Chapter Five: Unfairness

“What are you trying to do?” As Fang Xiao drew out the triangular stiletto, the fat Daoist’s expression changed at once. His three pudgy fingers on the right hand swiftly formed a magical gesture.

Fang Xiao set the recently unbuckled military belt on the small table as well, scratching his head. “Daoist, these things of mine… they’re a bit, well, special. Could you take a look at them for me?”

Uncertain how to explain, he recounted his earlier discoveries.

At first, the Daoist seemed indifferent, but gradually his mouth fell open, his narrowed eyes filling with incredulity. “You mean to say these items of yours display… attributes?”

Fang Xiao was puzzled. “What do you mean by ‘attributes’?”

“Attributes are the written information you see with your eyes,” the Daoist explained, frowning deeply as he reached for the belt, studying it closely.

This belt, given to Fang Xiao by Li Yuanchao, was actually incomplete—missing a crossbody strap. Yet the main wide belt and its attached sword ring were mostly intact and of good quality.

The Daoist looked it over from every angle, even attempting to infuse it with a trace of magical power.

But he couldn’t discern anything unusual—let alone any so-called ‘attributes’!

He then examined the commemorative medal and the stiletto, but achieved no more insight with these.

“Wait!” Fang Xiao took out a small booklet from his inner pocket. “There’s also this.”

It was the most unusual of all.

“What?” The Daoist stared at Fang Xiao’s apparently empty hand, the corners of his eyes twitching. “There’s nothing there.”

Fang Xiao was shocked. “You can’t see it?”

The Daoist shook his head, his gaze growing ever more grave. He didn’t think Fang Xiao was making fun of him. Though they hadn’t known each other long, he already had a good grasp of Fang Xiao’s character.

“How odd.” Fang Xiao was utterly perplexed, waving the booklet at him. “You still can’t see it?”

The Daoist stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Better put it away for now.”

“All right.” Fang Xiao could only return the booklet to his pocket, patting it gently.

The Daoist watched coldly, then suddenly said, “If I’m not mistaken…”

He pointed to the items on the table. “These are, in all likelihood, your personal magical treasures. Even if someone else took them, they wouldn’t be able to harness their power—they’d be no different from ordinary objects.”

Then he indicated Fang Xiao’s chest, where the Crimson Sun Codex was kept. “And that is your life-bound magical treasure!”

It was said that some special life-bound treasures were invisible to outsiders. The Daoist had only ever read about such things in sect records, never witnessed them in reality.

He spoke with great solemnity. “Fang Xiao, from now on, never tell anyone about these things, especially your life-bound treasure. Not even me—don’t say another word!”

He was afraid he might not be able to restrain the envy, jealousy, and greed in his heart, might be tempted to do something unthinkable.

Fang Xiao truly was fortunate to have met him upon arrival. If it had been someone else, the consequences would be unimaginable!

Fang Xiao nodded repeatedly. “I promise I won’t tell!”

He could sense that the Daoist genuinely had his best interests at heart, no less than Brother Li Yuanchao. He really had met good people.

“That’s right.” The Daoist wiped the sweat from his brow and waved a hand. “Review your lessons. I’ll be back in a moment.”

“Thank you, Daoist.” Fang Xiao sat down, gathering up his things and buckling the belt around his waist again.

He was actually wearing a woven cord as a belt already, so even without the military belt, his pants wouldn’t fall. The belt was mainly for use as a weapon.

He thought for a moment, then hung the stiletto from the sword ring. Opening his notebook, he earnestly began reviewing the knowledge he’d just learned.

Personal magical treasures, life-bound magical treasures—he didn’t understand any of it yet. But Fang Xiao believed that with diligent study, nothing would be a problem.

Meanwhile, the Daoist returned to his room, closed the door, and flicked out a soundproofing talisman. It burst silently, dissolving into countless points of spiritual light that seeped into the walls, ceiling, and floor.

The next moment, the Daoist flung himself to the ground and began rolling around. He flailed his arms, kicked his legs, and howled, “It’s not fair! Why is it that everyone else who transmigrates gets magical treasures—personal treasures, life-bound treasures! And I have nothing—no system, no cheat, why is my fate so bitter!”

After a while, he leapt to his feet, left hand on his hip, right hand pointing skyward, and shouted, “You wretched heavens—!”

Crack!

Before he could finish, a peal of thunder crashed above the temple, shaking the surroundings and echoing without end.

Inside, the Daoist froze like a fat goose grabbed by the neck, eyes wide, not daring to make another sound. His sturdy legs quivered uncontrollably.

Only after a long while did he brush the dust from his robe, then slouched out the door, completely dejected.

“Daoist,” Fang Xiao called as he studied, “there was thunder just now!”

The noise had startled him out of his wits.

The Daoist shook his head weakly, not wanting to say a word. He slumped into a rattan chair, gazing up at the sky in a daze, utterly motionless, like a pile of mud.

After a moment, he pulled a pack of Big Front Gate cigarettes from his sleeve, lit one for himself, and sat in a cloud of smoke, his eyes unfocused.

Seeing this, Fang Xiao finally relaxed, feeling a pang of sympathy for the Daoist.

He put down his pencil and reached into his bag for the lunchbox. He figured the Daoist must be hungry—after all, anyone who’d gone all morning and midday without eating would be in a bad mood.

But as soon as he grabbed the box, Fang Xiao suddenly remembered—he’d finished all the food in it last night!

Huh?

Just as he felt a trace of embarrassment, he realized something was wrong.

The lunchbox was heavy—far too heavy to be empty.

Instinctively, he opened the lid.

He was stunned.

Inside, the aluminum lunchbox was heaped with braised pork.

Fang Xiao could hardly believe his eyes. He quickly set it on the table and opened the other two “empty” boxes.

He was dumbfounded.

One was filled with dumplings—chive and egg, packed to the brim.

The other was stuffed with large buns, bulging at the seams.

So what had he eaten last night?

Fang Xiao was certain he’d finished every scrap from all three lunchboxes the night before. He’d eaten so much that he wasn’t even hungry now.

“Hm?” At that moment, the Daoist, lying in the chair smoking, sniffed the air. “What’s that smell?”

He turned to see Fang Xiao, and the lunchbox in his hands.

Fang Xiao swallowed nervously and asked, “Daoist, have you eaten yet?”