Chapter 111: The Origin (1/2)

Fearing anything might go wrong, I didn't dare lift the red cloth covering Shiyu. Instead, I turned my gaze to the old woman and used my Insight Eye to assess her. From what I could tell, she was just an ordinary human—nothing unusual. But as a cultivator, how could I trust only what my eyes could see?

Shiyu's parents were devout Buddhists, both gentle and kind. Her mother had just finished tidying the ancestral altar. When she saw the old woman, she said politely, "Auntie, as you can see, our family just went through a hardship. We really don't have much to offer. But if you need, I can give you some money to buy food outside."

Her kindness was obvious, but hadn't she thought it strange? The sun had just risen, and already someone had come begging at our doorstep—right after the underworld emissaries left. That alone was suspicious.

The old woman had graying hair and clouded eyes, her back hunched and hands like dried bark—rough, gnarled, and weathered. She looked every bit the part of a suffering, wandering soul.([Side note: The term "妪" (yù) is often mispronounced.])

"I don't want much," she said hoarsely. "Just a little something to eat. I saw the offering cakes you're not using—just give those to me."

Shiyu's mother glanced left and right, and truly seemed to consider giving her the offerings. In our northern regions, it's common for vagrants to appear during funerals, begging for coins. But someone asking for food—that was rare.

Just as her mother reached to hand over the offering fruit, I stepped in, gently stopping her. I took the items from her hands and said, "Auntie, please go tidy up. I'll handle this."

The house was still a complete mess. As her mother turned back to cleaning, I warned her not to touch the chest under any circumstances.

I looked at the woman. "Auntie, how old are you this year?"

"Seventy-three," she sighed.

I asked again, "At such an age, you're still begging on the street? These days it's rare to see that. What about your children?"

Another sigh. She told me she had three sons. The eldest two had moved overseas. Her youngest son, however, remained unmarried, which had always weighed on her heart.

Finally, her youngest met someone. They were on the brink of marriage when the girl said:"You're perfect in every way, but… your seventy-something mother will be a huge burden after we marry."

Her son was crushed. Three days later, after some drinking, he came home with a kitchen knife and left it, along with a note, in her room. The note read:"Mother, forgive me for being unfilial. But you're nearly eighty. Maybe it's time you enjoyed peace in heaven."

Terrified her son might actually try to kill her, she fled their home and ended up wandering here, begging.

Listening to her story, I couldn't help feeling a surge of sympathy. I examined her more carefully. No tail. No scales around the neck. If she were a demon seeking the sacred relic, there would've been some telltale sign.

After thinking it over, I handed her the offering fruit. She thanked me three times and left.

I stood there for more than ten minutes, unsettled. Something felt off—but I couldn't place it. Deep down, I knew… this wasn't over yet.

Sure enough, just moments after the old woman left, a ragged-looking middle-aged man appeared at the door. His clothes were worn, and he looked surprised when he saw me.

"Hello," he said. "Could I borrow a little money?"

I remained vigilant, turning the question over in my mind. In this world, nothing happens without reason. Every cause has its effect, and their arrival—one after another—had to mean something.

I straightened my posture. Whatever came, I was ready to face it.

"How much do you need, brother?" I asked. "As you can see, the house has just been through a lot."

The man sighed. "Five hundred for travel expenses. I've really run out of options. I was passing by and saw your home was the only one with lights on. I didn't know where else to go, so I tried my luck here."

I didn't have a cent on me, so I went inside and asked Shiyu's father for five hundred yuan. Handing it to the man, I asked, "What happened to you? You don't look poor. You seem to carry the air of someone who once had wealth."

The man looked pained, as if dredging up a sorrowful memory. "I was tricked," he said.

He explained that he used to run a small business. Years ago, a childhood friend died in a traffic accident, leaving behind a widow and child. Being kind-hearted, he took them in—gave them a place to live, paid for the kid's schooling, and never once took advantage of the widow. He truly treated them like family.