A heretical cultivator in Bureau 749, I'm the fiercest at pulling out tendons and skinning peop

As the morning light climbed onto the windowpane, the old monk Jinchi was awakened by hunger.

The jar of vegetarian wine from last night had quite a strong aftereffect. He got up feeling dizzy, slipped on his shoes, and prepared to go to the kitchen to find some hangover soup, and also to see if there were any leftover scraps from the celebration banquet.

Passing by the front yard, I habitually glanced at the donation box—

In his eyes, that box was like a treasure trove; he felt uneasy if he didn't look at it every day.

That glance made them stop in their tracks.

Ok?

Those coins at the bottom of the box... seem to be gone?

He rubbed his sleepy eyes, leaned closer, and peered intently through the coin slot.

empty.

It's a vacuum.

"Which short-lived bald monk is this! Touching even this!"

The old monk Jinchi's first reaction was that there was a thief in the temple. He was so angry that his chest felt tight and his beard stood on end.

He cursed and swore as he walked toward the backyard, wondering which disciple was so audacious as to steal the props personally arranged by the abbot.

As he approached the release pond, he felt something was amiss.

At this time of day, the koi in the pond would usually float to the surface to wait for food, the water gurgling gently, carrying a sense of life.

But today, it's eerily quiet.

He turned his head and looked—

Ok!

The pool is empty!

A thick layer of silt basked in the morning light, a few rotten lotus leaves drooped, and clear marks of the receding water level remained on the pond wall, more glaring than the hairline on his forehead thirty years after he became a monk.

Where's the fish?

Where are my pond full of fat, blessed koi?!

Where are my boxes of gold that sank in the pool?

The old monk Jinchi felt a sudden jolt in his heart; his hangover and anger were instantly replaced by a chilling panic.

He staggered towards the kitchen.

The stove was cold, the pot was empty, and the cups, plates, and bowls that had been set out so full last night, along with the opened jar of vegetarian wine, had vanished without a trace.

The shelf was empty; even the dried chilies and two cloves of garlic that had been hanging there were nowhere to be seen. Only a few bare nails remained, reflecting the light forlornly on the wall.

"Help! Help!"

The old monk Jinchi's roar changed tone and echoed in the empty temple.

Several monks, also rubbing their eyes and looking confused, ran over.

"Abbot, what's the matter?"

"The cellar! Quickly, go check the cellar!" The old monk Jinchi's voice trembled, a sliver of hope still clinging to him—

Perhaps, the kitchen was simply burgled?

Soon, their luck was completely shattered.

The cellar door was ajar, and a cold wind blew out from inside.

A young monk went downstairs carrying an oil lamp, and a moment later, he scrambled back up, his face as white as if it had been plastered with putty.

"Gone...gone! All gone! The Buddha statue, the gold, the medicine...all gone! Only some rat droppings are left!"

The old monk Jinchi's legs went weak, and he almost fell to the ground if his disciple hadn't been supporting him.

He suddenly remembered something, pushed aside the crowd, and stumbled towards the library.

Third floor, partition wall.

The wall was intact, but when his hands trembled as he followed a specific method to remove the crude illusion—

The space behind it was empty.

The scriptures, relics, ritual implements... along with the sandalwood incense and spiritual light that had lingered in his heart for many years and brought him peace of mind, all vanished completely.

The wall was so clean it looked like it had been licked by a dog, and then it had been sanded three hundred times.

"puff--"

The old monk Jinchi felt a sweet taste in his throat, and almost spat out a mouthful of blood, but he swallowed it back down, his mouth full of a metallic taste.

He leaned against the cold wall, slowly slid down to the ground, and stared blankly at the familiar yet unfamiliar temple.

The release pond looks like a gaping, thirsty mouth.

The walls of the library are strikingly new.

The wind seeping through the crack in the cellar door chilled me to the bone.

The kitchen... the kitchen is even out of garlic.

The four elements are all empty; this is what true emptiness of the four elements is all about.

The old monk Jinchi struggled to get up from the cold ground, using both his hands and feet, his vision still blurring.

No! We have to report this to the authorities! We have to go to Bureau 749!

