I Became a Monk?

"This object... is rather unique."

The Old Taoist studied the "lighter" in his hand with great interest, his fingertip brushing the metal flame guard before applying a bit of pressure.

Shen Hui crouched by the fire pit, wanting to speak but holding back, ultimately just swallowing his saliva in silence.

This lighter was something he'd swiped from a barbecue stall last week. At the time, he'd been smug about cheating the owner out of three yuan, but now his intestines were green with regret, and he wished he could travel back and slap himself twice.

If he'd known this calamity was coming, he would have grabbed a military knife no matter what. Failing that, he should have copied out a few volumes of the Huangting scriptures—maybe he could have fooled the man before him.

"Can it really summon earth fire?" the Young Disciple at the Old Taoist's side asked curiously.

Shen Hui grunted a vague reply.

The Old Taoist knitted his graying brows into a knot, adding another third to his grip strength.

The metal flame guard let out a creaking groan.

"Hey—Taoist, hold on!"

Shen Hui lunged forward in one step, snatching the lighter back, afraid the man would crush it.

"That's not how you use it."

His thumb pressed down. A soft click sounded, and a cluster of orange flame leaped up.

"See? Like this."

The Taoist stared at the fire, silent for a long moment.

The Young Disciple leaned in closer, his honest face full of surprise: "How strange—there's not a trace of spiritual energy fluctuation!"

Shen Hui handed the lighter over, then grabbed a dry branch at his feet to poke at the sweet potatoes buried in the fire.

The burnt aroma mixed with charcoal scent spread through the air, finally bringing some warmth to the broken temple.

He started feeling glad that what he'd pocketed back then was a lighter instead of napkins—at least now he could scrounge a hot meal, right?

The gaunt Old Taoist took the lighter from his disciple, turning it over in his hands, a faint cyan glow rising from his fingertips:

"There's a trace of remnant heavenly thunder within, and a touch of earthly Sha essence without..."

He suddenly narrowed his eyes. "Young man, where did this come from?"

"A little family heirloom trick."

Shen Hui's face didn't change as he fished two small sweet potatoes from the fire, inwardly sneering.

What nonsense about remnant heavenly thunder and earthly Sha essence—it was just polarized ceramic and liquefied petroleum gas inside the lighter.

As a transmigrator who hadn't eaten hot food in three days, he only cared about the sweet potatoes in his hands right now. He had no leisure to entertain this mystical drivel.

As for these two clueless Taoists before him... even if they wanted to kill him as a demon, they'd have to let him fill his stomach first.

Shen Hui used his sleeve as a pad to pick up a sweet potato, tossing it between his hands and blowing on it, then peeling off the charred skin with nimble fingers.

Some charcoal dust clung to the skin. He didn't toss it—he shoved it into his mouth too, chewing carefully.

The sweet potato wasn't big; he polished it off in a few bites.

After swallowing the last mouthful, Shen Hui stole another glance at the two men.

The Old Taoist had a gaunt face, his gray cloth robe washed pale, with a slender wooden box strapped to his back, wrapped in cloth bands.

The Young Disciple had a dark, weathered face, carrying a rattan box half his height on his back, a bell hanging from its corner, and a jarringly red gourd.

Not much of a looker!

Shen Hui sucked on his teeth, thinking that while their words carried some air of mastery, their outfits...

How to put it? Their faces did have a bit of immortal flair, but had anyone ever seen a master wearing straw sandals? Especially in this cold weather!

They were just two miserable wanderers scraping by on the road.

He turned back to dig through the fire pit, pulling out an even smaller sweet potato from the edge and brushing off the ash.

This time he couldn't wait. Burning his hands, he broke it open, steam and sweet fragrance rising together.

He ate quickly, gasping from the heat.

It wasn't that he was picky and insisted on cooked food—yesterday he'd eaten two raw sweet potatoes, and they'd left his legs weak from diarrhea. Now it was hot, but at least his stomach had some warmth.

The Old Taoist's gaze shifted from the lighter to Shen Hui's face, then to his hands that wouldn't even let a speck of charred skin go.

"Young man, where do you come from?"

The Taoist's voice was like dry wood.

Shen Hui grinned at the question, his cheeks still bulging, but he didn't answer.

The Old Taoist wasn't annoyed. He asked instead, "And where are you headed?"

Shen Hui kept shaking his head, sucking his finger clean of the ash clinging to it.

It wasn't that he was playing deaf and mute—the main thing was that transmigration was too bizarre. He couldn't exactly say he'd hit the jackpot while biking home.

The Old Taoist fell silent for a moment.

