Chapter 19: Almost Didn’t Recognize Him (Please Vote~)

When Chen Shian stepped out of the barbershop, he was already transformed.
They say a man’s hairstyle is his second face, and indeed, the saying holds true. With his well-defined features and striking appearance, Chen Shian looked even more spirited after switching to a fresh, youthful short cut.
As a young Taoist priest, he wasn’t quite used to it yet. The most noticeable change after cutting his hair was the coolness on his scalp. He reached back to touch the nape of his neck, feeling the stiff, bristly ends prickling his hand—it was oddly amusing…
Chen Shian checked his phone for the time; it was already half past eight in the evening.
If he were still in the mountains, the sky would be studded with stars and the world filled with silence. But here in the city, the night had only just begun; the streets and alleys were at the height of their liveliness.
It was time to buy some daily necessities.
Chen Shian had never been picky about material comforts; when it came to shopping, durability was what mattered most.
He headed to the local general store near the community gate and bought a bamboo mat, a pillow, a set of navy blue bedding, a pair of slippers, a red plastic bucket, a washbasin, a cup for drinking, a cup for rinsing, a toothbrush, a towel, a pack of laundry powder, and a bundle of twenty clothes hangers.
The store was big and well-stocked with everything he needed, so he didn’t bother going elsewhere. He was a Taoist and a man, after all—and when men shop, efficiency is key.
He didn’t buy any shampoo or body wash, but picked up two bars of soap instead.
He’d always used soap for bathing; it was cheap, effective, and less likely to cause breakouts on his back. Unlike body wash, which leaves a slippery residue that seems impossible to rinse off, soap left him feeling truly clean.
Perhaps that slippery feeling was exactly what the manufacturers wanted, but to him, slippery never equaled clean—you had to rinse until it wasn’t slick anymore.
He didn’t buy any facial cleanser either. Only when he saw it on the shelf did he realize there were dedicated products for washing one’s face, all divided into types: oil-control, moisturizing, softening, and so on. He’d always just used water or soap and had never suffered from acne.
Even for washing his hair, he used soap.
Maybe it was the change in people’s living conditions and diets, or maybe it was because of the shampoo, but overall, people seemed to have less hair than they did in the eighties and nineties. Old photos of his parents’ generation showed thick, black hair—ordinary folk or celebrities alike had hair as dense as a bird’s nest. Now, despite all the advances in technology and the endless array of hair products, no one seemed to escape thinning hair.
But Chen Shian had nothing to worry about—when he was at the barbershop, everyone praised his thick, healthy hair.
Of course, he was still young, so it might not mean much. But even his elderly master had kept a full head of hair until the end, though it had all turned white.
After picking up all his living essentials, Chen Shian bought some kitchenware—pots, bowls, plates, oil, rice, sauces, vinegar, and so on.
He’d already checked the kitchen at home. Li Wanyin kept it spotless, with a gas stove and a wok, and all the basic condiments. It was fine for her alone, but once there were two people, there weren’t enough dishes and utensils.
Even though Wanyin had generously said he could share, Chen Shian didn’t want to take advantage. He could tell she wasn’t well-off, so if they ever cooked together, he’d feel better contributing his share.
It was his first time sharing an apartment, but the same principle applied to all human relationships—you can’t take people’s kindness for granted; you have to be considerate yourself.
“Little Master, is there anything else you need?” the shopkeeper’s wife asked with a bright smile, helping him move his purchases to the counter.
“That’s all for now. Ma’am, could you add it up? I’m a Taoist—could you give me a discount?”

Taoists were fine, but students were not—her small business relied on the student crowd, after all.
“Let me see… 38 plus 20 plus 148 plus 15… that’s four hundred seventy-five in total. Would you mind rounding it down to four hundred sixty? I’ll throw in the slippers for free.”
“That’s fine. Thank you, ma’am.”
“Alright, I’ll pack everything up for you. Do you have a car, Little Master? Can you carry all this?”
“It’s alright, I think I can manage.”
The small items all fit into the bucket, and the bedding sets came with their own handles—easy enough to carry.
With the shopkeeper’s help, everything was quickly packed up.
“Oh, and ma’am, do you sell fabric? I’d like a length, please.”
“Yes, how much do you need?”
Before leaving, Chen Shian bought a roll of fabric and some needle and thread.
To most young people, these things might be useless, but for him, they came in handy.
If the pillow turned out uncomfortable, for example, he planned to buy some buckwheat and make his own buckwheat pillow.
With all his purchases in hand, Chen Shian made his way back.
Passing a pet shop, he went in and bought a bag of chicken-flavored cat food.
He wasn’t sure if Fat Ink would like it, but since he’d come all the way to the city, he figured it was worth a try.
Near the entrance of the complex, someone was selling watermelons, either whole or by the slice.
Chen Shian thought the watermelons looked good, so he picked one and had the vendor cut it in half.
He hadn’t eaten watermelon all year, so he treated himself. He wondered if Li Wanyin liked it—surely no one disliked watermelon—and decided to invite her to share it later.
He did a quick tally: two long bus rides cost twenty yuan, the haircut was forty, and today’s shopping ran about five hundred and fifty.
His master had left him a card with twenty-four thousand six hundred yuan. Today’s expenses were just a drop in the bucket; he still had over twenty-four thousand left.
Once he officially started school, there shouldn’t be too many major expenses.
Chen Shian thought it over. The main cost would be rent, which, split with Li Wanyin, should come to just over seven hundred a month.
Twenty-four thousand yuan would be enough to live on for quite a while. With no significant outlays and his extremely frugal lifestyle, it should last him until college entrance exams in two years. But only until then.

As for tuition, living expenses in university, and the debts he owed his “creditors,” he’d have to find his own way to cover those.
The thought made Chen Shian’s expression wry… Master, was this all part of your plan?
It seemed that making a living was a lesson he’d need to learn on this journey into the world.
Fortunately, he had two years to figure it out. For now, the most important thing was to catch up on his studies and rebuild his academic foundation.
Hauling his bags up to the ninth floor, Chen Shian showed no sign of fatigue, as if it were nothing at all.
He set everything down and took out the keys from his pocket.
There were two keys: one for the security door and one for the apartment, left by the previous tenant and handed over by Li Wanyin.
The key to the temple was a much older, heavier bundle, which he kept in his bag.
Opening the door to his rental, he saw Li Wanyin in shorts and a T-shirt, hanging laundry on the balcony.
She must have just showered; her hair was damp, and the washing machine was still humming. She was hanging up her hand-washed undergarments.
Hearing the door, Li Wanyin, long used to living alone, turned around at once.
When she saw who it was, her wariness vanished, replaced by surprise and delight in her eyes.
“Shian… Shian?”
“Yes, I was only out for a bit—did you not recognize me, Sister Wanyin?”
“It really is you! You look so different! If you weren’t still in your Taoist robes, I almost wouldn’t have known it was you!”
“…It’s just a haircut. You make it sound like I’ve had plastic surgery.”
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(Starting tomorrow, each chapter will be around three thousand words!)