Chapter Eleven: When in Rome

Life is an ocean; forgetting one's goals leads to losing direction, forgetting one's responsibilities leads to losing motivation, forgetting one's promises leads to losing the help of others, and forgetting one's identity leads to losing one's sense of propriety. Only by holding steadfast to faith and guarding hope while drifting with the currents can people continue forward when storms arise.

A month had passed since Zhang Yang's incident.

During this month, Lin Fan had followed Lin Hai everywhere. They were busy reading feng shui for all sorts of bosses, helping idle rich ladies catch mistresses, relocating ancestral graves for families with struggling businesses, and teaching the elderly longevity techniques.

Lin Hai even dared to open a ritual to pray for rain in a drought-stricken poor village. Fate seemed blind, for he actually succeeded, and the local villagers, grateful beyond words, treated him as a deity. Lin Hai did not waste their adoration and made a handsome profit.

As long as money was involved, Lin Hai would take on any job, no matter how disgraceful or deserving of divine retribution.

Lin Fan, immersed in Lin Hai’s world, at first tried all he could to resist, but soon realized it was a game of mutual consent—a willing butcher and a willing victim. Lin Hai constantly preached to him,

"The most fickle and false thing in this world is the human heart. People live amidst lies and schemes, easily lost, and in their struggle they gradually lose themselves—their minds become unsettled, their direction unclear. I, for the sake of enlightening the masses, sacrifice myself, endure hardship, brave danger, and lay down my life to guide them, to help them find their way, dispel their inner demons, and give their souls solace. I am healing hearts."

Lin Fan thought carefully. Though Lin Hai’s words were outrageous and disgusting, they made a certain sense, and he gradually came to terms with it.

What left him most speechless was the rain ritual in the village. A widow named Li braved the storm to seek out Lin Hai. She handed him a stack of cash, and Lin Hai, delighted, agreed without even asking what was needed. Afterward, he and Lin Fan invited her under a tree and learned her request was somewhat tricky.

The widow explained that it wasn’t a big issue: she fancied a bachelor from a neighboring village and wanted to remarry, but the villagers were superstitious, saying she had cursed her husband to death, and feared that marrying into another family would bring gossip.

Idle talk can wound like knives. So, seeing Lin Hai’s abilities, she sought his help—to hold a ritual and summon her late husband’s spirit to ask if these things were true. She hoped her “late husband” would, in front of everyone, speak kindly of her—say she was virtuous, managed the household, and upheld her duties—and most importantly, personally confirm that his death had nothing to do with her.

She winked and hinted, saying it all depended on the master’s “skills.”

Lin Hai smiled knowingly. Lin Fan wasn’t stupid; he understood the gist, thinking, “A widow’s door attracts trouble—so true.”

Feeling shortchanged, Lin Hai, after intense bargaining, pulled Lin Fan aside and suggested he pretend to be possessed by the widow’s late husband, since he had experience.

Lin Fan was furious; he refused to do such a sordid, immoral thing.

Lin Hai pleaded, reasoned, and even resorted to threats. In the end, with the saying “Better to break ten temples than ruin a single marriage” and a final ultimatum, he persuaded Lin Fan to reluctantly agree.

Lin Fan’s first time pretending to channel spirits was quite the spectacle—the villagers, young and old, all came out, save for those bedridden or immobile. After all, spirit summoning was a first for the village, and everyone wanted to see the show.

Lin Fan hadn’t expected such a grand scene; he was mortified and regretful, blaming his own rash words. But with things at this point, he could only grit his teeth and play his part.

Lin Hai and Lin Fan put on a convincing performance. Lin Hai chanted nonsense, shook the bells of the Three Pure Ones, gestured repeatedly before Lin Fan, then pointed a peachwood sword at him, waved it forcefully, and sprayed a mouthful of white liquor. Lin Fan, in front of the whole village, rolled his eyes, blushed, and recited the lines Lin Hai had taught him.

Though he stumbled through the script, he covered all the points, and the awkwardness actually fit the spirit-summoning act perfectly. The widow Li listened, laughing so hard her cheeks bloomed with color, and the cloud that Lin Hai had extracted from her finally began to dissipate.

