"They want to trick you into gouging out your own eyes?" The Fatty stared at Jiang Cheng, his voice tinged with despair.
Jiang Cheng lowered his hand. His tightly furrowed brows relaxed slightly, though he seemed more intent on reassuring him. "You don't need to be so nervous. This is only my guess; we don't have enough evidence yet. The abbot said that night is false and day is real. We can start there and see if we can find a flaw."
There were still many mysteries Jiang Cheng and the Fatty hadn't solved. They couldn't make sense of Monk Huicong's actions either. But with so few clues, there was no point in dwelling on it. After checking once more that the doors and windows were shut, the two fell into a deep sleep.
When they opened their eyes again, the sky outside was already bright. Jiang Cheng sat up and looked around. Sure enough, they weren't where they had lain down the night before.
The startled Fatty nervously surveyed the room's furnishings. The battered wooden table stood right in front of them, even though he clearly remembered the Doctor moving it to block the door the night before.
After one night, it seemed that everything had changed. More chilling still, the changes had happened without a sound.
"Knock, knock, knock."
Someone rapped on the door.
When it opened, a familiar figure stood outside. "Benefactors, Senior Brother Huide asked me to inform you that another benefactor has passed away in the West Wing." Huiqing held his hands together in prayer. His quickened speech made his refined, handsome face look all the more tense.
Jiang Cheng first pretended to be stunned, then let his voice tremble. "Someone else has died? How could this happen?"
Before long, Huiqing led Jiang Cheng and