Lao Fu looked at Kong Bei. His face no longer bore the youthful innocence of years past. Instead, it was repced by a yer of aged, weathered, and deeply serious roughness. His hands were still fiddling with the prayer beads, and the sound they made grated on Lao Fu's nerves.

  "It’s been a long time," Kong Bei was the first to speak.

  Such a clichéd opening, Lao Fu thought, feeling somewhat awkward. A monk who once swept the floors now sat at the top of the hierarchy. An indescribable pang of jealousy stirred within him. He kept a straight face and said nothing.

  "Indeed, it's been a while! Who would have thought you'd soar to such heights!" Xu Mama excimed in his typical exaggerated tone, waving the handkerchief in his hand theatrically.

  Kong Bei felt nauseous. Ever since he first met Xu Mama, he could never stomach that effeminate, sarcastic voice. Turning his head to escape Xu Mama's gaze, he looked at Mo Bai and asked, "And who might this be?" He gestured toward Xiao Xiang.

  “She’s my newly wedded wife,” Mo Bai said shyly. For a man of his age, marrying such a beautiful young woman felt like a blessing from a past life.

  "So, it′s Madam Mo," Kong Bei greeted politely. He raised the teacup in his hand, took a sip, and then continued, "How has your opera troupe been doing tely?"

  Lao Fu's face twitched a few times before he said, "We disbanded a long time ago."

  "Disbanded?" Kong Bei was surprised. He set down his teacup and asked, "Why did you disband?"

  "In times like these, it's hard to make a living with an opera troupe, so we disbanded long ago," Xu Mama chimed in, waving that fshy handkerchief around once again.

  Kong Bei avoided Xu Mama's gaze and looked toward Lao Fu. Suddenly, he thought of Xue Qiuqiu and asked, "How are Madam Xue Qiuqiu and Fu Zhuo?" He still remembered Fu Zhuo's adorable little face—he had even stroked it once.

  Kong Bei avoided looking at Xu Mama and turned his gaze toward Lao Fu. A thought struck him—Xue Qiuqiu. He asked, “How are your wife, Xue Qiuqiu, and your son, Fu Zhuo?” He still remembered Fu Zhuo's adorable little face, a child he'd once patted on the head.

  “They…” Lao Fu cleared his throat and replied, “They’re dead.”

  There was no reason to hide the truth from Kong Bei. Still, thinking of his so-called “marriage” to Xue Qiuqiu made Lao Fu feel an inexplicable sense of irony, almost ughable in a way he couldn′t describe. They were married, but had they ever truly been husband and wife? A bitter smile crept onto his face.

  "Ah!" Kong Bei excimed in shock, staring at Lao Fu. He couldn’t believe that Xue Qiuqiu and Fu Zhuo were both gone. "How could they? How could they..."

  "They died of illness. Very unfortunate," Lao Fu lied casually, not wanting Kong Bei to probe further. He immediately put on a sorrowful expression. As expected, Kong Bei didn′t ask more, merely saying softly, "My condolences."

  But Kong Bei's heart sank to the depths. He thought of Yi Kong and the voice that had emerged from Yi Kong's mouth—the voice of Xue Qiuqiu.

  Lao Fu noticed Kong Bei's sudden change in demeanor. He couldn’t understand why mentioning Xue Qiuqiu elicited such a reaction. Tentatively, he asked, "Abbot, are you all right?"

  Though it grated on him to address Kong Bei as "Abbot," the circumstances had changed. He had no choice.

  "I..." Kong Bei hesitated for a moment but decided to speak up. He recounted everything that had happened in the past few days to Lao Fu, Xu Mama, Mo Bai, and Xiao Xiang.

  Everyone fell silent, each of them lost in thought, trying to piece together the events, but no one could make sense of it.

  Kong Bei looked at Lao Fu. He had expected that, as Xue Qiuqiu's husband, Lao Fu would express deep sorrow over his wife's death. However, he could tell that Lao Fu didn't seem to care. His sorrow appeared to be fake. So how did Xue Qiuqiu really die? And how could her spirit have attached itself to Yi Kong? Could it be that there really were ghosts in this world?