In broad daylight, under the clear sky, in the most virtuous place in Beijing, such a notorious thief has appeared! We must report this to the authorities!

His mind was buzzing, and he staggered as he tried to rush out.

But my gaze suddenly fell on a corner of the altar, where a brand-new, crisply bound register was placed neatly, almost blindingly so in the morning light.

Yesterday, that investigator, Ms. Ji, handed over "ironclad proof" of her poverty with a beaming smile.

The old monk Jinchi abruptly stopped in his tracks.

It felt like an invisible icicle had pierced straight from the top of my head to the soles of my feet, chilling my entire body to the bone.

With trembling hands, he grabbed the booklet and flipped through it rapidly.

"A damaged clay Buddha statue..."

"A wooden altar table with peeling paint..."

"Thirty-seven old prayer cushions..."

"A bronze incense burner, severely rusted, missing one handle..."

It's all written in black and white, I remember it clearly and plainly.

Each and every item was temple property that he had personally approved yesterday.

As for the gilded Buddha statues, jade Bodhisattva carvings, chests of gold and silver, and spiritual herbs and pills in the cellar...

Is it in the booklet? No.

Ancient books, relics of eminent monks, and Buddhist ritual implements are hidden in the walls of the library.

Is it in the booklet? No.

The jar of fifty-year-old vegetarian liquor in the kitchen, the table laden with delicacies, the dried chilies on the shelf, two heads of garlic...

Is it in the booklet? No, it's not!

Oh, there is one thing that seems, might, perhaps matches—those few stained one-cent coins in the donation box.

But that thing... that thing is in the booklet, it's nothing!

No, it's nothing, it's just a ridiculous decoration that exists to pretend to be poor!

The old monk Jinchi's hand, holding the booklet, trembled like a leaf falling in the autumn wind.

Report a crime? Report what crime?

It is said that Jinding Temple was robbed of a huge amount of money last night. The cellar was emptied, the walls of the scripture pavilion were cleaned, the release pond was drunk dry, and even the garlic in the kitchen was gone.

Then the 749 investigators arrived and asked: Master, isn't this all the stuff you have in your temple? It's all still here, the clay statues aren't broken, the offering table isn't collapsed, the prayer cushions aren't missing, the incense burner... apart from a few cents, what exactly did you lose?

What did he say? That none of those things were registered?

Wouldn't that be the end of the world?

Concealing huge amounts of assets and deceiving the special investigators from Bureau 749 is a crime that is probably even greater than being robbed!

This is tax evasion, this is fraud!

At the end of this year, you'll be used as a typical example by 749. Going to jail is the least of your worries. If those brutes get impatient, they might just throw you into the shooting range as a target.

This isn't reporting a crime; it's clearly walking into a trap.

"Thump."

The old monk Jinchi could no longer stand and slumped back to the ground, his back pressed firmly against the cold wall.

Yesterday, that young man had that smiling, harmless face.

That sincere, junior-like tone.

The phrases "only register what is currently visible" and "it is by no means excessively difficult" were used.

The profile of that young man standing in the shadows with his arms crossed, looking utterly bored...

Scenes flashed before my eyes like lightning.

It's not that I'm impatient, or that I can't see the real deal.

They were watching a show!

They were watching Jin Chi act like a clown, putting on a show of "poverty" with all his might, and thinking he had gotten away with it!

Where in that register is there any irrefutable proof of poverty?

That was clearly a glamorous, indelible image of poverty tailor-made for him at the Golden Summit Temple!

It was an ironclad "proof of innocence" welded to his body!

"Heh...heh..."

The old monk Jinchi made a sound like a broken bellows in his throat. He wanted to cry, but couldn't; he wanted to shout, but couldn't.

All the strength in his body, along with the lingering effects of last night's alcohol and the panic and anger from just now, were completely drained away by that light booklet and the smiling face behind it.

He lay there, gazing at the increasingly blinding morning light filtering through the entrance to the main hall.

I felt that the light was also filled with the illusory image of Ji Zuodao's smiling face.

It’s over.

It's all over.

With all his money gone, his secrets exposed, and his weaknesses firmly in someone's grasp, he no longer even had the right to cry out for justice.

This was too extreme, too ruthless, and too damn immoral!