Obviously, Sparrow Cat didn't enjoy eating, and Little Zombie didn't enjoy it either.

They both liked to hold a tomato the size of a fist, sink their little sharp teeth into it, and slowly suck on it.

Wen Yan tried one, and honestly, it really couldn't compare to the ones bought at home—those grown by villagers who had their own fields, ripened slowly on the vine. Those tomatoes were juicy, soft, and tender, with a strong tomato flavor.

In summer, you cut them into chunks, sprinkle some sugar on top, and let them marinate in the fridge. Once they're ready, that refreshing taste is one of the few things that can rival ice-cold, sandy-fleshed watermelon during summer.

Unfortunately, those sandy-fleshed watermelons are rare these days.

Wen Yan rubbed his belly—he was feeling a bit hungry too.

"Tomorrow. We'll probably be able to go home tomorrow."

Honestly, the only one genuinely happy about being away these few days was probably the ten-something-year-old girl.

Once students start to feel the pressure of schoolwork, any day off is great—even if you're so bored you're just playing with mud at the doorstep, it's still fun.

Not to mention, this trip, Wu Tingsheng arranged the accommodations—must be pretty upscale, and of course the kid loves it.

When it was time to eat, everyone had dinner together; in this whole family, the calmest was still the old lady.

The old lady even took the initiative to peel some low-salt chicken for Sparrow Cat, saying cats shouldn't eat too much salt.

Sparrow Cat, that stubborn debater, seemed to have some sense and didn't pick a fight at the dinner table.

After dinner, the old lady stood alone on the balcony, one hand on the railing, the other holding a cigarette in her mouth.

Wen Yan took a look at her from inside the room and thought to himself—man, the old lady's got style. No wonder, she really has seen the world.

Now when she looks at Sparrow Cat or Little Zombie, she doesn't treat them as outsiders at all—Little Zombie is just a kid who doesn't like snacks, and Sparrow Cat is just a well-behaved cat who doesn't scratch sofas or make a mess anywhere.

Honestly, Wen Yan feels he can't match her attitude. The first time he saw Sparrow Cat, he was honestly pretty on guard—it was a demon, after all.

But the old lady clearly didn't see Sparrow Cat as a demon at all.

Whenever Sparrow Cat is lying next to the little one, all the old lady says is, "Retract those claws. If you hurt the kid, I'll hang you up and give you a whippin'."

So whenever Sparrow Cat shows up next to the little one, he permanently curls up there like a hen sitting on her eggs.

...

In Virtue City, up in the villa district on the city's northern edge, right now only Gauss Weil is there all by his lonesome—there isn't even anyone watching him. Even the people from the Scorching Sun Department, when they do clean-up, won't step foot into this northern part of the villa area.

Gauss Weil was having the time of his life playing on his phone and tablet, looking up all kinds of stuff.

Publicly available info on the internet wasn't much, and lots of it seemed sketchy, but the upside was, the stuff you found on the net usually boasted even more than the Scorching Sun Department's actual database.

Gauss Weil watched a bunch of movies these last days, browsed some books, got most of the words down, but still couldn't quite grasp the meanings.

He even snuck around and tried to check out—who exactly is this 'Heavenly Master' everyone talks about?

But as soon as he started looking, he was totally lost.

Within the Divine Land's Divine System, there are so many big shots called 'Heavenly Master' that you literally couldn't count them on both hands.

Then he looked up what the hell a Heavenly Master (as in the practitioner) was, and got even more confused.

These badasses called Heavenly Masters, even after their so-called ascension, still rank below the Heavenly Master (the highest title).

Which made him even more determined to just give up on life and go with the flow.

Wen Yan was right—his understanding of pain was seriously outdated.

It's also because his reach and sphere of influence, after all these years, still hasn't managed to infiltrate very much.

Even among devil worshipers, very few actually bow at his feet.

Now he was slowly shifting from physical pain to moving towards a higher, spiritual level of pain.

Like, when he can't figure something out, that itself starts to feel painful.

With no one watching him, Gauss Weil wasn't plotting anything—he was watching an online video, one with pretty high view counts, about the suffering of working stiffs.

Someone in the comments said their job was just too painful, that they really didn't want to keep doing it, and shared their personal story.

Gauss Weil noticed that this comment got a ton of likes—he now understood that this meant people agreed with it.

He mulled it over: since working is so miserable, maybe he should give it a shot?

Later, he'd ask Wen Yan what exactly "working" entailed and how it's done.

He was totally engrossed in his video when suddenly he sensed someone trying to contact him through a magic array using sacrificial rites.

He looked up, gazed westward—this wasn't your average follower.

Because he had already blocked off those regular followers' attempts at contact.

This was a fellow devil, trying to summon him through a blood sacrifice.

He sensed it briefly, curled his lip, rolled over, and picked a more comfortable position to keep scrolling on his phone.

These low-grade devils who only know how to mess with souls are really messed up. No wonder after all these years, they never come into the open—just stinky rats sneaking around behind the scenes.

He seriously didn't want to have anything to do with these guys.

He, the Devil of Pain… nope, Gauss Weil, was already standing proudly in the daylight.

He's still got plenty of chances to go further down the path of pain—why get tangled up with those stinky rats?

They've gotta be nuts.

He was crystal clear now, totally sure of what he was doing.

Ever since he descended here, he's been getting his ass kicked, one after another taking turns clobbering him—but each and every one who beat him up was some top-tier existence. You take a beating, so what—it's nothing to be ashamed of.

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