapt out of one puddle and straight into another.
"Ah, ow!"
The old blind man landed hard and was covered in filthy water. When Chen Fan helped him up, the man sniffed hard and exclaimed:
"Cripple?!"
Wasting no time, the blind man grabbed Chen Fan's arm and urged him:
"Quick, cripple, you've got work! Let's hurry, maybe we can even snag a meal!"
Chen Fan could play the suona.
The blind man could play the erhu.
Together, they made quite the duo and had eaten at many banquet tables in the town because of their performances.
However, the blind man wasn't as popular as Chen Fan, largely because of his age and the fact that on joyous occasions, no one wanted to hear the erhu's somber, melancholic tunes.
The two of them supported each other as they made their way to the town.
Their destination was a mourning hall adorned with white banners.
Wen sat in front of the shrine, her eyes hollow and her face devoid of expression.
Her husband was dead.
Rumor had it that he got drunk and angered an immortal descending to the mortal realm for a stroll. The immortal had slapped him into oblivion, leaving not even a trace of him behind.
Now, the coffin only contained a few pieces of his clothing, serving as a cenotaph.
But such an outrageous story was hard to believe.
The town was already buzzing with rumors. People said that Wen's husband, before marriage, had been a cheerful and optimistic young man with a decent family background.
But after the marriage, it was as if he became a different person, spending all his time in brothels, staying out all night, and squandering money on wine and revelry.
Privately, people whispered that Wen was cursed to bring misfortune to her husband, a harbinger of death. They claimed it was because of her that a good man had fallen so low.
But only Wen knew the truth.
No matter how well someone pretends, they'll eventually reveal cracks in their facade.
She could only blame herself for her poor judgment, for wasting the best years of her life on him.
Chen Fan had a sense of professionalism.
After pausing briefly, he took the suona from his waist.
He began to play Hundred Birds Paying Homage to the Phoenix, offering the tune to those present.
The blind man quickly followed suit, not wanting to fall behind and risk missing out on the post-funeral feast.
The two of them harmonized beautifully, like flowing water and towering mountains.
Their music added an even greater sense of sorrow and grief to the atmosphere.
Just as they were playing, the large doors behind them suddenly burst open with a loud bang.
Chen Fan, cheeks puffed up as he blew into the suona, was so startled that he almost swallowed the breath he was holding.
"Who dares to defy the immortal master?!"
After years of absence, Er Biao reappeared, his hair long, wearing a Daoist robe, carrying a longsword, and with tassels dangling from his waist. He swaggered into the hall.
Behind him followed several other children in Daoist robes.
The arrival of these individuals plunged the mourning hall into silence.
Seeing Er Biao's attire and sword, it was clear he now bore the marks of immortality.
No one could have anticipated that the rat everyone once despised would one day become someone none of them could afford to offend.
The room fell into an uneasy silence; no one dared to answer Er Biao's question.
It was Wen who eventually stood and addressed the crowd:
"This is a family matter. Everyone, please leave."
The mourners breathed sighs of relief at her words, as if a heavy weight had been lifted off their chests, and quickly began to disperse.
Er Biao had entered with an air of menace, and no one wanted to risk getting involved.
Soon, the large mourning hall was nearly empty, save for Er Biao and his group, the innkeeper, and Wen herself.
Chen Fan, who walked slowly, hadn't left yet.
Watching the blind man vanish into the distance at an impressive speed, Chen Fan couldn't help but feel bewildered.
How could a blind man run so fast without fear of tripping to his death?
Resigned, Chen Fan continued limping along with his crutch.
Er Biao spotted him immediately.
"What's this? A cripple wants to meddle in the affairs of the immortal family?"
Chen Fan: "I…"
"You what? Since you're not leaving, you might as well stay."
Er Biao was still the same as ever. After spending years in the immortal household, his arrogance hadn't diminished one bit; if anything, it had grown worse.
Chen Fan widened his eyes in disbelief, stunned.
Was he seriously getting bullied just for being slow?
He hadn't even said he wouldn't leave!
Still, Chen Fan stayed, curious to see how the so-called immortals handled matters.
Er Biao snorted coldly and turned his attention to Wen:
"The immortal master is magnanimous. Your husband dared to offend an immortal while he was… on a stroll in the mortal realm. His death was well-deserved."
"However…"
Pop.
A crisp sound interrupted Er Biao's words.
Chen Fan had taken the gourd from his waist and pulled out the stopper.
Er Biao shot him a glare but said nothing, ready to continue.
Gulp, gulp.
The sound of Chen Fan swallowing wine echoed in the hall.
Er Biao lost his temper and reached out to snatch the gourd, but Chen Fan dodged deftly.
"Drink, drink, drink! If you drink any more, I'll end you!"
Failing to grab the gourd, Er Biao unsheathed his sword with a flash of cold light.
Chen Fan had no choice but to set the gourd down and gesture for Er Biao to continue.
Er Biao sheathed his sword and said:
"However, the immortal master is short of a maid to serve tea and water. If you…"
As he spoke, Er Biao's expression turned lecherous, his gaze shamelessly roaming over Wen's figure.
Although Wen was now a widow, her figure and beauty were still outstanding.
Er Biao thought of himself as Cao Cao, ready to "interview" her personally on behalf of the immortal master.
Wen and her father both heard the hidden implication in Er Biao's words.
Wen bit her lip, her eyes filled with a mix of hesitation and despair.
Er Biao pressed on impatiently:
"What's the—"
Hic!
A perfectly timed hiccup drew everyone's attention.
Chen Fan looked up, meeting Er Biao's furious gaze. He clasped his hands together apologetically and said:
"Sorry, couldn't hold it in…"
"Kill him!"