A cold wind slipped through the cracks in the temple wall, making the bell on the disciple's rattan box sway gently—but no sound came from it.

Shen Hui glanced at the bell and thought to himself, So it's a mute bell after all.

Seeing that Shen Hui wasn't willing to engage with him, the old Taoist abruptly shifted the topic: "This sweet potato... you swiped it from Li Family Village down the slope, didn't you?"

At that, Shen Hui finally stopped what he was doing and looked up at him, but still said nothing.

The old Taoist's expression remained calm. He reached into his young disciple's rattan basket, pulled out a coarse flour cake, and handed it to Shen Hui.

Shen Hui didn't take it. Instead, he picked up another dry branch and poked at the fire, then spoke evenly: "Thank you, Master. This Humble One is already full."

Hearing this, the old Taoist withdrew the cake. After a moment's thought, he couldn't help but ask, "Would you be willing to come up the mountain with me?"

"Up the mountain?" Shen Hui was taken aback, repeating the words with a note of confusion.

The old Taoist nodded, glancing at Shen Hui's gaunt frame and his face caked with yellow mud. "...Up there, there's food to eat. A roof over your head, too. And perhaps... you could learn a skill or two to get by."

The young disciple beside him opened his mouth as if to speak, but in the end, said nothing.

"You mean, meals are provided?"

"Enough to fill you."

"And the skill you mentioned..."

"Cultivation, refining Qi, pursuing the Dao of immortality."

Shen Hui's brow lifted slightly, and he turned to look at the old Taoist. But the old Taoist lowered his gaze to the firelighter in his hand.

"This object's shape is strange, but it contains the essence of earthly Sha Qi..."

He spoke hesitantly, pausing for a moment before continuing: "Perhaps one of your ancestors was a cultivator, and a Golden Core True Person who condensed Gang and refined Sha. That we meet on this road today means your immortal fate hasn't yet run out..."

Shen Hui kept his face still, but inwardly he couldn't help grumbling.

This is a bit sketchy...

His ancestors had been farmers for generations. If starving counted as cultivation, then they'd really be a cultivation clan.

And liquefied petroleum gas is earthly Sha Qi? Then a Golden Core must really be a kidney stone.

He barely suppressed the urge to roll his eyes, casually tossing the dry branch into the fire. The orange flames hissed and shot up high.

His modern mindset made him instinctively retort: "Going up the mountain is fine, but can I actually cultivate? Don't you usually need to check bone structure or talent or something first?"

As he spoke, he gestured with a hand smudged with charcoal. "Besides, I'm already twenty-two. Isn't it too late to start cultivating? My bones are already set, right?"

The young disciple couldn't help it—a "pfft" of laughter escaped, and he quickly covered his mouth.

The old Taoist didn't laugh. He flicked his sleeve, brushing away the drifting sparks.

"You're quite candid... But it doesn't matter. Anyone can cultivate; those with poor talent just take longer. As for age..."

He gave Shen Hui a meaningful look, his tone flat. "A mere twenty years is but a snap of the fingers to a cultivator."

Shen Hui was a bit surprised. His gaze first swept over the old Taoist's neatly coiled topknot, then down to the young Taoist's hemp sandals with their worn-thin soles. Finally, he fell silent.

Did he have a choice? Or rather, did he have a better one?

Three days since he'd crossed over, with no food in his belly, and two middle-aged men—whether local thugs or wandering bandits—had nearly stripped him of his clothes and robbed him.

If he hadn't used his modern physique to elbow them away, he'd probably be left without even his underwear by now.

Thinking this, Shen Hui finally nodded.

"Alright. I'll go up the mountain."

The old Taoist, satisfied, nodded and stroked his beard. "Then follow along."

With that, he tossed the firelighter back to Shen Hui, turned, and walked out of the broken temple, continuing down the muddy path.

Just like that?

Shen Hui felt a bit dazed. In a daze, he smothered the fire with charcoal ash, then stood up and followed.

The young disciple hoisted the rattan basket onto his back, caught up to the old Taoist in a few quick steps, and leaned in to ask quietly, "Master, are we really taking him back to the mountain?"

"Otherwise?" the old Taoist asked without turning back. "Leave him here to feed the demons?"

"No, I mean... are you really going to teach him cultivation? Aren't I your last disciple?"

"You lazy lot—aren't you always refusing to come down the mountain with me?"

The disciple paused, then his eyes lit up, and he fell silent. After a moment, he snuck another glance back at Shen Hui.

He saw that young man, face full of yellow mud, looking down at his own feet, stepping carefully with each stride, as if counting his steps.

