The season was deep autumn, and the mist was starting to rise at night.
At the fish market entrance, beneath the signboard, the young boy remained hanging.
To kill one to warn a hundred, to shake the hearts of the people.
"Damn it, this is really bad luck, why can those guys go and drink with Eight Masters while we have to guard this stinking brat and drink the north wind?"
"It's because you, lad, are also not willing to give proper tribute to Eight Masters. These tough and dirty jobs naturally fall to poor devils like us."
"His mother, those stinking fishermen, even if you squeeze them dry they don't have much Silver. I got up early this morning to search Old Chu's boat, and what do I find? A bunch of broken household stuff. After all the trouble of finding a few coins, they all went to Eight Masters, and I didn't get a single one."
