Cao Wanzhi knew very well the personalities of David Dong and Terry Chen, so he always taught them separately. As for the work in the studio, most of the physically demanding tasks were assigned to Terry Chen.
Cao Wanzhi understood that minor chores like sweeping the floor or moving equipment were always given to Terry Chen. David Dong's temperament simply didn't suit these trivial tasks and he often did them poorly. Cao Wanzhi noticed this from the beginning and planned to gradually cultivate two completely different, yet equally passionate apprentices in photography.
"Think carefully, Terry Chen. You're not as clever as David Dong, you know. Do you really think your master chose you as his apprentice just because you were fit for it?"
The Fake Taoist continued to lead him on, and then I saw a sly glint appear in his eyes.
"What exactly do you mean?"
Terry Chen roared, his face covered in tears. He looked tough on the outside, but inside he was extremely fragile. He used to work as a porter at the docks, and after being unexpectedly chosen as an apprentice, he thought he could learn everything from Cao Wanzhi. After all, he wanted a better-paying job. Although he loved photography, this job, which combined both passion and income, felt like a gift from heaven.
But now, Terry Chen looked utterly dejected, silently shedding tears. The Fake Taoist walked up to him and patted his shoulder.
"Don't think too much. Even if you're just doing odd jobs, at least you'll have learned a skill in the end."
Hearing this seemed to touch on Terry Chen's pain. He really wasn't very bright, and many of the photos he developed were blurry—only a few turned out well. Yet Cao Wanzhi never blamed him, and even explained things to him. Thinking of this, Terry Chen immediately wiped away his tears, glared fiercely at the Fake Taoist, and clenched his fists, which were as big as sandbags.
"Bah! You filthy beggar! My master may not have taught me much, but where else could I find such a good teacher? You want to drive a wedge between us? I may not be well-educated, but I've heard enough stories about the Three Kingdoms! What are you really after? Tell me, or today I'll beat you to death! Are you holding a grudge against my master?"
The situation suddenly took a turn for the worse, and I secretly breathed a sigh of relief. The young apprentice, David Dong, had already taken in every word the Fake Taoist said.
Sweat began to bead on the Fake Taoist's forehead as his eyes darted around anxiously.
"Oh Terry Chen, listen to me! I'm a good person, you know. Think carefully about what your master said to you when you got back today."
With those words, the honest Terry Chen told the whole story from start to finish. The Fake Taoist slapped his thigh, let out an 'aiya,' and sighed deeply.
"Do you have any brains? Think about it—how does your photography skill compare to David Dong's?"
"Not as good... as his..."
Terry Chen muttered, his voice barely audible.
"Exactly! Think about it. Every time you go out and work hard, if the customer isn't satisfied, you don't get a single cent. All the money goes into your master's pocket. Inheriting the studio? Don't kid yourself. With your skills, you're lucky if you can make a living, let alone open your own shop. If you fail a few more times, how much money will you have left? Every time, your master deducts half your earnings. How many years will it take before you can save enough to open a shop? Sigh."
At that moment, I saw the flames of trust for Cao Wanzhi in Terry Chen's eyes extinguished by the Fake Taoist's honeyed words. He slumped down on the threshold, silent and dejected.
"And another thing—every time your master teaches you two, it's always separately, right? He keeps you apart. Even if David Dong is smarter than you, how could he surpass you so quickly? Your master is biased. He's just using you as a laborer. Think about it carefully."
As the Fake Taoist spoke, he turned away. I clenched my fist and swung it at his wicked face, consumed by rage. But all of this was just a memory—I couldn't touch him.
At that moment, everything around me began to shift again. The Fake Taoist hummed a little tune, spent the money he'd begged for today, and feasted until he was satisfied. He sat at the stall, grinning sharply, as if everything was already planned out.
"Get lost! The other customers are sick of you."
The food stall owner came over and, without another word, tried to kick out the Fake Taoist. But this time, he refused to leave and started arguing with the owner. Then two workers came over, ready to beat him up.
"Bah, look at yourself—just a filthy beggar. A few coins and you think eating a meat bun makes you a big shot?"
Just as they were about to start a fight, suddenly, a money pouch landed with a smack on the table. I looked over—it was a middle-aged man, dressed in an old-fashioned white Western suit, handsome, broad-shouldered, and smiling.
