"No, he said you are a friend from overseas and don't need to donate money for the temple construction," the girl with straight bangs said.

I froze, then asked, "How did he know I was a foreigner?"

The girl with straight bangs smiled. "Didn't I tell you? The monks here are very capable."

I looked at the old man; he didn't look like a master monk. Although he was very kind-looking, he lacked the profound wisdom one expects of one. I wondered if he had overheard me speaking English with the two girls earlier and thus realized I was foreign.

Before I could ponder further, the two girls had already pulled me through the gates of the shrine. Passing under a torii gate draped with ofuda paper charms, we stepped onto a wide flagstone path lined with bamboo, giving the area a tranquil, verdant atmosphere.

Since the shrine bordered a park, and to the left lay an affluent residential area with low-rise villas, I assumed the place was usually very quiet.

But today, it was bustling with noise. Many men and women dressed in traditional kimono strolled along the flagstone path, laughing and chatting, making the scene quite lively.

Along the street, besides stalls selling snacks and trinkets, there were artists performing traditional folk skills—like fire-breathing acts I hadn't seen in ages, dog training, and monkey shows.

Of course, there were also many places to go for blessings and prayers.

I noticed one stall operating under a banner advertising 'Household Protection and Demon Exorcism,' displaying items like peach-wood swords, ancient coins, and Bagua mirrors. The proprietor wore attire resembling a Shogunate-era Shinto priest, looking quite authentic.

Just as I was about to approach and look at those objects, the girl with straight bangs pulled me back. She said, "Those are all scams, completely useless. We're almost at the place; the master monk will just hand you a talisman, and it'll be more efficacious than anything here."

Saying that, she handed me a rice ball wrapped in a lotus leaf. "The rice balls here are delicious; try one."

Eating the rice ball, I followed the two girls through the crowd and continued forward.

Soon, the clamor of the crowd gradually faded, and we arrived before a large tatami building. With its sweeping, upturned eaves, the structure looked magnificent and imposing.

I knew this was the shrine's main hall, and the supposed master monk must be inside.

Indeed, on the open ground before the hall, many people stood or knelt, their eyes closed, hands clasped in prayer, silently petitioning something.

I learned upon asking that these people had recently suffered misfortunes, or their family members had, and they stood there praying to listen to the master monk's wooden fish drum, which supposedly dispelled disaster and resolved difficulties.

If merely standing outside the shrine could ward off calamity, this monk seemed truly extraordinary.

But how could such a master monk agree to see me?

While thinking, I looked around. Since this place was called Raiun Shrine (Thunder Cloud Shrine), certain aspects should relate to the Monk of Thunder Cloud.

Sure enough, I noticed that the vast courtyard was decorated on both sides with rockeries, clear springs, and waterwheels. Beneath the central rockery was enshrined a statue with the body of a man and the head of a bird.

Most strangely, hanging on the side of the statue's head was a mask of a Oni with a single horn.

I started, examining it closely—it was identical to the mask worn by the street performer I had seen earlier.

Perhaps it was a coincidence, but I felt that mask exuded a peculiar, malevolent energy.

As I stared, the girl with straight bangs beside me said, "Because today is Ghost Festival, the master monk will open the doors shortly to bestow compassion upon everyone, personally resolving the difficulties of those facing calamity."

Glancing at her watch, she added, "Almost time, five more minutes. We arrived just right."

As soon as she finished speaking, I saw the lights inside the main hall suddenly illuminate. Through the paper-covered doors, I saw two people slowly supporting a bald monk toward us.

The appearance of the master monk caused quite a stir, with many people excitedly calling out his title.

Then, the doors were pulled open to the sides.

At this moment, everyone kneeling on the ground stood up and bowed respectfully to the master monk.

But I did not. Instead, I turned and started walking toward the exit.

Because I saw that the master monk's face—long eyebrows, narrow slit eyes, a large mouth, and a round nose—was exactly the same as the white-haired old man who died in the ruins. It was clearly that fellow reincarnated!

Back in the hallucination, protected by my psychic cultivation techniques, I wasn't afraid and had struck him down with all my might. But now, if he caught me, I was doomed.

However, seeing me turn to leave, the two girls cried out, "Sir, what's wrong! Sir!"

I lied, saying I suddenly remembered something important I had to attend to and needed to step away briefly, then bolted for the exit.

The approaching worshipers on the path all gave me strange looks.

After running a short distance, I turned back to look at the master monk and noticed that although he was watching me, he didn't seem malicious.

