Chapter 32: The Pig Butcher

"You said Gao Baima went north — north, not south?"

The yamen runner who was always half a beat slow in everything had gone into the city to fetch Yang Dingrui's family. The other one, slightly bolder, stayed behind watching the cart loaded with corpses, and struck up a sporadic chat with Liu Chengzong.

Liu Chengzong was still interested in Gao Yingxiang's whereabouts. He unsaddled Little Zuanfeng, folded his arms, and probed the runner for information.

"This humble one remembers it clearly — a dark mass of men stretching beyond sight, heading north along the Yanchuan road. The garrison at Saimen Fort fled at the mere rumor of their approach. No mistake about it."

Heading north.

They wouldn't go too far north.

The Gao Yingxiang in his memory was a hearty frontier horse trader who smuggled goods and army mounts, and knew the roads better than anyone.

Liu Chengzong had also traveled west from Yuhe Fort, so he knew that north of Ansai lay Jingbian Fort, Longzhou City, Qingping Fort, and Weiwu Fort — and that the second defense wall was as impregnable as metal and stone.

He found Gao Yingxiang's northward move puzzling, and tried to anticipate, from the possible directions, where Gao Yingxiang would go next.

In truth, Liu Chengzong knew that even if he correctly predicted Gao Yingxiang's exact movements, it would be utterly useless — yet he could not stop himself from trying to make the judgment.

Like a drowning man who cannot tell which stalk beside him is the lifesaving one, yet keeps grasping at them all the same.

As if that alone could bring everyone a greater chance of survival.

Having finished telling Liu Chengzong about Gao Yingxiang's direction, the runner paid no mind to Liu Chengzong sinking into thought. He tore the oil cake in his hand in two, wrapped one half in a stained piece of hemp cloth, and stuffed the other half into his mouth, chewing in huge bites, exactly like a big hamster.

He looked like he had not eaten anything with grease in it for a very long time. Afraid he might choke, Liu Chengzong untied his waterskin and handed it over. The runner took it, gulped down two mouthfuls, and then thanked him profusely.

Full and watered, the runner looked left and right, panting as if the eating itself had exhausted him. He leaned against the corpse-laden cart and let his body slowly slide down until he sat on the yellow earth beside the cart's wheel, closing his eyes to savor a brief moment of repletion.

Suddenly, from not far down the official road came the sound of pounding footsteps and heavy, ragged breathing, cutting short Liu Chengzong's musings on Gao Yingxiang's direction — out of the corner of his eye, he saw a man approaching quickly, a sharp knife in one hand and a small child slung over his shoulder, panting heavily.

He was a man of about thirty, with an ordinary face and not tall. Wrapped in a filthy, thick, short padded jacket so gray with dust its original color was indiscernible, the frame of his body beneath the clothes was broad and solid — he looked like a trained fighter.

Having grown accustomed to famine victims and refugees who were nothing but skin and bones, a man so clearly a size larger than everyone else felt dangerous at a single glance.

Liu Chengzong did not know what was happening. The instant he caught sight of this figure in his peripheral vision, he felt as if thorns were pricking his back. His first move was to grip his saber hilt and retreat half a step, putting distance between himself and the runner, his whole body taut.

As the man drew near, he dropped to his knees on the official road with a thud and began kowtowing.

Three loud, clanging knocks of the head — they stunned Liu Chengzong into blank confusion and also frightened the runner into scrambling to his feet and planting himself in front, shouting in alarm: "Guo Zhashi, have you lost your mind? Playing the fool right in front of the prefectural military officer — do you want to throw your life away!"

But the man ignored the panicked runner. He raised his head, his eyes red-rimmed, and his words came out rushed and tense, his speech very fast.

"One handful of rice. I only need one handful of rice."

Liu Chengzong said nothing, nor did he draw his blade. He led his horse back half a step and looked at the runner with questioning eyes.

He had just heard the runner call this man 'Guo Zhashi.' Zhashi was a descriptive term — no parent normally gives a child that kind of name. It had to be a nickname.

If he knew the nickname, he most likely knew the man's background well.

