Three Immortals Return to the Cave

The old man spoke to apologize, his posture extremely low.

His words seemed to imply that some hidden expert had secretly sabotaged his trick.

Lin Shou watched from afar. Having mingled in the underworld for a while, he knew some rules and ways. Clearly, this performer was new in town, making too much money and drawing too much attention—he must have stirred up envy.

His beheading trick was too good; everyone came to watch him, and he'd already taken food from many fellow performers' mouths.

Cutting off someone's livelihood is like killing their parents.

In these times, for a bite to eat, murder and arson weren't unheard of, let alone just tripping someone up to make their act fail.

Lin Shou figured this was likely the work of some Color Sect expert, either standing up for a disciple or acting out of jealousy—either way, petty enough to pull this.

He looked at the old man bowing in apology, his trick ruined, then swept his gaze over the crowd. Using Subtle Perception to observe and deduce, he finally fixed his eyes on a small old man in a crimson long gown among the onlookers.

After the old man apologized, he called out "Rise!" again.

His own son, still with head separated from body, showed no movement.

It seemed that even with the old man groveling so humbly, that "expert" had no intention of letting him off.

And just then, the yamen patrol arrived.

The patrolman saw the son lying on the ground, head severed from body, and turned to point at the old man with a sharp shout:

"You've killed someone in the street! Come back to the yamen with us!"

Who had reported it was unclear, but the response was so fast—the trick had only just gone wrong, and the officials were already there. If anyone believed there was no foul play, they'd be a fool.

The old man sighed helplessly and cupped his hands to the patrolman:

"Officer, I'm surrounded by hundreds of onlookers, packed tight with no escape. But please allow me one more trick—I'll bring my son back to life."

The patrolman looked around. With the crowd so dense, the old performer truly had nowhere to run. They didn't know if this was real or part of the act, so they nodded to let him try. If the boy didn't come back, they could arrest him then.

The old man took a watermelon seed from his pocket.

He tossed the seed to the ground, slashed his forearm with a knife, and blood flowed out, soaking the seed. It grew in the wind, and in an instant, it had become a large watermelon.

The old man, still holding his bleeding arm, cupped his hands again:

"I have no wish to take a life. I only ask that the expert show mercy and let my son rise. I'll pack up and leave Tianqiao, never to set foot here again."

With that, he called out "Rise!" once more. The son still didn't move. That "expert" still wouldn't let the father and son go. The old man could only sigh in resignation:

"Ah, I never wanted to harm anyone."

Then he swung the big cleaver and chopped the watermelon from its vine. It rolled thuddingly across the ground.

"Son! Get up for your father!"

The old man roared, and the boy's head reconnected to his body. He stood up straight, finally rising, lively and bouncing.

But at the same time, a dull thud sounded in the crowd.

A large head hit the ground!

The crowd recoiled in shock, parting left and right. A headless corpse in a crimson long gown lay sprawled on the ground, its head rolling with a rumble until it bumped into the watermelon.

"Hey! Who did this!"

The two patrolmen jumped in fright. In broad daylight, who would be so bold as to take a life!

Lin Shou, watching from afar, frowned. Others hadn't noticed, but he had long since locked onto the "expert" causing trouble with Subtle Perception—that crimson long gown had been in his sights the whole time.

Yet even he hadn't seen what happened. He only saw that as the old man's blade cut the watermelon, the crimson-gowned man's head fell at the same instant.

Even with Lin Shou's Subtle Perception constantly observing and deducing, he couldn't figure out how the old man had killed the crimson-gowned man.

Lin Shou turned to look at the old man again. He had already hoisted the child onto his back and was heading for a large rice jar not far away. He scraped the jar and jumped inside.

"Hey! Don't go, you fiend! What kind of evil sorcery is this!"

The patrolmen realized the old man was trouble, but by the time they rushed to grab him, it was too late.

They saw him jump into the rice jar and chased after him, but when they peered inside, the jar was empty—no one there.

The old performer had vanished into thin air.

On Tianqiao Street, the Color Sect "expert" lay dead on the ground, the murderer gone without a trace. The yamen runners were at their wits' end—another unsolved case added to the pile.

The onlookers, never ones to shy from a spectacle, chattered excitedly and clapped in wonder. This incident would surely be the talk of the town for days.

Lin Shou watched the whole thing from afar and sighed deeply.

That old man's trickery was supernatural. Even with Subtle Perception, Lin Shou couldn't see through it—truly terrifying.

But despite such skill, the old man had carried himself with humility and tolerance. When a fellow performer sabotaged him on his own turf, he endured it again and again, willing to back down even with such great ability.

Yet that small old man in the crimson long gown—this so-called Color Sect "expert"—had pushed too far, bullying relentlessly.

The old man tolerated and yielded, not because he lacked the skill, but because he didn't want to do anything against heaven's way. But you, several times over, had no sense of your limits—and that was your own undoing.

In the end, your actions crossed the line of his tolerance. He gave you chances you didn't take, and when he finally struck, your fine head hit the ground. Truly, you brought disaster upon yourself, and there was no saving you.

So it goes—where you can forgive, forgive. Don't go too far in life.

Lin Shou clicked his tongue and shook his head. Seeing the sky growing late, he hoisted his Burial Shovel over his shoulder and headed back to the Corpse-Stitching Shop.

Today was another full and happy day. All the lively scenes he'd witnessed were honestly more entertaining than any TV drama plot—TV shows wouldn't even dare film something this surreal.

So, in the honest and simple Capital City of the Great Jing Dynasty, going out for a stroll and enjoying the spectacle was more satisfying than visiting a brothel. Lin Shou really loved it here.

Of course, it wasn't over yet.

In the evening, a corpse was delivered to the Corpse-Stitching Shop.

Lin Shou lifted the straw mat to look at the body—oh, an old acquaintance.

A crimson long gown, head separated from body.

Wasn't this the Color Sect "master" who got himself killed?

Lin Shou happily took the job.

At night, after three incense sticks burned down, Lin Shou operated the Medical Arm to stitch the corpse. Ever since the incident with the Tomb Raider's body, he now stitched corpses remotely—safe.

The Color Sect master's corpse was stitched smoothly, with no surprises in between. The Record of Selling Corpses appeared, and the Lantern of Life started running.

Lin Shou took a look. The life of a craftsman, recording how he learned performance from a magic apprentice, grew arrogant after a big fire, and became jealous of talent after fading from popularity...

Nothing interesting—a loser's story of inflated ego.

But at the very end, before his death, how the old man knocked his head off—Lin Shou watched closely for a long time, yet still couldn't figure out the trick. The old man's magic was exquisite, leaving no flaw to be found.

The Yin-Yang Abacus clinked and clanked, Heaven and Earth, Dark and Yellow, a good price.

Corpse pricing: Xuan rank, eighth grade.

A set of Color Artifacts appeared in Lin Shou's hand.

Two white bowls, three red pills.

Lin Shou grinned at the sight. This was a classic among ancient magic tricks—the most widespread basic skill, the foundation.

Three Immortals Return to the Cave.