The young monk walked to the back kitchen, scooped a bowl of porridge that had long turned cold, added a bit of salted vegetables, and then cradled the bowl as he slowly headed toward a room at the far end.

Sun Hang moved to his side and carefully observed the young monk's expression, noticing that besides fear and worry, his face also contained a hint of undisguisable revulsion.

Who was he revulsed by? Was it the elder brother who used his seniority to boss them around, or the monk who had just been guarding the gate, or... perhaps the person inside the room?

The young monk knocked twice on the door and softly called, "Master, Brother Jueming sent me to bring you food."

There was no response from inside the room, and the young monk hesitated for a moment before slowly pushing the door open.

Instantly, a stench wafted out from the room.

It wasn't the smell of a rotting corpse, but rather the odor that emanates from a bedridden elderly person neglected without proper care and cleaning.

"Master?"

The twilight sky kept the room dimly lit, so Sun Hang could only vaguely make out a human figure lying on a bed in the corner.

The young monk stuck close to the wall, placed the bowl of white porridge on the cabinet, and then lit the kerosene lamp in the room.

A grotesque-looking old man appeared in Sun Hang's view.

His limbs were exposed from the bedding, and the extremities of his hands and feet were encased in thick keratinous growths, resembling clumps of dead tree roots dug from mud.

His face was also covered with various sized growths, the largest one being the size of a goose egg, lodged at the corner of his mouth, rendering him completely mute, only capable of emitting guttural "ho ho" sounds from deep within his throat.

"Ma...Master," the young monk asked nervously, "Are... are you alright?"

Sun Hang circled the old man's bed, then squatted down for a close inspection of his growths before sighing deeply.

This old man was not an infected person, at least not an infected person of the Deceit Virus.

Although his current appearance resembled that of a monster more than most infected individuals, Sun Hang had coincidentally read a description of this condition in a medical journal.

This is a rare disease known as "Tree Man Syndrome," essentially a genetic-induced immune deficiency that leads to an infection with the human papillomavirus, or "HPV," causing numerous keratinized growths on the skin.

Though revolting to look at, it isn't contagious to people with normal immune systems.

Compared to the danger of the Deceit Virus, it's a far cry.

However, in that information-blocked era, to the common person, contracting such a disease equated to being infected with the Deceit Virus—no, according to their words, it was called "Possessed by evil spirits."

The young monk found a pair of coarse cloth gloves from the cabinet, then took out a cloth mask from his pocket, worn countless times before, and carefully approached the bed with the porridge bowl.

He scooped up a spoonful of porridge and reached it towards the corner of the old man's half-opened lips.

Sun Hang furrowed his brow watching from the side—who feeds a bedridden person like this? At least they should be helped to sit up first!

Sure enough, half the porridge dribbled down from the old man's mouth, dripping onto the pillow.

The young monk, perhaps fearing reprimands from his elder brother, hurriedly used the corner of his garment to wipe it up, completely unaware that the old man's expression had changed.

"Is he... choking?" Sun Hang guessed while observing the old man's bulging eyes—the growths on the old man's face meant he could neither speak nor express himself.

But the young monk's feeding method likely sent the entire spoonful of porridge into the old man's airway.

Sun Hang instinctively raised his hand to help, but quickly realized he was merely reliving a past memory. Everything he saw here had already happened.

"Cough... cough..."

The old man finally let out raspy coughs that sounded like the last breaths, scaring the young monk into jumping back against the wall, staring at the old man, barely breathing.

After a few seconds, the old man's coughing ceased—along with his breathing.

The young monk, unable to believe it, stepped forward to take a look, then turned on his heel and dashed out hurriedly.

Soon, the gate-guarding monk entered with another young monk, fair-faced but with a large dark mole on the back of his head.

"Senior Brother..." The gate-guarding monk glanced at the old man on the bed, then at the fair-faced monk, whispered, "Master seems to have... already passed away?"

As the two were about to approach for a closer inspection, the old man suddenly took a massive breath as if having a final spurt of life, then began coughing violently.

His coughing was so intense that growths stuck to each other on his face tore open, blood mixed with pus slowly trickling down through the gaps in the growths.

"Senior Brother...what...what should we do?" The gate-guarding monk paused, urgently asking, "Should...should we call a doctor?"

"Call a doctor?! The fair-faced monk's face suddenly showed a sinister look, grabbing the bedding and covering the old man's head.

"Se...Senior Brother?!" The gate-guarding monk paused, instinctively reaching out, but midway through, he withdrew his hand.

Only after a full half-minute passed with the faint struggles under the bedding completely ceased did the fair-faced monk release his hand, step back, and turn to the gate-guarding monk saying, "Jueming! Get some firewood piled in this room, then burn it along with the person—all without igniting the surrounding buildings! Also, keep an eye on that boy, don't let him run wild—tell him he's the one who killed Master, and he's the real culprit. If he doesn't want to be caught by the Public Security Bureau, he must do as I say! Got it?"

"Then...what about the temple visitors tomorrow..."

"Put a notice at the gate saying that Abbot Master Huishan has passed, and we're holding a cremation ceremony for him—no visitors for a week." The fair-faced monk said.

This segment of memory abruptly ends here, and in the next moment, Sun Hang finds himself engulfed in roaring flames, a withered skeleton curled nearby crackling under the licking tongues of the fire.

Vaguely, Sun Hang catches a hint of the unique scent of deceitful things emanating from the remains.

"So that's how it was..." Sun Hang suddenly realized.

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