As we walked, I finally couldn’t hold back.

“I just don’t get it. You clearly have real power. Even operating openly, in your true form, you could charge for this work. So why pretend to be a ‘Celestial Master’ and deceive them?”

After all, he wasn’t asking for much. The family lived in a spacious, beautifully decorated apartment over a hundred square meters in a bustling downtown area—clearly a well-off household with a monthly income in the tens of thousands. A few thousand yuan was nothing.

If it were only about that sum, it wouldn’t be worth the risk—not to mention he couldn’t just take the money and vanish. The moment he declared before the survivors that he’d resolve the evil spirit, he’d already made indirect contact.

Uncle De didn’t answer directly. Instead, he asked, “Have you met others—people who know about this, or are caught in it?”

“I have. Quite a few.”

“Then haven’t you noticed? Compared to them, Li Guanggui and his wife seem far more at ease… more optimistic.”

I froze slightly. Truth was, back at their place, something felt off. Having endured two terrifying ordeals, they remained calm, even cheerful—smiles genuine, acting like relaxed spectators.

Everyone else I’d met lived in constant dread. Even civil servants at the Investigation Bureau carried heavy, somber airs.

I tilted my head. “Are they just… clueless?”

Uncle De let out a soft chuckle.

“Of course not. Wasn’t Li Guanggui the same in the hospital?”

I recalled the frantic man clutching strangers, babbling about visions, face twisted in terror—and nodded.

“Yes. Like a completely different person today… But what does that have to do with your deception?”

Uncle De halted the stroller, stepped before me, crouched, and gestured with his hands.

“See, many who survive supernatural incidents carry permanent scars. Some take their own lives afterward—they simply can’t move past the trauma.”

I nodded. “Mm. I know.”

I’d discussed this with An Li before. The aloof young lady had bluntly replied: *“Incompetence is the original sin.”*

“The reason’s simple,” he continued. “For survivors, resolution came only by luck—meeting a skilled expert. Survival was chance. Next time? Maybe not so lucky.”

“Well… that’s not wrong,” I admitted quietly.

An Li once said supernatural incidents happen worldwide—dark creatures, restless spirits lurking everywhere. The Holy See doesn’t rush to every scene.

Even before the Genocidal War that wiped out the vampire clan—when manpower was far greater—they couldn’t cover all ground.

Take Lianyun District in Wuzhou City: the evil spirit raged for a full month. Only when chaos peaked did Wuzhou’s merchants, tycoons, and entrepreneurs pool funds, pay the Holy See handsomely, and secure An Li’s personal intervention.

For ordinary people facing monsters beyond folk practitioners like me? Survival hinges on luck—and whether someone pays the price.

“But appearing like *this* changes everything,” Uncle De said, tugging his wide Taoist sleeve. “I’m no longer just a passing expert. I become a *profession*.”

“A profession?”

“Yes. One they understand. One they recognize. I frame the monsters as things they’ve vaguely heard of. Humanity’s deepest fear is the unknown—and feeling powerless against it.”

He tapped his robes.

“I make them believe: between monsters and those who subdue them lies a full ecosystem. AC breaks? Someone fixes it. Toilet clogs? Someone unclogs it. Monster appears? A professional handles it. Every problem has its solver. So when fear returns, they whisper: *‘It’s fine. Just find a Celestial Master.’* This fictional role? It’s the hope that pulls them from shadow—and lets them live.”

I hesitated. “But it’s a lie. Any ‘Celestial Master’ they find will be a fraud. That belief won’t save them next time.”

Most random “Celestial Masters” are unscrupulous scammers. And yes—because of contact, they often perish with their clients.

“True,” Uncle De murmured, stroking his beard with a faint smile. “But it lets them live peacefully… until the next storm comes.”

I opened my mouth. Words wouldn’t come.

Uncle De sighed deeply, moved behind me, resumed pushing the stroller. His weathered voice drifted down:

“Those who’ve tasted despair need hope. Hope gives courage to keep walking. A person may live blindly—but never without hope.”