As if sensing his gaze, the young man looked up. The disciple immediately called out warmly, "Hey, buddy, make sure to keep close. Don't take a wrong turn."

The forest path had been soaked by heavy rain into a muddy quagmire. Every step made a squelching sound.

The old Taoist's straw sandals were caked with yellow mud at the edges, and the hem of his robe was splattered with mud spots, but his steps were steady, each one leaving a shallow pit.

The young disciple following behind stumbled a bit more. He carried a large rattan basket on his back, and the copper bell hanging from its corner swayed left and right, only letting out a dull clink when the jostling was particularly rough.

After walking for about the time it takes an incense stick to burn, they passed a mountain stream.

The Old Taoist stopped and gestured for the Young Disciple to fetch water. Shen Hui also walked to the stream bank, knelt down, cupped water in his hands, and drank a few mouthfuls, then splashed water on his face, trying to wash off the dried mud. The water was cold, making his shoulders flinch. He endured the chill and rubbed vigorously. Gradually, his features, obscured by yellow mud, became clear. He looked to be a handsome sort, appearing even younger than the Young Disciple, but his eyes lacked the liveliness and agility of youth, and he had spoken little along the way.

After washing, Shen Hui casually wiped his face with his hand. Water droplets dripped from his chin, shattering the reflection on the water's surface. That shadow wavered, distorted and blurred by the ripples, its features indistinct, nothing but a swaying play of light and shadow. Shen Hui was about to stand up, but the "shadow" in the water suddenly came to life. It didn't move with him, but instead stretched out a hand on its own, breaking through the water's surface to grab at him. The hand's shadow was pitch black like ink, abnormally fast, and it seized his neck in one grip. In an instant, a bone-chilling, slippery-as-a-snake sensation coiled around his throat, and then it yanked him downward with force!

"Mmph—!" Caught off guard, Shen Hui felt his neck tighten, and his whole body was pulled forward into a stumble, pitching headlong toward the icy stream. In his panic, he could only grab a random piece of bluestone, raising it to strike.

"Jingle—!" A crisp bell sound exploded from behind him. At the corner of the wicker box, the silent bell that had hung motionless the entire journey was now trembling on its own, its copper clapper striking the bell walls, emitting a rapid, clear chime. The Young Disciple, who had been squatting by the stream filling his waterskin, was startled by the sound, frozen in place with the waterskin in hand, his face full of shock.

The Old Taoist's reaction was faster than the bell's sound. Almost the instant the bell first rang, he twisted his wrist, and a yellow talisman was already pinched between his fingers. Without any visible gesture, the talisman paper shot out with a "whoosh," fast as a streak of yellow light, flying straight toward Shen Hui's back. As the talisman touched him, it ignited without fire. In an instant, the black shadow dragging him in the water let out a sharp shriek and scattered abruptly. Shen Hui felt his throat suddenly release, and he fell backward onto the muddy bank, his chest heaving violently as he coughed uncontrollably. The stream water bubbled a few times, then a few wisps of black air like strands of hair floated up, burned clean by the lingering talisman fire. The water finally calmed, leaving only a circle of ripples.

Only then did the Old Taoist stroll over. He bent down and, from a crevice in the shallow water rocks in front of Shen Hui, picked up a dull gray-white pearl the size of a longan. The Young Disciple, now snapping out of his daze, hurriedly put down the waterskin and ran over. "Master, this..." He stared at the pearl, his dark face finally turning pale. "An unfulfilled obsession, using the water's reflection to drag someone down as a substitute to escape." The Old Taoist's tone was flat as he wiped the pearl on his sleeve, then looked at Shen Hui. "Are you hurt?"

Shen Hui sat on the ground, his hand still covering his neck. The cold, slippery sensation seemed to linger there. He shook his head, his voice a little hoarse. "What... was that thing just now?" The Old Taoist weighed the pearl in his palm and glanced at the water. "Just a Water Wraith. Years of accumulated yin and foul air, mixed with the lingering souls of some who drowned, using the water's reflection to deceive people, dragging them in to become substitutes, seeking to break free and re-enter the cycle of reincarnation, or... to wreak havoc." He paused, his gaze falling on Shen Hui's face. "Your qi and blood are weak, your spirit unsettled, and you happen to be in a state of exhaustion and low fortune. You're the easiest for such yin creatures to take advantage of. It wasn't necessarily targeting you specifically; you just passed by, and it reached out."

