“Callus?”
Song Xian raised his left hand, showing the callus at the base of his thumb clearly to everyone.
“Is it this one?”
His expression was innocent, his eyes wide and honest, with not a trace of guilt.
The lead officer was Cheng Zehai, the Tingzhang of Changshui County.
He had years of experience in investigation and capture, never once mistaken in reading people.
But this time, he was doubting himself—could his judgment be wrong?
“Show the blade!”
A gust of wind hit them face-on, and a flash of white light streaked past Song Xian’s face.
“Ah! He’s killing someone!”
Several people in the crowd screamed.
When the wind died down, Song Xian noticed everyone was staring at him with panic and fear.
Only then did he realize a large blade had just swung down towards his face.
Cheng Zehai frowned and sighed,
“Truly no martial skill. This kind of dullness isn’t the way of a fighter.”
“What about the callus on your hand?”
Song Han Cheng, who had just met a friend at the market and exchanged a few words, noticed the commotion and hurried over.
“Farmers all have calluses on their hands,”
the friend explained calmly, stepping beside Song Xian.
Cheng Zehai said,
“No, the shape of calluses from farm work and those formed by wielding swords are different. Besides, his hands are fair and slender, never weathered by wind or sun. Clearly not rough from farm labor.”
“Tingzhang Cheng,”
Song Han Cheng handed Cheng Zehai a pair of gloves,
“Why not take a look at these?”
Cheng Zehai examined the gloves carefully.
They were old and patched in many places.
The patch at the base of the left thumb was stiff leather, and wearing them while working would definitely cause calluses there over time—the shape closely resembling those on a martial artist’s hand.
Seeing Cheng Zehai still skeptical, Song Han Cheng gestured for him to observe Song Xian more closely.
Song Xian was anxiously picking mushrooms off the ground, moving quickly to prevent the crowd from trampling his precious finds.
In moments like these, subconscious actions reveal the truth.
He used his right hand to pick mushrooms, indicating he was right-handed—not left.
So the long callus on his left thumb was indeed due to the gloves.
With suspicion fully dispelled, Cheng Zehai felt a bit embarrassed.
He bought all of Song Xian’s mushrooms at double the price.
The sudden doubling of his income made Song Xian quite happy; a smile appeared on his face as he received the money.
“This your eldest son?”
Cheng Zehai asked Song Xian.
Song Xian nodded proudly.
“Young and already a father—you’re aging well. I see your son has some calm and steady qualities. Can he read?”
Song Xian blinked, about to say
“No,”
but Song Han Cheng answered first.
“He knows a few characters and can do accounting.”
“Good. Our county office is just short an Accountant. Come to Changshui County tomorrow to see me. If you pass the exam, I’ll give you the position. How’s that?”
Song Han Cheng bowed in thanks.
Cheng Zehai laughed heartily,
“I like gathering talented young men like this.”
Before leaving, he asked again whether Song Xian and his two sons had ever seen the three portraits.
They all shook their heads.
“See you tomorrow,”
Cheng Zehai said cheerfully to Song Han Cheng, then left with his men.
Song Han Cheng smiled faintly, watching Cheng Zehai’s departure.
Song Xian’s heart was troubled.
He didn’t really want Song Han Cheng to associate with people like Cheng Zehai.
In these chaotic times, working at the county office was risky.
Being the Accountant involved money matters, easy to stir up conflicts and dangers.
But when he saw his eldest son eagerly volunteering to Cheng Zehai and smiling so happily at the chance to become the Accountant, Song Xian felt he couldn’t be the killjoy father now.
“He’s a good man, introducing you to this Accountant job.”
“Yeah, he loves gathering young talents,”
Song Han Cheng said with a smile in his voice, flawless and with no hint of the sarcasm hidden beneath.
“Haha, that’s his good eye—he spotted such an outstanding eldest son like you! If you really like accounting, I’ll support you and be happy for you.”
Song Xian reminded himself not to dampen the mood.
Now was the time to be a proud, joyful father.
As for his worries, he’d find time later to discuss them with his eldest son.
