On a dark, windy night with no moon in sight, Lester Liew, whose fever had mostly subsided after a few doses of medicine, quietly shook Quinn awake. Without a second glance at the still-sleeping Quentin Wang, the two slipped away under cover of night.
Quinn felt guilty the entire way. Several times, he wanted to turn back, but Lester, invoking his seniority as an elder, firmly overruled him every time.
Lester swiftly found a cart and rented it. The two of them rode the ox cart for two full days. Once they were sure Quentin wasn't going to catch up, Lester finally took the chance to lecture the younger man.
"Everyone looks out for themselves first, or heaven and earth will damn them. Listen, nephew, I'll be honest—your uncle does still have some copper coins on him. But it's not enough for the three of us. Heck, even for the two of us, it's tight."
"If you really want to get home in time for the New Year, quit worrying about all that sentimental nonsense. Instead, think about how we're going to earn some money."
They had originally traveled in a group for safety while still outside the border, but now that they were within the gate, everyone was going their own way. No one was obligated to wait for anyone else.
Quinn still felt uneasy. He mumbled, "But Uncle Wang doesn't have a single coin on him… and it's so cold. How's he going to make it back?"
"How do you know he doesn't have any money?" Lester shot back.
Quinn blinked. "Wait… he does?"
Lester snorted and gave him a look that screamed you're still too green, then replied, "These days, who doesn't stash something away when they travel? Did you see how tightly his shoes were tied? Bet you anything he's got coins hidden in them."
"Then why would he say he had nothing?" Quinn asked, confused.
Lester clicked his tongue and shrugged with an expression that said he'd seen through it all. "Because he didn't want to share with us, obviously."
Quinn was about to ask more, but Lester had already lost patience.
"The ox cart's only taking us this far. We'll spend the night outside this post house and figure out how to make money tomorrow so we can keep moving."
Quinn glanced pointedly at the pouch in Lester's chest. "Didn't you still have some left?"
Thunk! A hard flick landed on his forehead.
"If I spend it all now, what'll we do later? You want to beg our way home?"
Quinn clutched his head and fell silent.
To be honest, after everything, he'd begun to see his third uncle in a different light. The villagers had always said Lester was a no-good scoundrel, but what Quinn had witnessed was someone observant, brave enough to face enemies, and capable of navigating the endless grasslands using nothing but the stars. He had, after all, led Quinn safely out of that wilderness.
Still… ditching Quentin and running off like this… was admittedly pretty scummy.
Just as that thought formed, Lester rolled his eyes at him—reminding Quinn that they were both scumbags now.
Quinn: Waaah, I've been corrupted!
Lester's so-called "sleeping outside the post house" plan actually involved pretending to be a wandering fortune-teller to scam food and lodging from passing travelers.
And it worked.
He managed to hustle a free meal of meat and wine and even sweet-talked the innkeeper into letting them sleep on the floor of the main hall that night.
Lester knew very well that in this freezing northern climate, if they really slept outdoors, he and Quinn would be frozen stiff by morning.
Quinn stood behind him the whole time, playing the part of his "little apprentice."
At over six feet tall, Quinn twitched. Wait, little? Who's little here?
He watched Lester fabricate one story after another—no, wait—divine fortunes. And truth be told, despite their ragged journey, his third uncle had kept his appearance tidy. His robes weren't elegant, but they were neat, and his hair was combed. That kind of self-discipline stood out.
It helped that Lester genuinely looked the part. His lean build and sharp features gave off a bit of a "wandering sage" vibe. When he introduced himself as a Taoist from some mountain temple, people actually believed him.
What shocked Quinn most was that… Lester actually knew how to read fortunes.
He watched wide-eyed as Lester stroked his scruffy beard, narrowed his eyes in contemplation, then suddenly let out a dramatic "Hmmm…"
The old merchant in front of him immediately tensed up. "Master Taoist, is something wrong with my trip?"
He was asking whether his upcoming business journey north of Darkmoon Gate would go smoothly.
Lester shook his head and gave a calm smile. "I just drew a divination. The signs say you'll encounter misfortune on the road—but if you take precautions, you'll avoid danger and have a smooth journey."
The old merchant tensed again, then relaxed. He quickly motioned for his servant to pour Lester another cup of hot tea.
Lester calmly drew a path on the table with his finger. "Stick to the main road. Avoid shortcuts. Travel by day, rest at night."
Simple advice, sure, but it sounded just mystical enough to impress.
Quinn, listening from behind, thought it all sounded like common sense—but the merchant looked as if he'd been handed a divine revelation.
That night, the two of them huddled together on a straw mat. Quinn couldn't hold back his curiosity.
"Uncle Lester… when did you learn to tell fortunes?"
Lester lay there with his eyes closed. He looked asleep, but he wasn't. After a long silence—just as Quinn was starting to drift off—Lester murmured, "That's a heavenly secret. I can't reveal it."
Quinn made a small "oh" of understanding and then promptly hugged Lester for warmth, resting his head on his uncle's back and drifting off to sleep.
Lester let out a quiet sigh.
There was no such thing as "heavenly secrets." It was all just human nature.
People wanted comfort, so he gave them what they wanted to hear.
His freezing hands rummaged inside his robes and pulled out a greasy chicken leg. Bite by bite, he nibbled at it in silent delight.
That stingy old merchant—such a big business owner—and all he gave was one chicken leg? Not even a coin?
Quinn twitched his nose. Half-asleep, he sat up groggily. "Uncle… do you smell chicken?"
"Huh? What? You're dreaming again. There's no chicken." Lester, still hiding the leg under his robes, tried to sound convincing. "Go to sleep. We've got a long road ahead."
Quinn sniffed again. Was that… an illusion? It really smelled like chicken...
But sleep soon claimed him, and he lay back down.
Lester waited three more minutes—just to be sure. Then, he sneakily pulled out the rest of the chicken leg, wolfed it down in a few bites, and flung the bone aside. He wiped his greasy fingers on his clothes and finally shut his eyes.
The fortune-telling trick worked surprisingly well. Over the next few days, Lester zeroed in on lone travelers and spun them tales of fate and luck. His somewhat mystical appearance made most people believe he really was a Taoist priest.
At worst, some people rolled their eyes and called him a smooth talker.
But most were grateful enough to treat him to a hot meal or offer a jug of wine.
In this way, the two actually ate quite well—getting meat and vegetables every few days.
With food in their bellies, their spirits lifted. They looked even more the part. Lester's every word became "this humble Taoist" and "the heavenly path," and Quinn naturally followed his lead, calling him "Master."
By the time they reached the outskirts of Willowridge County Town, they'd cut a full five days off their journey.
Jumping down from the cart, the two looked up at the familiar city walls. Tears welled in their eyes as they hugged tightly.
"Waaaah! We're finally home!"
(End of Chapter)
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