Chapter 57: The Most Glorious Age of Peace, Part 3

Chapter 57: The Most Peaceful and Prosperous Era, Part 3

The village head stood to the side, watching the scene unfold, a chill creeping down his spine.

“Speak! Was there a little girl brought here?!” Zhang Sanlu slid his blade beneath the peddler Li the Cripple’s collar, and with a light flick, a thin line of blood bloomed across his chest.

Though the wound was small, Li the Cripple howled in pain, tears streaming down his face.

“Sob… Please, master, understand… The bailiff… the bailiff brought a little girl here to be sold. The money, it was to be handed back to him, not something I wanted…” he whimpered.

“And where is she now?!”

“She… she’s already been taken to the market, sold to… sold to… sold to the butcher,” Li the Cripple’s voice trembled, terror clear in his eyes at what was unfolding.

Zhang Sanlu wasted no more words. He drove his blade straight into the peddler’s chest. Li the Cripple’s grin froze, his gaze flashing with terror before it was submerged by agony. Blood stained his front in an instant.

“You said she was taken to the market?! Sold to the butcher?!” Zhang Sanlu’s voice was low and menacing, a summons from the depths of hell itself.

The peddler gasped, swallowing convulsively as if to speak, but Zhang Sanlu had no patience for more excuses.

“Take me to her!” Zhang Sanlu ground out through clenched teeth, barely containing his urge to kill.

The peddler trembled. “We can’t go… it’s… it’s at Butcher Xue’s, but it’s already… already too late…”

At those words, Zhang Sanlu stabbed again, splitting the man’s heart in two. A fountain of blood gushed forth, spilling from Li the Cripple’s mouth as well. He twitched twice and went limp.

The village head had not expected Zhang Sanlu to dare kill so brazenly in town, and, fearing he might be next, hurriedly shouted, “I know! I know where Butcher Xue is! I’ll take you!”

Amid the clamor of the marketplace, the village head led Zhang Sanlu—who had hidden his blade up his sleeve—through the bustling throng. The press of bodies ensured no one noticed the blood-soaked Taoist robe he wore, which from a distance seemed merely crimson.

Cries of hawkers and haggling rose and fell throughout the market, but to Zhang Sanlu, all sound was muffled, as if sealed away from his ears. Only the heavy footfalls and labored breaths remained.

Arriving at the butcher’s stall, the village head halted. Zhang Sanlu looked up: the sign above bore the carved seal script, “Xue Family Butchery.” Before they could speak, a fat, greasy-faced butcher grinned at them, his greasy lips curling into a smile. “Looking for ‘special meat,’ sirs? Just in, fresh as can be.”

Zhang Sanlu’s heart plummeted. He looked up and saw, hanging from a meat hook, a slight and slender figure. The child’s body was stripped bare, hair disheveled. The hook pierced through her scapula, suspending her like a piece of meat for sale.

Butcher Xue gave the hook a twist, and the small body swung around. Her face was as pale as paper, eyes tightly shut, utterly devoid of life. Who could it be but Huiniang?

Zhang Sanlu’s eyes nearly burst with rage, tears streaming uncontrollably down his cheeks.

“Is this… is this still human?!” he demanded.

Butcher Xue chuckled, utterly unconcerned. “What of it? Isn’t this the way of the world? Some sell, some buy—everyone gets what they need.”

He laughed again, adding, “Besides, it’s a year of great disaster. Is this even human anymore? It’s top-grade ‘steamed bone jelly.’ When the real famine comes, you won’t even be able to buy it if you want to.”

Noting they weren’t buyers, he instantly turned nasty. “Buy or don’t, but don’t loiter here blocking real customers.” With that, he turned to greet others.

Blood trickled from the corners of Zhang Sanlu’s eyes, his gaze fixed and unblinking upon the butcher.

Only now did Butcher Xue notice the one-armed Taoist before him, drenched in blood as if risen from the depths of hell, eyes weeping blood, drawing a blade from his sleeve, its surface sticky with congealed gore. The butcher’s face went deathly pale. He opened his mouth, wanting to shout, but no words emerged.

Zhang Sanlu leapt up from the steps, his blade flashing down. The butcher, long accustomed to wielding a cleaver, instinctively raised his chopper.

Clang! The crash of steel on steel rang out, drawing every eye.

Zhang Sanlu moved with lightning speed, reversing his grip and slashing directly at the butcher’s skull.

A sickening crack sounded.

The top of the butcher’s head was sheared clean off, red blood and white brain matter spraying in all directions, drenching the air and splattering the ground.

Screams erupted.

The violence was so sudden and so gruesome that the crowd scattered in terror, fleeing in all directions. The village head, never having witnessed such brutality, was overtaken by nausea and bolted with the others.

But Zhang Sanlu seemed oblivious. His eyes remained resolute, though filled with sorrow.

Only now did Butcher Xue’s body sway and then collapse with a final thud.

In the dim, blood-soaked chaos of the marketplace, Zhang Sanlu ignored the world around him. He approached the hook where Huiniang hung, his movements gentle, as if fearful of disturbing a sleeping dream.

He carefully lifted her from the hook, every motion tender and cautious, afraid to hurt the lifeless body. The small girl felt impossibly fragile in his arms, as though a breeze might carry her away.

Grief and fury surged in Zhang Sanlu’s heart as he held her. This little girl, so brave and resilient, had never received a hint of heaven’s mercy. She had nothing to begin with.

Now she had nothing left—not even her life.

If it were possible, Zhang Sanlu would have traded his own life for hers, that she might live bravely, to see a world she had never known—a world with full bellies and warm clothes, free of war and bandits, demons and evil, and the horror of people consuming people.

“Huiniang, I’m taking you home,” Zhang Sanlu murmured, as if afraid to disturb her dreams.

If it were possible, he would give her his years of life.

“Lifespan?”

Suddenly, Zhang Sanlu remembered the pill refined by the Mystic True Man.

That pill had let the evil Taoist live over two hundred and eighty years—perhaps it had other miraculous effects. No, it must. There had to be hope.

Without hesitation, Zhang Sanlu gently laid Huiniang on the ground, hurriedly pulling out the nine dark-red pills from his robes. He crushed them one by one, carefully feeding the powder into Huiniang’s mouth.

She made no movement.

Zhang Sanlu held her jaw, then grabbed the water gourd from beside the cutting board, pouring water down her throat, praying it would carry the medicine inside, desperate for a miracle.

Hope blazed in his eyes. For a moment, it seemed as though time itself had stopped, waiting on a miracle.

But the world remained as cruel and indifferent as ever. Huiniang’s body showed not the slightest response.

A crushing sense of helplessness rose within Zhang Sanlu as he hugged her tightly, as if by sheer warmth he might call her back—from this world so cold and pitiless.