When Duan Rong walked out of the rundown little tavern, he was already slightly drunk, a rich flush glowing across his dark face.
Duan Rong staggered along, intending to return to the dormitory, take a short nap, and sleep off the alcohol.
Just as he reached the entrance of the Yuan Shun Escort Agency, a voice suddenly sounded behind him.
"Are you Bodyguard Duan?"
The afternoon sun was blazing. Duan Rong abruptly turned around, and the sunlight streaming straight into his face dazzled his drunken eyes.
He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, vaguely making out a long, thin figure standing against the light not far from the stone lions outside the escort agency.
Only after Duan Rong descended several steps did he see the man clearly. He was a gaunt monk, skin stretched over bone, wearing a yellow silk cassock, a string of oil-bright prayer beads around his neck, and nine burn marks on his bald head.
Duan Rong paused slightly, then pressed his palms together in greeting and said politely, "I am indeed Duan Rong. May I ask what instruction you have for me, Master?"
In his previous life, Duan Rong had always treated monks, Taoists, and religious figures with great courtesy. After all, there were gods three feet above one's head.
Since his soul had crossed over, he believed it even more deeply.
Even transmigration had happened—who could dare say that tales of gods and ghosts were not true after all?
Seeing this monk now, Duan Rong was even more devout than he had been in his previous life.
Moreover, Duan Rong had a particular prejudice: the thinner the monk, the more likely he was a true ascetic!
This monk before him was nothing but skin and bones, skinny as a ghost—he could not possibly be