Beneath the statue's feet, shadows pooled thick like tar.
A figure crept between the ruined tents near the northern gate, moving slowly toward the eastern quarter of the village.
Perched atop the Buddha's head, the Butcher narrowed his eyes. A second pupil spun into view in each eye - one silver, one gold - alternating like sun and moon, strange and unsettling.
An arm curled around his neck, followed by a mocking voice:
"One-armed ox, using the blind man's eyes again? What are you watching?"
"Someone slipped in from the northern quarter. Headed for the sickly kid's tent. No idea what for."
"North side, huh..."
The Cripple leaned on his cane and lay back, staring up.
In the Dry Sea, there was no moon. No stars. Only a vast, ragged tear across the heavens, gaping like a festering wound.
"Should we intervene?"
The Butcher asked.
The Cripple shook his head.
"Can you really hold back, from intervening I mean?"
"Not sure," the butcher sighed, then continued, "When he finds out the truth about this place, he might go mad."
"Then try to stop yourself. Maybe you're underestimating the sickly brat. He owned the heart of Saint. Then he had his chest torn open and celestial meridians flayed, and still survived. Mentally, he's tougher than you think."
"To me, he still feels like a child. I don't know what happened before, but this past month with us, he's been more of a soft-shelled grandson than any hardened soul."
"Butcher, how long do you think you, me, and the rest of this broken bunch in the village of Sickos have left to live? Maybe, while we still draw breath, we let him face the trouble before stepping in. At least while we're alive, we can still step in before things go sour..."
"What about the Deaf One?"
"Still sitting there like an idiot."
---The separator line had to worked overtime due to being late---
Lạc Trần was staring into the murk beyond the tent when someone stepped through the flap.
The candlelight flickered faintly, casting her face in pale relief.
A girl, no more than thirteen or fourteen.
The wolf under the bed sprang out, barking wildly, hackles bristling. In the glow, the girl's face turned ghost-white with fear. But she grit her teeth and stepped forward.
"Young master..."
"Who are you?"
"The village head sent me to... serve you."
As she spoke, she bit her lip, her thin robe slipping from her shoulders.
Lạc Trần turned away, brow furrowed.
"Have some self-respect. Leave. Now."
"If I don't serve you, the village head will beat me to death."
"Get out! Put your clothes back on and leave. Don't make me get rough."
He reached under the bed with one hand, the other still shielding his face. Internally, he counted to three. If she hadn't left by then, he'd unleash the wolf.
Rustling fabric. The sound of coarse sackcloth, louder than normal clothes. When it stopped, Lạc Trần turned.
She was already at the door. Tear streaks glistened at the corners of her eyes.
He sighed.
"You can stay in the tent until morning. At least it'll give the village chief a reason to leave you alone."
She nodded fervently, sobbing with relief.
Lạc Trần figured that would be the end of it. He lay back, arm over his forehead. But then he heard a loud gulping sound.
The girl was staring hungrily at the wolf's leftovers, saliva dripping from her lips.
If not for the wolf guarding its bowl, she'd have pounced.
Lạc Trần sighed again.
"There's some dry rations in my pack. Corner of the tent. Help yourself."
"Really? Thank you, young master!"
She bowed as though worshipping a deity, then scrambled to the pack.
Inside were a few earthen cakes from Saccharine Soil.
She picked one out, retreated to a corner, and gently scraped off powdery crumbs with her front teeth, savoring each bit.
"Is it that hard already?"
"No... I just eat it this way so it lasts longer. If there's something in my mouth, the hunger isn't as bad."
Lạc Trần froze.
Unbidden, memories flooded back—his orphan days, scavenging gutters and alleys.
Since joining the Cloudspike sect, he had long escaped hunger and the shadow of death.
Even when they carved out his heart and flayed his meridians, he still made it to the village of Sickos. Met this band of misfits who, though unhinged, protected him like kin.
He couldn't help but feel kinship with the girl.
"Come sit by the fire," he said. "What's your name?"
"Young master, I wasn't allowed to have a name. But my mother secretly named me Tường Vi. Lam Tường Vi."
"Tường Vi? That's a beautiful name. Why weren't you allowed one?"
"The village head says two-legged cattles like us shouldn't have names. Names make us think wrong things. But mother said me and my sister were her daughters. She didn't want us to forget pride. Said we mustn't break our own backs. So she gave us names in secret."
Her words came faster now, more animated.
Lạc Trần listened, heart tightening.
Two-legged cattles.
That word again.
"Where's your sister?"
"She's dead."
Tường Vi broke the cake in half. She placed one piece near the fire, pulled out three hairs, burned them, and kowtowed.
"Mother said if you offer food and burn incense, the dead can come eat. I don't have incense, so maybe sister can follow the smell of my hair."
"What's your mother's name?"
"Lam Vân Hoa. You know her?"
"Heard of her."
Of course he had.
Lam Vân Hoa. General of the Crimson Tide kingdom. Led an army against the western continent over a decade ago.
One spear, one banner, a cloak stained red,
A lone rider bears what the fallen bled.
The Smiling Scholar once composed those lines to mourn her.
It was said she fell to one of the Eight Great Sects - the pagoda of Inner Peace - and vanished afterward.
Lạc Trần never expected to hear her name again in the Dry Sea.
Let alone find her daughter.
Tường Vi, finished praying, turned to him, eyes curious.
"Young master, what happened to your left chest?"
"Some people stole something important. But I'm alright now."
He smiled.
She asked softly:
"Why did they hurt you? You're so kind. Why steal from you?"
"That's the way people are. If they'd asked, I might have given it. But... they didn't."
He chuckled.
Tường Vi pouted.
"Pfah, let's not talk about sad things. Young master, why did you come here? Mother used to say this place is called the Dry Sea. All who end up here are the Penitents. But let me tell you a secret. Mother told us that outside are the four great continents, sects, sacred kingdoms, celestial empires, beast tribes... the other only get to know after being chained up."
"I was thrown in."
"I... I said something wrong again, didn't I?"
"It's alright. I like it here. But... could you stop calling yourself a Penitent? Or two-legged cattle? You and I—we have done nothing wrong."
She shrank back.
"I wish I could. But mother... she changed. If I don't say it, she beats me."
Tears welled again.
"Why? Why won't any of you fight back? Don't you want to own your lives?"
Lạc Trần stared, remembering those chained by the green-skinned overseers.
"Young master, you don't understand. Mother did fight. I never knew my father, but she never blamed us. Three years ago, she even let my sister try to escape."
"But they caught her. Beat her in front of mother. After that, sister vanished. That's how I know she died. Then... the village head gave mother control of trade. She stopped telling stories. Stopped saying 'dignity.'"
Tường Vi looked up at him.
"You look from the outside and think we're cowards, or stupid. You want us to have freedom. But all we want... is to live."
Lạc Trần's mind spun.
He opened his mouth, again and again, but found no words to counter her.
Suddenly, he recalled an old tale.
In Jambudvīpa, there was once a sacred kingdom called the Phoenix Empire. One year, famine struck, war raged. The people starved.
When told, the emperor asked:
"If they lack rice, why not just eat meat?"
Lạc Trần now realized - he was that emperor.
He hadn't understood the burden of those branded as Penitents, as two-legged cattles.
All his righteousness, all his talk of justice - none of it was for them.
It was only for himself.