As soon as I heard there seemed to be a story about Webster, I immediately asked Stein what was wrong and urged him to tell me everything.
I was interested in both Webster and Raul Master—the more information about them, the better.
Stein said he didn't know much, just the basics.
Rumor had it that Webster's fortune-telling skills were extremely powerful. By age thirty, he had become famous with no equal—not just in Vervecity, but people from other cities flocked to him just to have their fortunes told. By forty, he was already worth over a hundred million dollars.
But within a few years, his parents were struck by lightning and died, while his wife and children became bedridden with an incurable illness. It was said he had leaked too much divine information, offending the heavens and bringing down divine punishment—those around him would die horrible deaths.
To save his wife and children, Webster gouged out his own eyes, gave away his family's wealth, and divorced his wife.
Strangely enough, not long after, Webster's wife and children recovered on their own. From then on, all the money Webster earned from fortune-telling went to charitable deeds to ensure his family's lifelong happiness and safety.
This Webster was truly a man of love and principle—to go to such lengths for his wife and children. No wonder he still lived under the flyover despite having money. So that was the reason.
After hearing Stein's account, I wanted to meet Webster even more. After closing the tattoo parlor, Stein took me to the overpass where Webster lived.
When we arrived under the overpass, I didn't see anyone at first. Stein led me around to the other side where, not far from the overpass, stood a short makeshift shed with a man lying inside.
"You're here?"
Before I could say anything, Webster's voice came from the shed.
While most blind people have sensitive hearing, at best they can tell someone is approaching—they couldn't possibly identify who it is. Yet this Webster actually knew it was me.
"How did you know it was us? You haven't even come out of the shed," Stein asked.
Webster still didn't move, lying atop a simple mat. The shed was very short—it couldn't have been comfortable to sleep in. I really didn't know how he could endure living like this. The man was truly ruthless.
"Oh, I figured it out," Webster laughed.
He could figure that out? Was he really that divine? I frowned, muttering to myself.
I'd always wondered if Webster could calculate my entire life's fate.
"I can't calculate your life, and I don't dare to. I wouldn't be able to keep my own life if I tried," Webster said.
What the hell? I exclaimed inwardly. How did this old man know what I was thinking? This wasn't just divine calculation—this was straight-up supernatural!
I almost wanted to kneel down and beg him to tell my fortune. When you encounter someone with such extraordinary abilities, you should try to take advantage of the opportunity - no point wasting it.
But this Webster said he didn't dare to read my fortune. What was the reason for that? Was my fate that terrible?
I actually know some basics of Four Pillars of Destiny numerology, since Ghost and God Tattoos sometimes require checking whether a client can handle the tattoo's energy. Though not as skilled as Webster, I do have some understanding.
I've even tried calculating my own fortune before - my life path seems quite good, not bad at all. In fact, it appears to be smooth sailing with wealth and prosperity, plus abundant romantic prospects with women. That's why Stein earlier said Stella and I were well-matched - her life of great calamity could be balanced by us being together.
"What exactly do you mean by that, old man? Is there something wrong with my numerology?" I asked, maintaining the fine tradition of being a studious pupil who asks questions when confused.
Webster didn't answer directly, only saying "The sky's the limit."
I smirked and rolled my eyes. This old man loved being cryptic and mysterious. When it came to matters about my grandfather and parents, he and Raul Master had strung me along before without revealing anything substantial, nearly driving me crazy with frustration.
Fine, if he wouldn't tell me, I wouldn't push it. I wasn't here tonight to discuss that anyway - I came to ask about Markus.
"Did you deliberately send a bald man to us?" I asked directly.
Webster hummed in affirmation.
I pressed further, "That man is a ghost. You were aware of that, weren't you?"
Truthfully, even now I wasn't 100% certain Markus was a ghost. I was testing Webster with this line of questioning.
"That one doesn't matter," Webster replied.
"Doesn't matter? Then what does matter?" I was confused about what the blind man was implying.
"I led him to you not for you to tattoo him, but so you would learn about the Dreaming Nun through him," Webster explained.
My frown deepened. Who was this Dreaming Nun? Why did I need to know about her? Had this person appeared in Markus's stories?
Then suddenly it hit me - an epiphany.
"The Dreaming Nun you mentioned... is she the bald woman?" I asked.
Webster suddenly grabbed his crutches and sat up. He still wore his sunglasses, which struck me as odd - did he sleep with them on too? What was the point?
As Webster sat up and "looked" at both of us - despite his blindness - I found myself doubting again: was he truly blind after all?
"Yeah, the bald woman Markus mentioned - her name is Dreaming Nun. She was expelled from a nunnery a few years ago and later institutionalized," Webster said.
I was confused. "Why would I need to know about this mentally ill woman?"
Webster shook his head. "She's not crazy. It's the people inside the nunnery who are insane. Dreaming Nun, the one who was expelled, is actually the sane one."
This made no sense to me. What kind of logic was that? The nuns in the monastery were the crazy ones? And the one who got kicked out and institutionalized was the normal one? Could there be more to this story?
Webster's expression darkened. "There's much more to this than meets the eye. The reason I sent Markus to you was to involve you in this matter so you could help Dreaming Nun."
He paused before adding, "A dead man's comb alone won't solve this problem. It will require the Tattoos of Gods and Ghosts."
After all this explanation, I still wondered - what could possibly be happening in a nunnery? Such places are supposed to be holy grounds where evil spirits dare not linger. Temples and nunneries are normally sanctuaries against demons and monsters.
Webster admitted, "Strangely enough, even I can't determine what's causing this. A few years ago, suddenly all the nuns in that monastery went mad - except Dreaming Nun, who happened to be away collecting alms."
"When Dreaming Nun returned, she found every nun holding a comb. They stopped chanting sutras and beating wooden fish, instead spending their days combing their hair with bizarre expressions - neither quite laughing nor crying."
"Dreaming Nun tried to stop them, but it was useless. In the end, she was the one expelled from the nunnery."
"Even worse," Webster continued, his voice dropping lower, "the nuns started bringing men into the monastery at night. They've turned that sacred Buddhist sanctuary into something filthy and profane. It's truly chilling."