Old Huangtou was about to die.
Everyone present understood this without saying a word.
Some closed their eyes, unable to bear the sight, some glared in anger, grinding their teeth, and some trembled all over as they counted out their life-saving money.
There were also many who laughed.
They jeered, pointing at Old Huangtou as if they were looking at a ridiculous old dog.
They said:
“This old man must be crazy. For a bit of money, he’s willing to risk his life.”
“Hey, old man, your son was born into your family, but all he gets is suffering. In the next life, maybe he’ll be born to a rich family and enjoy endless blessings.”
“Chop off his head, skin him alive, and let’s see who else dares resist the tax!”
White waves rolled in the air.
The venomous sun scorched the earth and roasted the old man lying on the ground.
If not for his body still rising and falling ever so slightly, he would have looked no different from a corpse.
The whip lashed him, green-headed flies burst into the air, but they couldn’t bear to fly far, swirling around the old man’s body like a thick, black mist.
The shadow of the man wielding the whip stretched and distorted, longer and longer, until it swallowed Old Huangtou’s body.
Jiang Mingxi thought, it was just like one of those old stories, where a monster opens its bloody maw.
Old Huangtou seemed to be mumbling something feebly, but Jiang Mingxi was too far away to hear clearly, though she could more or less guess.
It was nothing but the same old stories of harsh taxes and ruined families, tragedies repeated so often that even Jiang Mingxi was sick of hearing them.
So, in her previous life, she had understood.
This world gave no way out for the poor.
No matter how hard she tried, no matter how obedient or kind she was, it was useless.
A sheep’s docility only made the predator more savage.
Jiang Mingxi gazed calmly at Old Huangtou lying on the ground and thought, he’s just a stranger.
In her past life, she’d bought Dragon Bone from Old Huangtou’s stall a few times. But that was all.
He was not Shen Mangge.
She’d grown up with Shen Mangge; though they were master and servant, their bond was like sisters.
She was willing to risk her life for Shen Mangge, to be reckless for her, even if it meant becoming a wanted murderer—she would not regret it.
Because in her previous life, Shen Mangge had done just that for her.
Yes, Old Huangtou was pitiful.
But across this vast land of Shenzhou, people more pitiful than Old Huangtou were everywhere. For him to live to such an age before dying was already a kind of fortune.
However, the Dragon Bone was in Old Huangtou’s hands.
Jiang Mingxi was silent for a long while, then suddenly laughed—a bitter laugh, with a sense of “so it really is like this” resignation.
She knew it.
How could she suddenly be so lucky?
So, it was here, waiting for her.
It had always been this way.
Fate tossed her crumbs, yet demanded her flesh and blood in return.
The Xianbing Captain, panting, put down his whip, hacked up a thick wad of phlegm, and spat it onto Old Huangtou’s sparse white hair.
“Damn, still not dead? The old bastard really has a tough life.”
Jiang Mingxi suddenly moved.
She strode forward, at first unhurried, but faster and faster.
Just as she had last night, gripping her knife as she walked toward Zhang Nan.
And just like all those countless days and nights, she walked alone toward war, flood, famine, and death.
The first to notice the Young Master was a street magician.
His face was covered with pockmarks, and everyone who knew him called him Laoma. Over time, even he called himself Laoma.
Laoma stared at the Young Master in astonishment, as if he’d seen a crane land among a pack of wild dogs.
The Young Master looked young, with a slender, graceful figure, wearing a high-end camel coat like the ones hanging in the Western-Style Department Store, and a crisp shirt as unwrinkled as his life seemed.
He walked with a unique rhythm.
Strolling as if through a peaceful garden, like a gentle breeze gliding over lakes and mountains, he carried a pleasing air of tranquil composure.
The faster he walked, the more his coat flared, as if he were a graceful white crane, strolling leisurely through a swampy mire.
Just by looking at his relaxed elegance, his straight back, and those proud, sharp eyes—like an unsheathed blade—you could tell he came from a world entirely different from everyone else present.
He must have had a well-off, respectable background, raised by his family like a precious jewel, meeting only good people all his life, walking only smooth roads.
Very soon, the Gendarmerie also noticed this white crane striding toward them, unafraid of death.
One fierce glare after another shot toward the Young Master.
Laoma’s heart leaped, mixed with a vague, hard-to-describe sense of schadenfreude.
Such a pampered Young Master, spoiled since childhood—how could he have ever seen such a display of power?
He thought, surely the kid would burst into tears, maybe even wet his pants.
A scar-faced gendarme sidled over with a sneer, deliberately clattering his box pistol at his waist. “Well, well? Whose Young Master slipped the leash and wandered into our filthy turf? Look at that tender skin—won’t last a minute here.”
