The crowd was too dense for Lucas to push through, so he climbed onto a nearby step, stood on his toes, and peered over the sea of heads. Sure enough, it was a magic show.

In the center of the crowd, a two-meter-square space had been cleared. A man in simple clothes sat at a wooden table with three bowls and a few peach pits, deftly moving them around. It was the classic shell game, with the audience trying to guess under which bowl the peach pit would end up.

Lucas frowned slightly. He had seen this kind of trick before—relying on sleight of hand and psychological misdirection. The more skilled the performer, the more difficult it was for the audience to keep up.

As Lucas watched more closely, his frown deepened. If the space had been more open, with the table surrounded on all sides, and the performer still able to execute the trick flawlessly, Lucas might have entertained the idea that this person possessed some real supernatural abilities. However, the table was strategically placed against a wall, with fewer spectators behind and to the sides, and the performer’s companions conveniently blocked those angles.

Lucas scanned the area from different angles. It was easier to see through the trick from the sides and back. Judging by the expressions of the few who stood there, some might have figured it out but chose not to expose the performer—either out of goodwill or to avoid ruining the show.

Meanwhile, most of the audience seemed genuinely excited, likely because they rarely witnessed such spectacles.

Lucas remained silent, continuing to observe.

After a while, a bearded middle-aged man appeared, covering a copper basin with a colorful cloth. With a flourish, he removed the cloth to reveal water in the once-empty basin, followed by a few lively koi fish.

The crowd erupted in cheers. Many eyes sparkled with amazement.

After the fish trick, the performer began producing objects from an empty box—fruits, vegetables, kittens, and puppies. He even managed to retrieve personal items from the audience members. When someone jokingly asked him to bring out a red undergarment from a widow’s home, he did just that.

Lucas watched with a mixture of skepticism and curiosity, his brow furrowed. He was hopeful yet cautious, unsure whether these tricks were mere illusions or something more.

As time passed, the sun climbed higher, and the street grew even more crowded.

In the open space, the performer’s apprentice knelt to collect tips while the older man walked around, addressing the audience.

“Thank you, everyone, for your generosity! We’ve earned enough to cover our travel expenses. In the previous performances, you saw a mix of true magic and practiced skill. We’re grateful for your enthusiasm and for those who’ve seen through our tricks but kept quiet. My deepest thanks to you all.”

He bowed deeply as the crowd, still eager for more, urged him to continue.

“I haven’t had breakfast yet, and my stomach’s growling,” the man said with a chuckle. “But since you all want to see more, how could I disappoint such esteemed guests?”

With a wave of his hand, he beckoned a boy, about thirteen or fourteen years old, who ran over. Despite the chilly early spring weather, the boy wore only a pair of trousers, his skinny frame revealing his ribs.

“Ladies and gentlemen! If you have money, please give some; if not, just enjoy the show. May this performance bring a bit of brightness to your lives. The boy here hasn’t had much practice, so don’t be too hard on him!”

The older performer, ever the showman, spoke with a practiced charm.

The boy didn’t say a word. He ran around the circle twice, then stopped and opened his mouth wide, as if to show everyone it was empty. He then popped a small, dark pellet into his mouth, chewed it with some sugar, and suddenly, his eyes widened.

"Boom!"

A burst of flames shot out into the air, startling the onlookers. The crowd immediately erupted in applause and cheers.

Even Lucas was surprised. He had no idea what the dark pellet was, but even if it was some flammable substance, there was no visible source of ignition.

Intrigued, Lucas climbed down from his perch and began pushing through the crowd.

“Watch it, don’t shove…”

“Who’s pushing?”

“Who’s jostling me?”

“Hey, kid…”

“Excuse me, excuse me…”

Drawn by the flames and the commotion, more people crowded around. Lucas, balancing his basket and the medicine, had to push his way through with considerable effort.

"Boom!"

Another burst of fire exploded in the air.

The crowd remained enraptured, the excitement palpable.

This was what it meant to be truly “fired up.”

However, the performance was nearing its end.

The boy, now visibly tired, stopped, looked at the older man and then at the crowd, silently bowing in thanks.

Immediately, the sound of coins clinking filled the air. People threw money into the circle, along with fruits, vegetables, and even rolling eggs forward as offerings.

In those days, anything could be considered a tip.

But just as the show was wrapping up, a voice broke through the noise:

“After all this time, we finally see a bit of real magic. But this crude fire trick is hardly worth showing off at a temple fair, don’t you think?”

The voice was old and tinged with disdain.

The crowd turned to see an elderly man in simple clothes.

“Who might this be?” the middle-aged performer asked, cautiously bowing.

“Consider me a fellow practitioner,” the old man replied with a smile.

The performer’s expression immediately darkened, while many in the crowd, after a brief pause, began to look on with eager anticipation.

The atmosphere, already charged, now crackled with tension.

“Though it’s said that those in the same trade are rivals,” the performer said after a moment’s thought, “we paid our dues to the local authorities, followed the proper channels, and didn’t encroach on anyone’s business. So, what brings you here, sir?”