"Order whatever you want."
In an instant, the Fake Taoist burst out laughing. He was only half full, but on this little stall, he ate and drank his fill. Finally satisfied, he patted his round belly and stood up, bowing to the handsome man in the white suit.
"Heh heh, sir, you treated me to this meal—must be something you want. Let's go somewhere else to talk."
The man in the suit turned around, smiled, and walked away. The Fake Taoist glanced at the money pouch on the table, grabbed it, and chased after him.
"Sir, this money..."
"Keep it. If you can pass the trial I give you, you'll get as much as you want."
In a narrow alley, the man in the suit turned around. In an instant, I rushed over, my mouth agape in shock—it was a member of the Immortality Society, wearing a red mask with the words 'Immortality' written in black.
"Whoa, sir, what is this...?"
"Who I am is none of your concern. I happened to discover you, a little rat in the gutter, and found you interesting. So I decided to give you a trial. After all, your heart and lungs are already black as pitch."
The Red Masked Man approached the Fake Taoist, pointing a finger at his heart as the Fake Taoist laughed nervously.
"Sir, I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Huang Mingfa, born in 1813. As a child, your family was well-off, but as a young man, you went into business with friends, lost everything, and took on all the debt. Later, you survived by swindling people, calling yourself the Great Immortal Huang. Those you cheated include the He family, the Bai family, and..."
Suddenly, the Fake Taoist's eyes flashed with murderous intent. He pulled out a dagger from his coat and, without warning, stabbed at the Red Masked Man's chest—aiming straight for the heart.
With a slicing sound, the knife pierced the Red Masked Man's chest precisely. The Fake Taoist, Huang Mingfa, let a smile slip across his lips—but in an instant, he was stunned. Though he'd stabbed the Red Masked Man, the figure stood firm, immovable no matter how hard he pushed.
"Put that away. Toys like this can't kill me."
In a flash, Huang Mingfa recoiled several steps in fright. Then, his eyes flashed viciously again and he shouted, raising the dagger to hack at the Red Masked Man's neck.
With a crunch, Huang Mingfa cried out in shock. The Red Masked Man had crushed the dagger into a ball of scrap metal, as easily as crumpling paper. Seeing this, Huang Mingfa immediately dropped to his knees, kowtowing and begging for mercy.
"Get up. If you pass the trial, I'll show you what it really means to kill someone. After all, you're still just human—some thresholds can't be crossed yet."
Huang Mingfa looked dazed, as if he didn't understand a thing the Red Masked Man was saying. The Red Masked Man reached into his torn suit, and Huang Mingfa thought he was about to pull something out. Instead, the Red Masked Man produced a golden pocket watch, pure gold, gleaming under the night light.
But the watch bore a small dent—where the dagger had struck and cut it. Huang Mingfa eyed it warily, confusion written on his face.
"You think I survived because the knife hit the watch instead? Heh, take it if you like."
With that, the Red Masked Man handed the pocket watch to Huang Mingfa, who gratefully accepted it, tears streaming down his face, and tried to kneel and kowtow again to thank him.
"Your methods are still too crude. If you really want Walter Cao to lose everything, kill him, and take it all, this approach isn't mature enough."
As the Red Masked Man spoke, Huang Mingfa watched him warily.
"So, sir, what advice do you have?"
"Hmph. You need to wait for his two apprentices to go out a few more times, make a few more mistakes, then tell them a few things. You're moving too fast."
Huang Mingfa quickly nodded.
"Thank you for your guidance, sir. Thank you."
"Do you like money? Do you crave power? Do you enjoy being above everyone else, arms around women, watching them writhe and scream beneath you?"
Huang Mingfa swallowed and nodded.
"If you pass the trial, I'll let you join us—the organization called Immortality."
Huang Mingfa blinked, then immediately nodded.
"Good. Very decisive. After all, you're a villain, an evil man—no matter what methods you use, you always take what you want by force."
The Red Masked Man grew more and more excited as he spoke. I was seething with anger, and began to worry about what lay ahead for Walter Cao.
"Listen carefully—this trial is to utterly ruin Walter Cao, to leave him with nothing, to break him completely, to make him despair and wish for death. No matter how hard he tries, his old enemies will trample him again, and then, kill him."