The Young Master shot him a cold glance, then swept his bright, starry eyes over the rest of the fierce soldiers, and said, shocking everyone, “Tell Fang Fengtai to get out here and see me!”
Laoma was still wondering who “Fang Fengtai” was, but the blocking thug’s eyes bulged round, as if he’d heard the world’s funniest joke. He stomped forward, spittle nearly spraying the Young Master’s face.
“Damn! Where’d this little bastard come from? You dare call the County Magistrate by name? And… and ‘get out here’?! How many heads do you think you have?!”
The Emperor of the Great Qing had abdicated five years ago, but Langling City’s “emperor” was still here.
A shuddering jolt shot up Laoma’s spine; he stared, mouth agape, his breath coming fast and heavy.
Those swaggering gendarmes, and the whip-wielding Xianbing Captain—what big shots they were!
With a single word, they could ruin the lives of everyone present.
Because they held guns, they naturally became the masters of every commoner’s fate.
But even a blind fool like Laoma knew, in the eyes of the County Magistrate, the gendarme lords were just obedient dogs.
Now, a pampered Young Master was calling the County Magistrate by name, even telling him to “get out here”…
Laoma’s brain had turned to mush from fear; for the moment, he couldn’t understand what this meant.
He just stared wide-eyed, excited and hopeful, at the Young Master.
Say something!
—Since you dare to call the County Magistrate by name!
Laoma held his breath, dizzy with anticipation, and finally heard the Young Master’s clear, cold voice.
“Truly a country bumpkin. Not a single one under your command is worth anything.”
The accent sounded odd, not local, and Laoma could only half understand.
He watched as the Young Master strode straight ahead, as if the thug in front of him didn’t exist.
The ignored thug’s face flushed dark, turning the color of pig’s liver.
He spat a mouthful of thick phlegm at the yellow earth by his feet, spittle flying, and his huge palm shot out to grab the Young Master’s slender neck as if snatching a disobedient chick, but in the next instant, he stopped short, only to curse, “Damn it. Young Master, even if you’re made of gold, let’s see if I don’t teach you a lesson!”
The emotion swelling in Laoma’s chest instantly cooled.
Laoma thought in disappointment, no matter what this Young Master relied on, he was still just flesh and blood.
But the Young Master didn’t even glance at the thug. He lifted his chin arrogantly and said to himself, “I’ll have my big brother inform the President that Langling County will finish last in this year’s evaluation.”
Laoma froze.
The thug blocking the way froze.
So did the Xianbing Captain standing before the half-dead Old Huangtou, whip in hand.
For everyone living in Langling County, County Magistrate Fang Fengtai was their heaven, the local tyrant who ruled all lives.
And the President—that was a figure out of legend.
Even now, fortune-tellers in Langling County swore that the President bore Dragon Qi, that he was the True Dragon Son of Heaven, destined to end this age of chaos.
Yet in this boy’s mouth, the President sounded like someone he could casually order about.
“My goodness!”
The thug’s eyes bulged, stunned for several heartbeats.
Then, snapping back to himself, he let go of his gun and slapped his thigh, bursting into a phlegmy, thunderous laugh. “Hahaha! Did you hear that? This little brat is talking nonsense! His big brother?! He’s going to ‘have a word’ with the President?! Hahaha! Oh, heavens above!”
He pointed at the Young Master, shouting at his equally dumbfounded companions, spittle flying, “Look at this little fool! Still wet behind the ears, huh? Must’ve lost his mind! His big brother? Is his big brother Bimawen under Yuhuang Dadi? Or Yan Wangye’s fire poker? ‘Have a word’? I say you’re a dung beetle sneezing— spouting nothing but crap! Evaluation last place? Who do you think you are?!”
Laoma was thoroughly disheartened.
He’d really thought this Young Master had some backing.
Honestly, at his age, why did he still hope for such unrealistic things?
Imperial Inspector going incognito, a Wangsun checking on the people—those were just storybook tropes, never things that happened in real life.
Laoma stared blankly at the naïve, frail Young Master.
A boy so weak he couldn’t even truss a chicken—killing him would be no harder than killing a chicken.
The thug, having laughed enough, wiped his face with his filthy sleeve, smearing tears and snot everywhere.
With a sweat- and grease-stained palm, he reached out fast and hard for the Young Master’s slender neck, as if grabbing a wayward chick.
“Enough crazy talk! Come with me! The station’s nice and cool— good for clearing your head! And later, have your ‘big brother who can talk to the President’ bring some silver to bail you out! If you’re short even a penny, you can spend the New Year in the cell!”
Laoma lowered his head expressionlessly, turning back into a clay puppet.
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