"...The High Priest ordered today's offerings to be doubled."
"Because of that dream again?"
"Shh! Don't talk about it here..."
The voices gradually faded away. Ian waited for a while, then moved on after making sure no one was around. No Priest sensed him, no believer noticed him; even the patrolling guards failed to detect anything amiss. The Temple's main gate was already wide open, several Priests standing at the entrance receiving the offerings of the faithful.
Ian slipped silently through the Temple's corridors like a formless gust of wind, passed the heavily guarded checkpoints, and finally stepped out of the Temple's lofty stone gate into the morning street. He slipped out through a small side door, and warm sunlight immediately spilled over his whole body.
When the first ray of dawn stained the Nile River red, the residents of Memphis gingerly pushed open their doors.
They didn't know what had happened last night, so life still had to go on. The streets of Memphis were waking up. Vendors raised colorful awnings and neatly set their goods on stone platforms. The smell of baking bread mingled with the Nile's unique damp scent, drifting through the air. A few children ran past Ian, laughing, almost bumping into his transparent body.
"Looks like it's time to undo the Illusionary Body Spell." Ian turned into an empty alley, lightly tapped his temple with the Magic Wand. His body immediately became solid; his black robe swayed faintly in the morning breeze. He straightened his collar, made sure the Magic Wand was well hidden, then calmly walked toward the main street, blending perfectly into the morning crowd.
On the street, the vendors were already busy. The fire in the bread stall crackled, sending the aroma of fresh baking into the air; the fruit stand was piled high with fresh apples, grapes, and figs, their colors bright and tempting; from the blacksmith's came the clanging of metal, sparks flying; the cloth in the tailor's shop fluttered lightly in the morning wind. Residents carried baskets, weaving between stalls, haggling over prices, chatting and laughing.
The old people sat on stone benches at their doors, basking in the sun and talking about family matters. Everything looked so normal, so harmonious, as if the disappearances of last night had never happened, as if no corner of this city had ever been shrouded in shadow.
However, Ian knew this calm was only on the surface. Beneath this seemingly peaceful routine, undercurrents were surging. He could feel a kind of indescribable tension hanging in the air, a fear that was being deliberately suppressed. Every now and then, a flicker of unease flashed in people's eyes; their voices were lowered in conversation, as though afraid of disturbing something. Behind the smiles lay deep anxiety.
"Forget it for now, I still haven't sorted this out. It must be because my stomach's empty, so my brain isn't running very efficiently."
The "Golden Palm" restaurant was an ideal place to eat. This small shop on the edge of the market served the most authentic date bread and honey beer in the whole city. The owner was a one-eyed old soldier, neither particularly enthusiastic nor overly wary toward unfamiliar customers.
It was the perfect place to gather information.
Since Ian had already come here once yesterday, the owner could recognize him.
"The usual?" The one-eyed owner saw Ian come in and asked gruffly.
"Plus a bowl of river fish soup." Ian sat down in a corner seat; from this spot he could clearly hear conversations from all over the restaurant. The space inside was small, and the few wooden tables were all occupied by diners. So Ian chose a window seat before starting to order breakfast.
The restaurant was already full of customers, most of them nearby vendors and craftsmen. They gathered in little groups, seemingly chatting and joking, but Ian sharply noticed that everyone's gaze kept drifting to the doorway, as if on guard against something.
The one-eyed owner was a middle-aged man, a kind smile on his face as he deftly brought over the food. Ian lowered his head and ate, but his ears keenly caught every movement around him. At first, people talked only about the weather, the harvest, and their children's studies. But before long, the topic quietly shifted to the disappearances of last night.
"Have you heard? Old John the blacksmith's son still hasn't come home." A farmer in coarse cloth said in a low voice, worry in his tone.
"Isn't that so," a woman beside him chimed in, "back at my mother's place, the neighbor Martha has gone missing too. She's a diligent one, never comes home late."
"How many is that now?" another voice cut in. "Counting last night, must be seven or eight already, right? There's not a peep from the Temple. The Priests just say they're praying and tell us to be patient."
"Praying? Can praying bring people back?" A young man said angrily. "If you ask me, the Temple's just playing deaf and dumb! Maybe..." He lowered his voice. "Maybe those people who disappeared have something to do with the Temple!"
As soon as he said this, the area fell silent for a few seconds. People looked at each other, fear and suspicion in their eyes. Soon, someone cleared his throat twice, trying to change the subject: "Don't talk nonsense. The Temple is a sacred place, how could it possibly..."
"Shh, keep it down!" another person reminded nervously. "If this gets out, be careful the Priests don't hear you!"
Ian listened quietly, barely touching the bread in his hand. These whispered conversations were like thin needles pricking his nerves. He knew the people's doubt was growing, their trust in the Temple was eroding. There were victims sitting in this very restaurant.
A father who had lost his son was crying his heart out.
"I told you not to let the boy go out at night!" A woman in a green headscarf said in a low voice to her companion. "Buck's nephew didn't come back last night either, his sister's fainted from crying three times..."