YELLOW HAIR nearly fainted from excitement at Webster's words. He tossed down two hundred dollars before scurrying away.
Webster pocketed the cash, then shook his head and sighed, "Ah, young man... you've got a long road ahead. Eating soft rice isn't easy—once you enter this line of work, I fear those berries of yours won't heal properly."
"Nice going, Webster. Aren't you just teaching him to be a scoundrel?" I cut in accusingly.
Webster shrugged. "Me? Teach him? I merely revealed his destiny. What he does with it is his choice."
I opened my mouth to retort, but Webster preempted me: "Don't bother standing on moral high ground to lecture me. I'm a man... without morals."
Me: "......"
Fine. This wasn't my business anyway. I'd completed Webster's task—now it was time for those three promised answers.
"Hold those questions. We have unfinished business first." With that, Webster pulled out his cane.
Unfinished business? What business?
Seeing the cane, I assumed he meant to pack up his stall so we could talk properly. Out of kindness, I even moved to help.
But then—WHACK!—Webster swung the cane straight at me, striking with brutal precision at my joints. Each blow brought sharp pain and numbness. His swings were frighteningly fast; dodging was impossible. The old bastard clearly had practice.
"Stop! What the hell's wrong with you?" I yelled, frantically rubbing my throbbing limbs.
"You little shit! Do you know how many men dream of the Dreaming Nun? Even Arturo never saw her naked! I'll beat you dead!" Webster's curses fueled his rage—and his strikes grew fiercer.
"Are you insane? I had to tattoo her! Was I supposed to do it blindfolded? You sent me precisely because my Gods and Ghosts Tattoos could solve this!" I shot back.
Webster was unbelievable. This was basic logic—extracting the Ghost Lamp from the Nine Netherworlds required tattooing her chest. It wasn't my choice! And with Stein and Antonio absent, and Dreaming Nun surely silent, how else could he expect it to work?
"You... you..." Webster sputtered, dumbstruck by my rebuttal.
At that moment, Webster dropped his cane and yanked me closer with one hand. "Tell me—was it big?"
"It was decent... but very white!"
No sooner had the words left my mouth than Webster's cane came raining down on me again.
"You little brat! Calling it 'just a tattoo'—I think you're nothing but a pervert!" Webster snarled between strikes.
"Alright, alright! Stop hitting me! I've got something for you—from the Dreaming Nun!" I shouted.
Webster froze mid-swing, then extended his palm demandingly. "Show me!"
I produced the comb the Dreaming Nun had entrusted to me.
"A... comb?" Webster took it, turning it over in his hands before bringing it to his nose for a deep inhale. "From the Dreaming Nun? Such strong hair fragrance!"
Me: "......"
Either this man's had a stroke or he's hallucinating. The Dreaming Nun is bald—where would she get hair fragrance? This Webster must've been a professional "simp" in his past life—he's even imagining scents to worship now.
Simp all you want, Webster. Simp till you've got nothing left. No wonder the Dreaming Nun ended up with Arturo instead.
"Webster... should I, uh, take you to the hospital?" I ventured.
His face darkened instantly. "You little shit—mocking me now?"
"No! Not at all!" I waved my hands frantically. "It's just... slight reminder here—the Dreaming Nun's bald. She... doesn't have hair. Or its fragrance."
"Ahem! Obviously I know that!" Webster straightened up defensively. "I'm being metaphorical. You're just too uncultured to comprehend."
With that, he carefully tucked the comb away like some priceless relic.
"Kid, you've done well with this." Webster finally sat down. "I, Webster, keep my promises like ironclad vows. Ask your three questions—if this old man knows the answers, you'll get them."
Good—straight to business. Time for my first question.
"Can you tell me exactly where my grandfather went?"
Webster exhaled deeply. "It begins with the Nine Dragons Pulling the Coffin on your grandfather..."
He explained that every Gods and Ghosts Tattoo heir bears this mark—my grandfather had it, my father had it, all legitimate heirs carry it. It's a lineage-defining tattoo.
The Nine Dragons Pulling the Coffin tattoo guarantees death... except for those who inherit the true Gods and Ghosts Tattoo legacy.
But history records two exceptions—King Zhou of Shang, the last human king, and Qin Shi Huang, the unifier of the six kingdoms. Rumors claim they too were Gods and Ghosts Tattoo heirs, though this remains unverified. What's certain is they bore the Nine Dragons Pulling the Coffin tattoo without consequence.
"Wait!"
I cut Webster off abruptly. He claimed all true heirs carried this tattoo—yet I didn't have one! My grandfather never mentioned this either; he'd actually advised that Gods and Ghosts Tattoo masters were better off without such tattoos.
Webster frowned. "Your grandfather never gave you the tattoo?" He lifted my shirt to inspect my back, muttering, "Strange... What's Old Man Rhett playing at? By rights, you should have it too."
The mystery stumped even Webster. Perhaps only my grandfather could explain.
Though I dropped the subject, the questions haunted me:
If every true heir bears Nine Dragons Pulling the Coffin, why did Grandpa exclude me? Would this tattoo grant immunity to ghosts? What's its true purpose? Why is it mandatory?
This single query spawned countless others that would trouble me for years. When I finally rescued Grandpa, this would be my first question—why he'd broken tradition.
Webster continued, explaining that while he didn't know the tattoo's exact function, he was certain it represented a pact with Yama, King of Hell.
Among all Yin arts, he claimed, Gods and Ghosts Tattoos might not be the strongest—but they were undoubtedly the most mystical, sinister, and haunted. They enabled feats beyond other dark magics:
Beyond suppressing evil and exorcising ghosts, they could attract wealth, peach blossom luck, alter fate and appearance—even rewrite destinies. Their versatility and power crowned them the ultimate Yin art... and the most terrifying.