Chapter 101
Chapter 101
-----------------------------------------------------------------
>Translator: Ryuma
>Chapter: 101
>Chapter Title: Yang Kid
>-----------------------------------------------------------------
Yang Kid sleepily opened his eyes. When he saw that the paper window outside was letting in some light, he threw off the blanket and started getting dressed.
“Creak~” The kitchen door was pushed open. He came to the water jar and checked the water inside. Feeling it wasn’t enough, he picked up the shoulder pole with two empty wooden buckets and headed out the door.
“After the senior brothers and sisters get up to wash, I still need to boil porridge. This bit of water won’t cut it.”
As a Daoist boy of Clear Wind Temple, though Yang Kid was only ten, he was skilled at cooking, laundry, mending clothes—everything. He even knew a thing or two about the properties of materials used in pill refining.
These were all beaten into him. Those who couldn’t be beaten into shape were dead.
In that dark, sunless temple, the one thing he’d truly learned was that people had to be useful. Useless people were trash.
If the senior brothers and sisters ever tired of dragging a burden along, they’d ditch the one snoring on the bed first.
Yang Kid actually harbored a secret no one else knew: the family address he’d given was fake. He had no home.
Right now, he just hoped this journey would go on forever, so the meals would never end.
He was different from the others. Back when they went to Clear Wind Temple, the other kids had been sold or stolen away. Yang Kid had gone willingly—all because that man had said there was enough food to eat one’s fill.
Just outside the courtyard gate, Yang Kid bowed toward the woman practicing sword in the distance.
“Morning, Senior Sister.”
But Chun Xiaoman had no attention for him right then. She was utterly focused on the sword manual before her eyes.
Yang Kid was used to it by now. Lately, this black-furred senior sister spent every waking hour not spent eating or sleeping on sword practice.
Amid the damp morning mist, he walked alone down the empty lane.
“Could I ask Senior Sister to teach me swordplay too? If I learned it, even begging again, no one could bully me.”
“But would she? Senior Sister Xiaoman’s always so aloof.”
Lost in thought, Yang Kid reached the village pond and started drawing water.
Suddenly, a massive black shadow surged from the hazy mist in the distance. It gave him a scare.
But he calmed quickly. The shadows were people: a ragged crew of filthy-faced beggars, just like he used to be.
From their sniffling and shivering, it was clear they hadn’t lit a fire last night.
The beggars startled too at the sight of him.
Once they confirmed he was alive, they shoved a little beggar forward.
The one-eared kid was wooden, dawdling and hesitant.
Seeing Yang Kid about to leave with his water, an old beggar stepped up, shoved the little one face-first into the mud, then hunched low with a fawning smile.
“Little one, mind if I ask—is this Wu Family Village?”
“No one you’re looking for here. Place is empty. Nothing left.”
Yang Kid’s words only fired them up more. The man’s red booze-blossom nose flushed deeper.
A shaky finger swept around at the houses and fields.
“So these houses, all this land around—no owners?!”
Yang Kid wanted nothing to do with the beggar-kicker. He turned and left.
Back in the kitchen, he poured the buckets into the jar, wiped sweat from his brow, shouldered the pole again, and headed out.
A jar that size took several trips.
When he emerged again, he saw the beggars had broken into the empty houses nearby, rummaging.
They wouldn’t find valuables. The well-off had taken them when they fled; what was left, he and Senior Brother Gouwa had collected.
The beggars didn’t care. Even a tattered rag had them leaping in glee.
On his third trip out, Yang Kid saw some of them brawling over who-knew-what.
“Don’t stay here! Place is haunted—trouble follows!” he called to his old comrades.
No one listened.
By the fourth trip, exhaustion had drained the color from Yang Kid’s face. Still, he pushed on to the courtyard, set down the pole, caught his breath, and waited quietly.
Footsteps echoed from inside. Yang Kid snatched up the pole and hurried in.
He soon ran into the others, pole and all.
“Morning, Senior Brother Cao Cao.”
“Hey, kid—fetching water again? Good boy. Leave the heavy lifting to the Fool.” Gouwa ruffled his hair on his way out.
“Senior Brother Cao Cao, porridge is on—breakfast soon!” he yelled after Gouwa’s back.
“Mm-hmm. I’ll rouse the Fool.”
As the sun crested, flooding the courtyard with light, everyone gathered in the main hall.
Breakfast was plain: porridge, pickled veggies Gouwa had dug from the village cellar, their hardtack. But there was a meat dish too—two eggs in a small bowl.
No one touched their chopsticks. They waited in silence.
Just then, sword-practicing Xiaoman came in from the door. Gouwa teased her.
“Junior Sister, drilling through winter’s three-nines and summer’s three-fus—how’s it going? Teach your senior brother when you’ve mastered it.”
“Decent. Better than flailing blind. The escort master’s teacher said it’s all practice—no secrets. Whittle two bamboo swords. Spar after breakfast.”
Gouwa’s face soured like a bitter melon.
Xiaoman hung her sword on the wall and took a seat, joining the wait.
Footsteps approached. The stench of blood thickened the air. Yang Kid tensed, head bowed low, eyes glued to the floor. He didn’t dare glance over.
Senior Brother Li Huowang.
He knew Li wouldn’t hurt him—he’d been the one to pick him up. But fear gripped him anyway. Especially after everything witnessed on this road.
Bai Lingmiao helped Li Huowang to the head seat. He started on the porridge. Only then did the others eat.
Li Huowang hadn’t even noticed when the custom started.
As they ate, gulping sounds drifted from the yard. Beggars craned necks, staring hungrily.
“Beggars still? Thought Wu Family Village was deserted.”
At Li Huowang’s question, Yang Kid stood, nervous, and spilled everything he knew.
“Heh, sharp-eared lot—knew it was vacant. Daring the chopping block of Twelfth Month Eighteenth? Not scared of the curse?” I’m done. Eat up.
(End of chapter)