The Old Man Shang Zhou Bought Last Week's Fake Altar, Let's Go Down and Settle In Again, Teacher.

By the time Guter and his companions reached the city's night market, chatting as they walked, the festive atmosphere had just reached its peak.

The originally wide streets had grown somewhat narrow due to the celebrating crowds, but this was hardly a bad thing.

Because of this cramped closeness, strangers no longer maintained that cold social distance; instead, they pressed together like family and friends, close enough to feel each other's emotions.

In such an environment, everyone's festive excitement spread like water droplets on the sea, rippling outward in circles.

Their mutual joy infected one another, weaving together into a shared memory of the celebration.

In this atmosphere, even someone like Lairn had a faint smile creeping onto his face.

This is how it should be—during a festival, everyone ought to be happy.

Guter's lips also curved upward with the festivities, and as he passed a street vendor, he fished out some coins to buy two interesting little trinkets.

Hiding them behind his back, he quickly walked over to his teacher and junior disciple. Just as they were looking puzzled, he pulled the hidden accessories from behind and placed them on their heads.

"Senior Brother, what did you put on me?"

Gumi didn't take it off but instead reached up to feel it. By touch, it seemed to be a headband?

"Junior Disciple, take a look at Teacher. The ones I gave you two are the same style."

"Is that so?"

Following her senior brother's cue, Gumi looked at Teacher beside her and immediately let out an exclamation of surprise.

"Wow! Teacher, you look so cute!"

At that moment, a helpless-looking Serie had a pair of pure white cat ears standing upright on her head. The adorable accessory and her resigned expression created an extreme contrast.

"Heh."

"What a boring toy."

Serie snorted coldly, offering a blunt critique.

But just after denying the cat-ear accessory, Serie glanced at her disciple Gumi, who was also wearing them, and her expression froze for a moment.

...It actually does look pretty cute.

"Boom!"

Just as Serie was lost in thought, a loud bang suddenly rang out from the black sky.

A brilliant, dazzling firework bloomed in the night sky, and the people on the street seemed to receive a signal, cheering in unison.

"Boom! Boom! Boom!"

All kinds of fireworks burst forth one after another in the sky, the grand spectacle illuminating the deep darkness as if it were daylight. Mixed with the cheers of the crowd, it all converged into the climax of the Holy Scripture.

Guter looked around at the people beside him—Serie, Gumi, Lairn, and the crowd on the street—and etched this moment deeply into his memory.

Perhaps this is the meaning of a festival.

The original origin of the festival—not everyone could still remember it.

Even if recorded in writing, after a thousand years, it would likely be twisted beyond recognition.

In the end, a festival was just an illusory concept; what was real were the people gathered here at this moment.

After the fireworks display ended, Serie led her disciples to the busiest square in the city.

Most of the night market's food stalls were gathered here.

Guter patted his junior disciple Gumi on the shoulder. They exchanged a smile and, with tacit understanding, began their battle from start to finish.

Meanwhile, Serie took her disciple Lairn to browse the shops selling magical tools along the street.

Before they knew it, they had wandered for quite a while. Only when the night market's crowd began to thin did they reluctantly regroup.

During this time, Guter and Gumi had truly eaten their fill. The smoky, lively street food of the night market was indeed a master at soothing the soul.

As for Teacher Serie and Lairn, they had also made a gain.

Guter stared at the jar his teacher was holding in her arms, momentarily puzzled.

After hesitating for a moment, Guter still spoke up.

"Teacher, that's not a magical tool, is it?"

"Mm, it's indeed not a magical tool, but its patterns have a very long history—older than humanity's Unified Empire period. It can already be called a cultural relic, so I bought it."

"Is that so?"

Guter paused, then continued.

"Teacher, could I take a closer look?"

"Sure."

Serie handed the jar to Guter and proudly mentioned that she had bought it for only five silver coins.

But Serie didn't notice that her disciple Guter, now holding the jar, had a very strange expression on his face.

He kept muttering under his breath, "That can't be right," "That can't be right."

Seeing this, Serie's slightly excited mood calmed down, and she asked her disciple Guter, "What can't be right?"

Guter returned the jar to his teacher, cleared his throat, and spoke.

"Teacher, you shouldn't have misjudged this."

"Logically speaking, even if it were genuine, your age should still be greater than its age—so how could you have misjudged it?"

"?"

Serie's brow twitched. "Explain why you're so certain it's a fake."

Facing his teacher's doubt, Guter's expression was resolute. If it had been any other object, he might have let it slide, but it happened to be a jar. And Guter, in that abandoned monastery from before, had copied down four or five treatises on the history of human vessels. In the field of vessels alone, Guter considered himself no weaker than a professional scholar.

Thus, Guter analyzed with confidence.

"Teacher, the pattern you recognize—it is indeed from before the [Unified Empire period]. That's not the issue."

"But the problem lies in this jar's style, material, and forging technique."

"The style of this jar is an imitation of the popular style from the [Unified Empire peak period], but the placement of these two handles is wrong, and this inlay technique is also incorrect—this kind of inlay only became mainstream in the last two hundred years."

"Finally, there's the jar's firing technique. The wall rings crisp when tapped, and the bottom rim is smooth and solid—this can only be achieved with kiln methods from the last few decades."

"Therefore, this is most likely a fake."

"Teacher, it seems you need to go back and do some grounding."

"Mm... how could this be..."

Faced with Guter's methodical analysis, Serie couldn't help but feel dejected. Especially her disciple's line—"even if it were genuine, your age should still be greater than its age"—struck deep into Serie's heart.

"Pfft—"

A disciple nearby laughed out. Serie, wearing cat-ear accessories, pulled a sour little cat face as she scanned the room for which disciple had just laughed.

Guter? No.

Her chief senior disciple was currently watching her with keen interest. Though he wasn't laughing, that look in his eyes wasn't much better.

Gumi? Also no.

That female disciple of hers was currently pinching her arm, biting her lower lip tightly. From her face, which was nearly red from holding it in, it probably wasn't her.

Having ruled out those two options, only one answer remained.

Lairn!

Lairn still hadn't restrained himself. The smile on his face flowed freely, and only when his teacher's gaze locked directly onto him did Lairn, oblivious to social cues, belatedly realize that perhaps he shouldn't have laughed so openly.

At that moment, Guter patted Lairn on the shoulder. For his junior disciple to be ostracized within the Imperial Capital Circle—it might not be entirely undeserved.