Chapter 59

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.

"A widow giving birth? How shameful for my brother Yang."

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

The young widow clutched a child under two years old, her teeth clenched like a lioness.

"Hey!" The man wasn't angry—he grew even more excited: "What, others can sleep with her, but I, Meng Xian, can't touch her? Listen up: even if you stripped naked, I wouldn't want you. Filthy trash, hand her over!"

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

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

Amid their struggle, outside the bamboo-mat courtyard, a young man covered in mud sat on the ground, his clothes torn and patched, one straw sandal reduced to shreds, his nails caked with grime, his calves coated in a thick layer of foul black dirt.

"Hahaha… fighting…"

His expression vacant, he watched the two entangled, slapping the muddy ground with glee, mouth agape in laughter—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 filthy idiot, shut up."

Meng Xian glared at him, stepped forward, seized the screaming child in his hand, and sneered: "Unlucky filth—when your bastard son sinks into the river, he'll ride the waves back to fetch you for paradise."

"Your mother's the one who should sink—"

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

He turned, furious, surprise flashing in his eyes: "Father?"

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

Meng Xian clutched his cheek, humiliated and furious, about to speak—then he turned, shuddered violently, and bolted away without looking back: "Fuck, these bastards in dogskins."

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 found the source of the noise.

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

The young 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 the Captain has arrived. Please, come in."

As she spoke, she deliberately 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, startled by the question, lowering her eyes. After a long silence, she forced a faint smile: "You've only just joined Zhen Mo Si, haven't you?"

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

"Come inside," the widow said, carrying her child into the courtyard and dragging over a bamboo stool: "Everyone in Linjiang Commandery knows Zhen Mo Si cuts demons and evil, protects the people—pure goodness itself."

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

The widow lifted her gaze, eyes glinting: "But the majority of them—the people—are the ones who matter."

She gave a bitter laugh: "My late husband and I… we were the evil ones."

At the words "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 fucked a dog to get him."

She set the child down, went to the well, wrung out a cloth, walked outside, and kicked the madman hard. Seeing the crimson wounds beneath the mud on his arms and legs, 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 looked at him thoughtfully.

The widow explained casually: "He used to be a commoner. Married at fifteen or sixteen. When his family's turn came to offer a child to the river, they forced his wife to give birth. She was too young—the child was hard to deliver. She got lucky—barely survived."

The village chief took the child away. Since she wasn't a virgin anymore, they just 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 others do, you can't just sit back and benefit. Passed down for generations, 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 Zhen Mo Si intervene? Because they're pitiful people doing hateful things. Four hundred years of grudges—even if the River God's gone, they'll still hold the Great Sacrifice."

"Great Sacrifice! Kill! Kill! Kill!" The madman grinned, eyes bloodshot, cackling wildly: "Kill me first! Kill me first!"

He crawled on the ground, reached the young man's feet, and grabbed for the blade 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 long fingers threaded through the madman's bird's-nest hair, then gently gripped.

The widow turned to fetch fish soup, saw this, and her face paled—fear flickered in her eyes: "My lord, he… he's mad… neither good nor evil anymore… spare his life. Let him be a mad dog…"

"Kill!" The madman's eyes bulged, pupils nearly bursting from their sockets, screaming with saliva trailing 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 slowly stilled.

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

"Many thanks for the reminder."

Shen Yi's thin lips lifted slightly; a baleful aura rose over his fair, clean face, and only his gaze remained clear, his voice as calm as ever: "I shall not fail the trust placed in me."

The madman vanished for seven or eight days.

The bloodstained waist-tablet had, for no apparent reason, been delivered to Linjiang Commandery — the other party, from start to finish, had only wanted to pass a single message on to Outside Qingzhou.

There are yao here — great yao!

Right in the village!!

(End of chapter)