At that moment, I realized I might have worried unnecessarily. Perhaps the master monk didn't recognize me, had no connection to the white-haired old man, and merely shared a resemblance.

Even so, I felt I couldn't stay there a moment longer; the whole situation was too bizarre.

I turned my head and continued weaving through the crowd toward the outside. Suddenly, a small, slender figure blocked my path.

The person squinted one eye, looked up at me, their face fixed in a smile.

Looking closely, it was the old man who had been collecting the temple donation fees outside the gate.

I looked at him questioningly. He didn't speak English but pointed in the direction of the master monk, then pointed to the items in his hand.

I saw he held a stack of seven or eight long, narrow strips of paper inscribed with charms, coming to a point at the top.

After a moment's thought, I asked, "Are these from the master monk?"

The old man nodded, took out a sheet of paper, and wrote with a brush: "The master monk perceives evil energy clinging to you and sends these charms to ensure your safety."

The traditional characters in Japanese are almost identical to Chinese characters, so I naturally understood.

But with a master monk resembling the white-haired old man so closely, did I dare accept his gifts?

I glanced back at the master monk again. He was speaking with a middle-aged woman, his face radiating tranquility and peace, completely devoid of the murderous intent the white-haired old man possessed.

I knew that look couldn't be faked, so after a moment of hesitation, I accepted the talismans.

Holding the charms, my steps gradually slowed. A sense of guilt welled up in my heart.

The two girls had taken care of me, yet I left without even saying thank you. But I knew returning now would only be more awkward.

With a sigh, I walked back through the crowd and emerged onto the bustling ghost market.

Looking at the charms in my hand as I moved forward, the cacophony and flashing lights around me left my mind feeling somewhat scattered.

After walking a while, I felt hunger gnawing at me. I casually found a ramen stall, ordered a bowl of katsuobushi (bonito flakes) tonkotsu ramen, and ate it sitting on a small street-side stool.

Finishing the ramen, I patted my stomach and ordered a serving of seaweed sushi before finally heading contentedly toward the main gate.

After walking a bit further, I spotted someone selling fermented, smelly fish and bought one.

I couldn't stand the smell of fermented fish myself, but I thought if the young Mizuchi enjoyed carrion, this might suit its palate, and I could take it back to test.

Thinking this, I eagerly turned to head back, wanting to see the legendary beast's reaction to the foul-smelling fish.

Unexpectedly, after taking only a few steps forward, I saw the person wearing the single-horned Oni mask standing not far ahead, staring right at me.

This time, it wasn't the back view, but the full face.

Because everyone else was moving, but this figure stood stock-still amidst the crowd, they stood out starkly.

Seeing this scene, I froze in place, daring not to move.

But after standing there for a moment, something felt wrong.

As everyone else walked through the mask, the mask itself remained perfectly still.

This meant the body beneath the mask was hollow, something people could just pass through?

What the hell was that if not a ghost? Cold sweat instantly drenched me.

Just as my entire body was about to be soaked in perspiration, the mask suddenly twitched and actually began moving toward me.

Watching the mask draw nearer, my feet remained paralyzed.

But as the mask approached, I realized it was actually hanging on a pole.

A street vendor carrying a pole loaded with masks was slowly walking toward me.

In reality, the pole held many masks, but the single-horned white Oni mask at the very top was just the most conspicuous one.

The vendor had probably had a temporary need to set the pole down in the middle of the path, nearly scaring me half to death.

I thought, this wasn't the first time I'd seen this mask today. Perhaps it wasn't some eerie phenomenon; maybe the mask was just too common, too noticeable, which is why I kept linking it to other events.

It seemed my nerves had frayed after visiting that mysterious ruin.

As the vendor slowly approached, I looked at the single-horned Oni mask and suddenly had a strange impulse.

I called out to stop the vendor, bought the mask, and placed it over my face.

I felt this would put my mind at ease, as I needed to prove that the mask held no real peculiarity.

Since this was a ghost market, many people wore strange and grotesque masks, so my own appearance didn't cause much surprise.

I let out a long breath, allowing my mind to relax, and walked toward the exit of the ghost market.

Leaving the market, I checked the time; it was already 11 PM. The tranquilizers taken by Da Xiong and Xie Yuting should be wearing off; they must need me badly now.

So, although the distance wasn't far, I hailed a taxi.

Returning to the hospital, I went directly to my own room and placed a small piece of the salted fish into the bathtub.

After observing closely for a long time, I found the Mizuchi hadn't moved at all. Losing patience, I decided to take a shower first.