The villagers, awed by Lin Hai’s earlier rain ritual, now believed in Lin Hai and Lin Fan completely.

Watching their double act, some villagers trembled in fear, some ran off, and most stood frozen, their faces stunned, secretly considering whether to ask the pair to help resolve their own old grievances and unspeakable troubles.

Lin Hai watched Lin Fan closely, convinced Lin Fan was a natural-born con artist, and gave him a round of applause.

Lin Fan later recalled this as an indelible pain, a memory too bitter to revisit.

The performance brought Lin Hai and Lin Fan enormous popularity. They stayed in the village for several more days, solving various local problems and earning a tidy sum before returning to the city.

By day, Lin Fan followed Lin Hai from one job to the next. By night, he worked hard to learn cooking.

Eating out was expensive and unhealthy; Lin Hai was loath to spend an extra penny. Whenever Lin Qi was in the kitchen, the two of them would huddle on the sofa, sweating with nervousness, utterly lacking appetite.

Eventually, whenever Lin Qi was off work, the two would make sure to be out, sometimes not returning overnight. Lin Qi realized they were avoiding her, and in a fit of anger, burned their Taoist robes and smashed many of their essential belongings, leaving Lin Hai heartbroken but unable to protest. He had to endure humiliation, his fragile heart shattered.

After that incident, the two never dared stay out all night again.

But this couldn’t go on. After careful thought, Lin Fan resolved to learn cooking; Lin Hai enthusiastically supported him, providing all manner of culinary secrets and buying him a set of high-end kitchenware.

After a month, Lin Fan’s cooking was not delicious, but at least edible—compared to Lin Qi’s, it was a gourmet feast.

One morning, Lin Qi finished breakfast in a huff and threatened Lin Fan, sitting across from her, “If you dare get up early and compete with me for cooking again, I’ll put you in the pot and boil you.”

“Cousin—cousin, aren’t you going to school? I—I just didn’t want you to tire yourself out! Besides, my skin’s thick, I won’t cook through, not—not tasty,” Lin Fan stammered in fear.

Lin Qi tossed out her threat, ignored Lin Fan, grabbed her bag, and slammed the door behind her.

“Don’t worry, nephew, ignore her. You must keep getting up early to cook. Your uncle supports you!” Lin Hai hurried over to encourage him.

“What good does your support do? Didn’t you hear her say she’d boil me if I compete with her again?” Lin Fan replied, still shaken.

“Oh, come on, that’s just a scare for little kids. Besides, with your iron skin and invulnerable body, she couldn’t cook you even if she tried. You must persist, don’t let my kitchenware down,” Lin Hai coaxed.

Lin Fan replied, “Why don’t you dare say that in front of her? Hey—uncle! I always feel like you’re not her father, but her son.”

“Nonsense!” Lin Hai snapped. “I am the embodiment of fatherly love—respecting the old, cherishing the young, gentle, kind, magnanimous, broad-minded, tolerant…”

Lin Fan quickly waved him off, “Alright, alright, stop showing off. I know you too well. You must have done something shameful to my cousin, right?”

Lin Fan stared at Lin Hai, who avoided his gaze and launched into wild fabrication:

“Sigh! Didn’t I tell you about your aunt? When your cousin was born, there was an accident. The doctor asked whether to save the mother or the child. I foolishly said, ‘Save the son…’ Lost your aunt’s life, and offended Lin Qi, so now…”

Lin Hai even squeezed out a couple of crocodile tears.

Lin Fan looked coldly at Lin Hai’s “heartbroken” act, thinking, “Damn! You shameless old liar, anyone with half a brain can see through that story, and you still use it to fool me. Who still talks about ‘save the mother or the child’ these days? Lin Qi was just born, how could she remember? If you hadn’t said anything, who would know you wanted a son? … Old fox, you want to play? I’ll play along!”

Lin Fan, keeping a straight face, put on a show of sorrow, squeezed out two little crocodile tears, and said, “Say no more, uncle, sorry for bringing up your sad memories. Boo hoo…”

The next moment, the two actually hugged each other, crying loudly, escalating the drama, determined to outdo each other.

During this period, Lin Fan’s soul was slowly recovering, his thoughts gradually reviving. Though his memories remained blank, it only deepened his pursuit and exploration of his own origins.