"Your Reverence!" Passing through the gates, Marc cried out as he spotted an old man sprawled in front of the altar of another open building—this one larger than the others—just ahead."Hold on, I’ll help you." Placing his palm over Tenzin’s chest, Marc could see the deep gash running across the abbot's neck."Truly despicable!" he thought. "Who could have committed such a heinous act against him?"The abbot, however, weakly raised his hand and gently but firmly moved Marc's hand away from his chest."No. Save your strength, young man. My time has come. You don’t need to worry about me." Tenzin's weak face radiated serenity, his wide smile suggesting he was ready to embrace death without burden."Your Reverence, please let me help you. I am a healer," Marc pleaded, begging the abbot to allow him to heal his wound. But the old man continued to hold him back."No, there is no need," Tenzin replied softly. "Kind sir, my duty in this world has ended. It is time for me to go home."Hearing

"This young man has truly lost his mind!" whispered one of the monks kneeling in the courtyard of the central hall, staring at Marc. "How could he still dare to speak nonsense in front of Master Dorje?""Master Dorje will surely make him suffer!" another monk chimed in.As they predicted, Dorje's eyes gleamed with fury at this moment. "Kid, go west and meet His Reverence!" Dorje's right hand shot toward Marc's face with incredible speed, radiating a powerful golden aura. The golden glow wasn’t just on his hand—it enveloped his entire body.With such terrifying power, no one could fathom what would happen next. "That boy seems beyond saving!" one of the monks whispered shakily, closing his eyes. He wasn’t alone—almost all the monks had done the same.When everyone thought Marc's fate was sealed, the young man simply smiled faintly. Just as Dorje's palm was an inch away from his face, Marc moved with blinding speed, catching the master’s hand. "Not bad! But that’s still not fast enough

As Dorje remained kneeling on the ground, his mind in turmoil, the sound of light footsteps approaching snapped him out of his daze. Marc reached out and flicked the master's forehead.Flick!It was a simple, light flick, yet Dorje reacted as if struck by a thunderbolt."What are you doing?!" His head, which had been bowed in sorrow, snapped up. His face, previously drawn and grief-stricken, twisted into anger. His clenched jaw and the fire in his eyes showed his fury.Dorje was a man of great pride and self-respect. Let alone being struck—he wouldn't tolerate anyone even touching his head. And yet, Marc had just flicked his forehead so casually. How could he possibly stay silent about such an insult?"Do you still feel it?" Ignoring the master's furious glare, Marc's expression remained calm as he posed the question."Feel what?" Dorje's anger flared as he pushed himself to his feet, fists clenched. He ignored the lingering pain in his chest. He could no longer tolerate Marc’s blatan

"Hehe." The teenager gave a wry smile, scratching the back of his head. Even though Marc's gaze was neutral, he felt as if the man before him had just caught him red-handed doing something wrong."I know you've sneaked out of this monastery with Harper without a master's permission, haven't you?" Marc looked at the teenager as if he knew all his secrets."Sir, forgive me." The smile on the teenager's face gradually turned into an anxious expression. Looking to his left and right to make sure no one else was around, he continued, "I only did it once. I swear. I never did it again after that."The teenager was a new student at the monastery. According to the monastery's rules, for the first three years, a student was not allowed to leave unless accompanied by a supervising master.However, not only had this teenager left without permission, but he had also gone with Harper—who had now officially become an enemy of the monastery.If one of the monks were to find out about his actions, no

"Marc, wait a moment!" Yangdon stopped in his tracks and placed his hand in front of Marc, blocking his way just as they stepped out of the fruit shop."I remember now! That looks like the car Miss Morgan rode in!" Yangdon exclaimed, pointing ahead.Following the teenager’s finger, Marc spotted a sedan—an extremely old one, to be precise—with a faded ivory-white color. Leaning against the vehicle was a man wearing polished loafers, white trousers, and a brightly patterned shirt tucked into his pants. With sunglasses perched on his face, he looked like the owner of the car."Are you sure?" Marc asked, his gaze remaining fixed on the man."Yes, I'm absolutely sure. Miss Morgan got into that beat-up car after handing me all the fruit we bought."Without another word, Marc walked toward the sedan, Yangdon keeping pace beside him."Can you take me to this address?" Marc handed over a business card he had just received from the fruit vendor.Lifting his sunglasses onto his head, the man cas