The neighboring shopkeeper perked up at once, leaning out to jest with the customers, his tone dripping with disdain: "Well, can someone like you even recognize the things that only the elite can possess?" Another customer chimed in, joining the mockery: "Perhaps you've just seen too many 'elites' around the neighborhood..."
Amidst the surrounding mockery tinged with malice, the customer remained unperturbed, his gaze serene and unfazed by the banter. Yet the butcher found the remarks grating, brandishing his cleaver menacingly, his expression fierce: "Go on, get out of here! Don't ruin my business! Want meat? Go elsewhere."
The other onlookers, finding the scene less entertaining, dispersed one by one. Despite the dirty and tiring nature of his work, the butcher was one of the wealthiest and most affluent on the street, his words carrying weight—while ordinary households only indulged in meat during holidays, the butcher's family enjoyed it frequently, their dishes always rich and oily.
Even the neighbors dared not easily offend him. As the bystanders scattered, the butcher turned to the customer and inquired, "Old man, what you said earlier, was it true?"
The customer smiled and replied, "Of course, it was."
The butcher pondered for a moment before asking, "How did you know?"
He was curious how this old man, from so far away, could recognize that this was more than just ordinary adornment, but a symbol of literary prowess. The customer lightly tapped the meat counter and said with a smile, "That's not important. What matters is, you're going to lose, and you must accept it if you've lost the bet."
"Alright, alright. If I lose, it's cause for celebration! I'll bring you some liquor and meat to go with it..."
The butcher waved his hand nonchalantly, indifferent to the "wager." As they waited, the butcher leaned on the wooden counter, engaging in idle chatter with the customer. "Hey, old man, you speak so eloquently. Have you studied before?"
The customer replied, "I know a few words."
The butcher, suddenly energized, slapped the counter: "Old man, my kid is about to start learning..."
The customer asked, "Do you want your child to study?"
The butcher nodded and continued, "Not too many words though. I don't expect my kid to become an official. With our background, how could we have the luck of the elite? Just teach my kid a few words, so he won't get cheated in the future. This shop will be his..."
The customer interjected, "What if your child has literary talent or martial courage? Will you support them? Studying literature and training in martial arts can deplete your family's resources."
The butcher only saw the old man teasing him and shrugged, focusing on cutting the meat: "For people like us? My kid wouldn't be up to it. He'll just learn how to butcher meat like me..."
In his memory, those with literary talent or martial prowess were either dignitaries or wealthy elites, possessing extraordinary abilities. They could perform incredible feats, and were either powerful or prosperous—overall, they were superior beings. These were the people who could scale walls and create something from nothing, almost like immortals.
They were just common folk, rolling around in the mud.
He was a butcher, and his child would surely follow in his footsteps.
As for anything else?
He dared not hope for too much.
The customer gazed at the butcher calmly, his eyes as calm as water, not daring to indulge in even a daydream, feeling a bitter taste in his heart.
He sighed and said, "A chip off the old block..."
The butcher didn't understand: "What's that?"
"It means the son inherits the father's profession," the customer explained, "A blacksmith's son will inevitably become a blacksmith; an archer's son will inevitably become an archer."
The butcher was even more puzzled, but he was certain of one thing—the old man could read, and probably quite well!
And so, he became even more perplexed.
In this day and age, who doesn't respect those who can read and write?
Even if he didn't go out to teach his child how to read, how could things have turned out like this? How could he have been bought by the Moonlight Pavilion to be a kitchen servant?
The butcher was filled with doubt, but the customer didn't want to say more. With business coming in, he had to put away his thoughts. He thought of taking his child to see the old man later, perhaps bringing along an extra two pounds of good meat. Eating dirty food all day wouldn't be a problem if you had some good meat to balance it out.
At the same time, the thugs led Shen Tang farther away.
They took a long route at first, diverting Shen Tang's attention, and when he was off guard, they suggested taking a shortcut into the alley.
The further they walked, the more remote and quiet it became.
Shen Tang finally began to feel distinctly uneasy. She asked the man, "How much farther to the inn?"
The man replied, "We're almost there."
After circling around two more alleys, Shen Tang asked again, "Are you sure we're not lost?"
Impatient, the man, sensing they were only steps away from their destination, spoke with a raised voice, attempting to intimidate Shen Tang, "I said we're almost there. Why the rush, little lady?"
Sensing something amiss, Shen Tang panicked, "I want to go back..."
The man smirked and refused to stop, "It's too late!"
He kicked open a door and strode into the courtyard, announcing, "Business is here."
It was an extremely remote and filthy courtyard, with weeds crawling through the cracks in the walls, and faint voices could be heard from within.
Shen Tang pretended to climb off the motorcycle to escape.
But before she could even stand firm, the man forcefully pushed her into the courtyard. Off-balance, she stumbled, looking anxiously over her shoulder at the two figures emerging from the courtyard.
The woman remarked, "What a pretty little lady. Laitou, where did you pick her up? Look at that tender skin and delicate flesh..."
As she spoke, she reached out to pinch Shen Tang's face.
Shen Tang, frightened, dodged away and glared at the man named Laitou, "You, you, you're not summoned by Yuanliang?"
Ignoring Shen Tang, Laitou replied, "Just a few words and she followed obediently. Pretty face, but not much upstairs."
The man beside the woman approached to inspect Shen Tang's face. Shen Tang timidly stepped back, on the verge of tears.
The man licked his lips and chuckled, "What does a girl need brains for? If women had brains, how could we conduct business? Later, take her to the Moonlight Pavilion; they've been asking for quality goods."
The woman disregarded her companion's jab, "The Moonlight Pavilion? Isn't that full of little servants? Why would they need a maid?"
Laitou and the man shared a knowing smile.
Obscenity flowed between them, unspoken yet understood.
"You don't understand. When someone comes asking, we provide," said one.
"Exactly, women shouldn't meddle so much," added the other.
Laitou pushed Shen Tang's shoulder, preparing to lock her in a dark, filthy, and foul-smelling little room.
Shen Tang stumbled back, indignant, gritting her teeth, "Are you trying to sell me?"
The woman sneered, her eyes suddenly sharp, reaching out to pinch Shen Tang's flesh, threatening, "Even if it were the wife of the Jade Emperor, we could sell her. Behave! Otherwise, you'll regret it!"
Shen Tang evaded around a pillar, her eyes reddening, and cursed, "Aren't you afraid of divine retribution for doing this?"
Seeing Shen Tang becoming more spirited in her escape, the three prepared to capture her and give her a good beating to teach her a lesson.
"Divine retribution?" Laitou spat, "I am divine retribution!"
"Pray all you want, no one will save you!" said the man.
This girl was quite the runner, slippery as an eel.
"I'm so scared!" Shen Tang's voice carried a hint of tears.
The courtyard was so small, and Shen Tang was quickly cornered, the once nearly tearful young lady now huddled, her shoulders hunched.
In the next instant, the fear on her face disappeared.
"As if!"
Using the wall as leverage, she propelled herself with a kick, her long legs sweeping in a whirl.