Chapter 59: The Widow and the Madman (Dear Readers, Please Click Today)

At the edge of the fishing village, a dilapidated bamboo-mat courtyard.

A man in a gray short tunic, bare-armed, sneered as he spread his arms like an eagle pouncing on a chick, blocking the woman in the faded blue floral dress.

“Even a widow can bear a child? How shameful for my brother Yang.”

“Fuck you, who the hell is your brother Yang? You and your village chief father are both scum—killers of a thousand cuts! Take your filthy hands off me!”

The young widow clutched her child, barely two years old, gritting her teeth like a lioness.

“Hey!” The man wasn’t angry—he grew more excited: “So others can sleep with you, but I, Meng Xian, can’t touch you? Let me tell you this: even if you stripped naked, I wouldn’t want you. Filthy trash, give me the brat!”

Saying this, Meng Xian reached for the child in her arms.

The widow’s face twisted, and without hesitation, she bit down.

Amid their struggle, outside the bamboo-mat courtyard, a filthy youth sat on the ground, his clothes torn and patched, one straw sandal reduced to shreds, nails caked with grime, his shins coated in a disgusting layer of black mud.

“Hahaha… fighting…”

His expression vacant, he watched the two entangled, slapping the muddy ground and grinning with his mouth open—clearly mentally broken.

“Hss!”

Meng Xian’s face darkened; he yanked his arm back, staring at the deep bite mark oozing crimson.

Enraged, he abandoned his teasing, swinging a hard slap that sent the widow stumbling backward, collapsing onto her rear, her gaze dazed.

“Good! Hit her!”

The filthy youth beamed, clapping enthusiastically.

“You stupid bastard, shut up.”

Meng Xian glared at him, stepped forward, seized the crying child, and sneered: “Filthy wretch with no fortune—when your bastard son sinks into the river, he’ll rise on the waves to fetch you to paradise.”

“Your mother’s the one who should sink into the river…”

The disheveled widow slammed her head forward. Meng Xian’s eye twitched—he raised his foot to kick her—when suddenly, someone grabbed his arm.

He whirled around, startled: “Father?”

The village chief’s face was grim; he said nothing, only struck Meng Xian hard across the face, snatched the child, and returned him to the widow’s arms before saying: “Come home with me now.”

Meng Xian clutched his stinging cheek, humiliated, about to speak—then he saw something, froze, and bolted away without looking back: “Fuck! These dog-skin bastards!”

From around the distant corner, a dark figure approached, hand resting on the hilt of his waist blade, his handsome face framed by clear eyes holding a faint aura of lethal intent.

Shen Yi circled several fishing huts and reached the source of the noise.

He halted before the bamboo-mat gate, gazed at the empty space ahead, closed his eyes to listen, then stepped forward again.

The widow stepped out of the courtyard, soothing her son, smoothing her hair, her face bruised, lips split: “I wondered why that old dog suddenly calmed down—turns out it’s the Captain’s arrival. Please, come in.”

As she spoke, she subtly blocked Shen Yi’s path.

“….”

Shen Yi stared at her silently, his voice calm: “Doesn’t it hurt?”

If it hurt—if she was angry—why block me? Could the River God matter more than her own child?

The widow paused, surprised by the question, lowering her eyes. After a long silence, she forced a smile: “You’ve only just joined the Demon Suppression Corps, haven’t you?”

“What do you mean?” Shen Yi turned his head slightly.

“Come inside.” The widow walked into the courtyard, carrying her child, dragging over a bamboo stool: “Everyone in Linjiang County knows the Demon Suppression Corps slays demons, eradicates evil, and protects the people—they’re the purest of the pure.”

Shen Yi hesitated, then sat down slowly at her invitation.

The widow lifted her gaze, her eyes glinting: “But the majority of them… are the people.”

She gave a bitter laugh: “My late husband and I… we were the wicked.”

Upon hearing “late husband,”

Shen Yi instinctively glanced at the child in her arms, then felt something off—he was about to look away.

But the widow didn’t care; she spat: “I gave birth to him with a dog.”

She set the child down, fetched a cloth from the well, stepped outside, and kicked the madman hard. Seeing the crimson wounds beneath the mud on his arms and shins, she knelt to wipe him clean.

As she wiped, she cursed.

“Filthy bastard—when you’re needed, you vanish for days. Seven or eight days gone—why didn’t you starve to death out there? What good is your stupid, vacant stare?”

“Go wash your hands. Dinner’s ready.”

Hearing this, Shen Yi regarded her thoughtfully.

The widow offered a casual explanation: “He used to be a commoner. Married at fifteen or sixteen. When his family was chosen to send a child to the river, they forced his wife to give birth. She was too young—the child was stillborn. She got lucky—barely survived.”

The village chief took her away. Since she wasn’t a virgin anymore, they simply tossed her into the Yangchun River as a girl. He went mad.”

The widow kicked him again, contemptuously.

Then, with quiet sorrow, she added: “No one wants to give up their child—but when someone else does, you can’t just sit back and benefit. Passed down generation after generation, it’s not worship—it’s revenge against those who drowned their own.”

“Like my late husband—he refused to give up his child. The waves swallowed him whole, no body ever found. That’s karma.”

“Why doesn’t the Demon Suppression Corps intervene? Because they’re pitiful people doing hateful things. Four hundred years of grudges—even if the River God is gone, they’ll still hold the Great Offering.”

“Great Offering! Kill! Kill! Kill!” The madman grinned, eyes bloodshot, laughing hysterically: “Kill me first! Kill me first!”

He crawled on the ground, reaching the youth’s feet, grabbing for the sword at his waist.

Shen Yi didn’t dodge. He watched as the madman’s filthy hand closed around the black blade, leaving smudges on its glossy sheath.

He moved—his slender fingers threaded through the madman’s bird’s-nest hair, then gently gripped.

The widow turned to fetch the fish soup, saw this, and paled—fear flickered in her eyes: “My lord, he… he’s mad. He can’t be a commoner, can’t be wicked—just spare his life. Let him be a mad dog…”

“Kill!” The madman’s eyes bulged, pupils nearly bursting from their sockets, screaming with saliva stretching from his lips, utterly deranged.

Shen Yi watched his face quietly, the pressure of his fingers softening gradually, gently stroking the madman’s head, as if calming a rabid dog.

The madman trembled, then stilled.

Then he heard a calm voice—and froze as if struck by lightning.

“Thank you for the warning.”

Shen Yi’s thin lips parted, a faint aura of lethal energy flickering across his pale face, yet his eyes remained clear, his voice steady: “I will not fail you.”

The madman vanished for seven or eight days.

A bloodstained badge was mysteriously delivered to Linjiang County—the man’s sole message, meant only for Qingzhou.

There is a demon here. A great demon!

Inside this village!!

(End of Chapter)