Shen Hui felt a chill run down his spine. A water ghost looking for a substitute? Didn't this guy just die once already... The Old Taoist looked at the pearl in his hand again and gestured for the Young Disciple to help Shen Hui up. "This thing is the condensed yin energy of that Water Wraith. It's somewhat useful. But you..." His eyes shifted, carrying an inexplicable meaning. "You were attacked without panicking, frightened but not losing your wits. That bell sound just now—you heard it, right?" Shen Hui nodded, recalling the sudden, clear ringing. "This 'Soul-Alarm Bell' doesn't ring unless a fierce spirit or evil Sha is near," the Old Taoist said slowly. "That it rang means the Water Wraith had already gained some power, not something comparable to ordinary wandering souls. That you could withstand its ambush without your soul leaving your body, only being yanked off balance—aside from my timely intervention, you yourself seem to..." He pondered for a moment, but ultimately shook his head, saying no more, and simply tucked the pearl into his sleeve.

By now, Shen Hui had also steadied himself. He looked at the Old Taoist. "That thing you used just now, Daoist... was it a talisman?" "A minor art, just a 'Purification Talisman,'" the Old Taoist said, turning to walk back. "Let's go. It's getting late. We should return to the Temple early." Shen Hui obediently followed, but couldn't help asking again, "And that pearl..."

"The resentment has dispersed. It's nothing more than a stubborn stone. Take it back to the temple, grind it into powder for medicine, or bury it beneath the peach tree in the courtyard—either will do."

The old Taoist kept walking, his mouth equally relentless. "All things in this world, useful or useless, depend on the heart. Fear it, and it becomes a vengeful ghost demanding your life; use it well, and it can be a fine medicine."

Shen Hui seemed lost in thought.

By then, the Young Disciple had also shouldered the rattan box and walked up beside Shen Hui. He turned his head, smiled, and said in a low voice, "Don't worry. Master's Dao arts are profound, and his cultivation is deep. In the mountains, there are occasionally... some unclean things, but our temple is spotless."

Shen Hui nodded but said nothing.

The mountain stream fell behind them. The mountain path wound upward, and the light filtering through the forest leaves dimmed a few shades more.

By the time the sun tilted westward, they finally caught sight of a gray-tiled, upturned eaves halfway up the mountain.

"We're here at last." The Young Disciple let out a long sigh of relief.

The Old Taoist stopped on the stone steps before the temple and turned around.

Shen Hui also halted, lifting his head to gaze at the blurred characters on the plaque above the door, then lowering his eyes to his trouser legs, caked with fresh mud, and his split shoes. For a moment, his thoughts were in turmoil.

This old Taoist couldn't possibly be after his body, using him to cultivate some evil technique... could he?

Yikes—Shen Hui shuddered with a chill and couldn't help but tremble.

"Scaring myself."

Since the other party had saved him earlier, they probably weren't a bad person.

Still... was he really going to become a Taoist priest?

He sighed inwardly, then heard the Old Taoist ask from the doorway:

"Can you sweep the floor?"

"Yes," he answered honestly.

"Can you carry water?"

"I can learn."

A faint smile creased the Old Taoist's lips. "What's your name?"

"Shen Hui." Shen Hui replied without hesitation.

The Old Taoist nodded, and with a creak, pushed open the temple gate. "Come in, then. Starting tomorrow, rise and wash at the hour of the Tiger's third quarter, and begin morning lessons at the hour of the Dragon's first quarter."

Shen Hui acknowledged with a sound. Just as he stepped through the gate, his gaze swept past the faded couplets on either side of the door, half-guessing, half-deciphering:

Pine and moon brew tea, one couch's quiet seclusion reaches beyond things; Clouds recline on robes, half a life's ease entrusted to forest springs.

Horizontal scroll: Clear Wind Enters the Marvelous.

Hmm. That was kind of interesting.

He lifted his foot over the threshold, and the wet mud on his sole left a blurred footprint on the stone floor.

The Young Disciple closed the temple gate behind him and slid the bolt into place.

The sky had fully darkened. The last sliver of twilight swept across the courtyard, illuminating a stone vat in the corner, thick with moss. The stagnant water inside reflected a gray-purple sky.

Shen Hui walked over and looked down at his reflection in the water. The figure in the pool was pale-faced and gaunt.

(Brothers, your medical insurance is back! First of all, thanks to every reader who opened this book—thank you for your trust. If you feel any discomfort while reading, please tell me; don't force yourself. Life is already tiring enough—you're here to be entertained, so don't waste too much time on a book you don't enjoy. Finally, I hope everyone can find their own gem on Tomato. It doesn't have to be gold, but it must be beautiful enough. Thank you...)