The runner was loyal. Though his words were meant to drive Guo Zhashi away, half his body stood shielding Liu Chengzong... Liu Chengzong did not for a moment think the runner was afraid Guo Zhashi might stab him to death.

That boning knife posed no threat to a man in helmet and armor with a sharp blade at his waist. It looked more like he was guarding against Liu Chengzong killing Guo Zhashi.

"Guo Zhashi, Old Seven went into the city to run an errand for the officer. The officer promised us flatbread — scallion-oil griddle cakes. Hurry up and kowtow, apologize to the officer."

The runner spoke in urgent haste, then immediately turned and bowed and scraped to Liu Chengzong: "Officer, he's the pig butcher of Ansai City. There are no pigs left in the city."

"A pig butcher?"

Liu Chengzong looked Guo Zhashi up and down. His forearms were frighteningly solid, his whole body like a door plank, both cheeks bulging.

A pig butcher was not the same as a meat-shop slaughterer. Every village had this ancient profession. No matter how small the village or how few its people, like the coffin maker, it was a relatively respected and dignified trade.

Relatively speaking, such a man was well-liked in the village and lived in better conditions. Whenever a household needed a pig slaughtered, they would call the pig butcher. The payment was usually a little money, a meal, and he got to keep the trotters.

When neighbors needed a written contract witnessed, they would usually invite these craftsmen to serve as witnesses.

In the past, a big fattened hog took four or five strong men to hold down before it could be killed. But now, this profession had lost all reason to exist. People were starving to the point of barely surviving; the chickens on Black Dragon King Temple Mountain were so famished they could not even open their eyes — let alone pigs.

It seemed the scallion-oil griddle cakes the runner mentioned had caught Guo Zhashi's attention. He held the kneeling child in place and looked at Liu Chengzong in silence.

"I give you a flatbread today — what will you do tomorrow?"

It was not that Liu Chengzong begrudged a single flatbread. He felt no stinginess about the bread, but he genuinely disliked Guo Zhashi's attitude of armed begging — and besides, he thought it was pointless.

Giving him a flatbread — for Guo Zhashi, for Liu Chengzong — was meaningless.

What meaning could it have?

Could one meal that didn't even fill the stomach be called the grace of recognition? At most, it was targeted poverty relief. After today, this father and son would still starve to death when they were fated to starve, would still become bandits when they were fated to become bandits.

Every man had his own destiny, but Liu Chengzong wanted to verify something.

Guo Zhashi was not at a loss. His goal was extremely clear: "I only need one meal. I absolutely will not cling to you and drag you down, Officer."

In that instant, many thoughts flashed through Liu Chengzong's mind. Just then, the runner who had gone into the city earlier came pulling a cart. On the cart sat a terrified woman and three children, boys and girls. Watching the cart, he asked: "Can you drive a cart?"

"Huh?"

The pig butcher was no fool. As a pig butcher, he had in fact seen far more than many farmers. At first he did not react, but then he hurriedly said: "Yes, I can. Ox carts, horse carts — both."

"Anyone else in the family?"

"No one. Just my boy. He doesn't eat much — a little bit and he'll live."

"Drive the cart for me, and I'll give you two meals a day. Can't guarantee you'll eat your fill. Will you do it?"

Guo Zhashi nodded his head like a pestle pounding garlic, threw his knife to the ground, and not only kowtowed himself but pulled the child down to kowtow with him. After just three knocks, the man was already wailing loudly, even sobbing uncontrollably.

This crying came far too suddenly, leaving Liu Chengzong at a complete loss.

No one wants to die, especially of starvation. So for the luck of living an extra day or two, kowtowing a few times was understandable.

But this was a man in his thirties. No man in his thirties weeps over a job like this — especially not crying like a child in front of strangers.

He said this was the first time he had ever begged. For four generations, his ancestors had slaughtered pigs in Ansai City, each generation son succeeding father — they had never experienced anything like this.

Ansai City had no more pigs.

When the sky falls and the earth splits and the great edifice topples, he had become the most useless man of all.