“Something to celebrate! When we get home, I’ll get Village Chief Chen to make a Mu Xie Zi. After pressing the oil, I’ll cook you some Fried Chicken.”
Song Han Cheng’s words caught in his throat.
He had wanted to add: Cheng Zehai seemed gentlemanly on the surface but was actually a brute who enjoyed tormenting talented youth.
He liked whipping self-righteous scholars, crushing their pride, making them crawl at his feet and bark like dogs.
But for the taste of this “Fried Chicken,”
Song Han Cheng decided to say nothing for now—he’d speak after the feast.
With all the goods sold, the three of them decided to head home.
As they exited the east side of the market, a row of men and women stood by the roadside not far away.
These adults wore ragged clothes, their frames thin and spirits low.
Each had a large bamboo basket in front of them, filled with children aged two to five years old.
The children were thin too, most curled up asleep in the baskets.
At first glance, Song Xian thought: these are villagers bringing their children to the market.
When the children fell asleep, one parent stays nearby to watch them rest.
But then he realized something was off.
The bamboo baskets were lined up like stalls, just like those of the vendors in the market.
Most adults standing beside them had blank expressions; a few sniffled and cried, looking heartbroken.
This area was only a short distance from the market, clearly cordoned off to conduct another kind of trade.
“They’re… selling children?”
Song Xian hoped he was wrong but needed to confirm.
He whispered to his sons,
“Are they being sold as servants for rich families?”
Song Ji Min immediately shook his head,
“No.”
Song Han Cheng frowned,
“They’re starving. Let’s go home quickly.”
“Oh.”
Song Xian took out a pack of dried rabbit meat from his pocket and handed it to Song Han Cheng to ease his hunger.
Though he wasn’t hungry, Song Han Cheng said,
“Then what are they for?”
Song Xian pressed Song Ji Min for an answer.
“Father, you really forgot everything—even the Yongzhou County custom of ‘Steaming the Young and Eating Them, Withered Wood Revived by Spring, Longevity.’”
There was a hint of cruelty in Song Ji Min’s innocent voice as he explained.
“Many believe that eating the flesh and bones of young children allows one to absorb their youthful energy. Especially wealthy elders in their eighties or nineties buy a child each year to eat.”
“The child refers to those under five years old. Babies work too, but since they have less meat, their price is lower.”
“Ugh—”
Before Song Ji Min finished, Song Xian turned away to vomit.
Song Han Cheng shot a reproachful glance at Song Ji Min, who shrugged helplessly.
One must face the harsh realities to truly cherish the life before them.
On the way home, Song Xian remained silent the entire time.
For dinner, he made noodles but could barely stomach two sips of broth before lying down in his room.
After winning a duel with The Carefree Hero, Song Lu Yuan returned home happily but noticed Song Xian’s unusual mood.
He immediately ran to question his eldest and youngest brothers.
“Father got scared just because he saw children being sold at the market?”
Song Ji Min nodded,
“It seems he’s never seen such evil with his own eyes.”
Song Han Cheng agreed,
“His mind is very pure.”
“I think he’s possessed. Should we find a Dao Shi to perform a ritual and exorcise the evil?”
Song Lu Yuan blurted out, only to be smacked on the forehead by Song Ji Min.
“Big brother, look at second brother—please do something!”
Song Lu Yuan clutched his head and complained to Song Han Cheng.
“You deserve it. Possessed? There’s no one in this world who isn’t,”
Song Han Cheng paused, then added,
“Just protect him from now on.”
The two brothers, always bickering, surprisingly agreed and nodded in unison.
“Is anyone there?”
A strange male voice suddenly echoed in the valley.
From the entrance, a man carrying a lantern stepped forward in the thick darkness.
He wore a white silk robe, his hair tied up with a jade hairpin.
The lantern’s handle was even inlaid with gold.
Song Lu Yuan immediately stood alert and asked,
“Who are you?”
The man’s long face was full of smiles.
“My surname is Xiao. I’m here looking for my friend, Song Xian.”
He paused, then suddenly remembered something and added,
“Oh, and also for my fiancée, Bai Ge.”