“You’ve done nothing wrong,” the old man replied cheerfully, stepping forward. “I arrived a bit later than you, and when I went to register with the authorities, they told me you’d already claimed the prime spot. With nothing else to do today, I decided to take a stroll and, as luck would have it, stumbled upon your show.”

The old man chuckled. “I was hoping to learn a thing or two from my fellow practitioners, but I didn’t see anything particularly impressive. That’s all. No offense intended.”

His tone was mild, almost apologetic, as if he meant no harm.

Yet, despite the old man’s seemingly harmless demeanor, the performer’s face flickered with uncertainty. He looked around at the audience, who were now eagerly awaiting the next move.

“So, you’re saying our skills aren’t up to par? It sounds like you might have something to teach us!” the performer finally said, his polite façade slipping.

“Teach? Hardly. But you did show some decent skill with that fire trick,” the old man replied with a grin.

The boy, who had been performing the fire trick, glanced around nervously, fidgeting with his hands.

The performer, who had been playing the humble, affable entertainer, now scowled. “My apprentice is just a boy. He’s still learning. There’s no need to embarrass him. I’ve been practicing this fire trick for years. Perhaps you could help us see if it’s up to standard.”

The crowd, sensing a showdown, began to cheer, their interest piqued.

Lucas, too, was intrigued.

The performer opened a clay jar and took out a black pellet, just like the boy’s. He chewed it with some sugar and prepared to perform, while his assistants banged drums and cymbals to heighten the drama.

"Boom!"

At the exact moment the cymbals crashed, the performer threw his head back and spat a jet of fire straight into the sky. The flame shot up in a perfectly straight column, reaching at least six to nine meters into the air.

The fiery display was so striking that it would have been visible from several streets away. Had it been nighttime, the entire city would have seen the blaze.

But the performer didn’t stop there. He continued to spit fire several more times, each jet as powerful as the last.

With his team’s drums and cymbals providing a rhythmic backdrop, the atmosphere in the square grew electric, the audience’s excitement soaring.

It was clear the performer’s skill far surpassed that of the boy. Not only could he produce long, concentrated flames, but he could also keep spitting fire multiple times from a single pellet.

He even ate another pellet, circling the space as he spit flames over the crowd, letting them feel the heat. He set a wooden stick alight in the fire pit, demonstrating that his fire was no mere illusion but genuine.

“Impressive, impressive…” The old man clapped his hands, seemingly pleased. “Your fire trick has some substance to it.”

“Any advice for us, sir?” the performer asked, a hint of pride in his voice.

“Oh, it’s not advice, really. Just something the audience might not know,” the old man said with a knowing smile. “You see, there are two levels of fire tricks. The lower level requires the use of fire pellets and oils. The higher level doesn’t need any of that.”

The performer stiffened in surprise.

The crowd fell silent for a moment, then burst into chatter, their excitement growing.

“What’s this higher-level trick? Show us!”

“Yeah, let’s see a demonstration!”

“Don’t just talk big, old man!”

“You’re not playing fair,

 old-timer! If you want to earn some money, set up shop in the south of the city. These folks have worked hard all morning!”

The old man hesitated at first, but as the crowd continued to cheer him on, he finally stepped forward.

With a calm, unhurried air, he approached the fire pit where the performer had been igniting wood. He smiled at the crowd, then leaned over and inhaled deeply.

Instantly, the flames swirled upward as if alive, narrowing into a tight spiral and disappearing into the old man’s mouth.

The audience fell silent, stunned.

The old man opened his mouth wide to show that it was empty.

Then, without warning, he exhaled sharply:

"Boom!"

Another column of fire shot up into the sky.

This time, the crowd was utterly amazed.

Lucas’s eyes widened in disbelief.

Although the old man’s fire column wasn’t as long or concentrated as the performer’s, the fact that he hadn’t used any pellets, coupled with the way he had seemingly swallowed and then expelled the fire, created a spectacle far more astonishing.

It was as if the old man had used some kind of supernatural power.

“Thank you for your encouragement, everyone,” the old man said, bowing slightly. “I couldn’t refuse your enthusiasm, so I had to show a little something. But please, stand back. I’m an old man now, and my strength isn’t what it used to be. If my flames get too wild and burn your hair or faces, I won’t be held responsible.”

"Boom!"

Like the performer before him, the old man began circling the space, spitting flames over the crowd. The heat singed their hair, proving the fire’s authenticity.

As the drums and cymbals clanged around them, the crowd’s astonishment only deepened.

Another burst of flames shot right over Lucas’s head.

Unlike most, he didn’t step back. He merely protected the opening of his basket, ignoring the heat on his face.

The old man’s flames were indeed less focused than the performer’s, but Lucas could feel their intensity.

And with that heat came a strange, familiar sensation.

Suddenly, Lucas remembered—the feeling was the same as when the spirit in the Wang family shrine had breathed its smoke upon him.

Could it be? He wasn’t sure, but the thought lingered in his mind as he reached up to touch his hair.

A few strands had curled from the heat.