Blood Tax

The three of them supported one another as they staggered back to the garrison. By then, the horizon had already begun to pale with the first light of dawn.

The mud on their bodies had mixed with blood and dried into clumps in the morning light. Every step felt like dragging heavy shackles. Although the sharp pain in their abdomens had eased somewhat because of the pill, each breath still tugged at wounds deep inside that had yet to heal. Wang Quan gritted his teeth and struggled to keep up with Wei Dayong's swaying but relentless pace. The pale-faced young man—Wang Quan later learned that his name was Hou San—had woken on his own, but his eyes were dull, and he remained utterly silent.

Commander Chen, the scar-faced man, was waiting beside the drill ground in the garrison's front courtyard, like a cold stone statue. The morning light fell across his sallow face, making the scar appear even deeper.

"Commander Chen." Wei Dayong released Hou San and stepped forward, his voice terribly hoarse. Quickly and quietly, he recounted how they had encountered a Corpse Puppet during the night and lost two men, then run into the Pig Demon and been demanded tribute. When he mentioned the five living people and tomorrow night, his voice became barely audible, and his head hung very low.

Commander Chen's face did not change in the slightest after he finished listening, as though he had merely heard some irrelevant triviality. He remained silent for several breaths, his gaze sweeping over the three battered men before finally settling on Wei Dayong.

"Understood." Commander Chen's voice was flat and emotionless. "I'll report it to the captain." He paused, and his eyes suddenly sharpened, scraping across the three men like knives. "What happened tonight dies in your stomachs. If anyone dares let even half a word slip, next month's Blood Tax will be collected from him. Understood?"

Blood Tax.

The words struck Wang Quan's heart like a block of ice. So that filthy offering made with living people had such a stark, naked name here.

Wei Dayong shuddered and lowered his head. "Understood."

Hou San mumbled the same.

Wang Quan hurriedly lowered his head as well, hiding the shock in his eyes.

"Get lost." Commander Chen waved a hand without looking at them again, then turned and walked toward several neater-looking blue-brick houses deeper inside the garrison.

Wei Dayong turned around, and what little color remained in his face had drained away. He looked at Wang Quan and Hou San. His voice was weary but left no room for argument. "Return the weapons. Remember Commander Chen's words. If you want to live, stitch your mouths shut. Tonight..." His Adam's apple bobbed once. "Tonight, we patrol as usual."

He pulled two black pills resembling yesterday's from his clothes and tossed one to each of them. "Eat them. You'll feel better."

Wang Quan caught the pill. It was slightly cool in his hand. Without hesitation, he swallowed it directly. A current of heat, gentler but longer-lasting than yesterday's, unfurled in his abdomen, slowly nourishing his damaged organs. The tumultuous pain caused by the Pig Demon's blow was finally soothed little by little. He glanced at Hou San, who also swallowed his pill woodenly.

"This afternoon, you." Wei Dayong pointed at Wang Quan. "Come with me to select some people." He said no more, dragging his broken arm as he hunched toward the weapons room.

Wang Quan silently returned the saber stained with mud and dark-purple Corpse Blood, then went back to Room Bing-7, which reeked of mold.

The door closed, shutting out the gradually brightening daylight and the faint sounds of people outside. He leaned against the cold earthen wall and slowly slid down to sit on the floor. Exhaustion and the weakness that came with surviving a disaster surged over him, yet his mind was unusually clear.

Once again, he sank his consciousness into his mind.

Those few lines of faintly glowing text emerged:

[Current Martial Art: Wind Slaying Saber Technique (Proficient)]

[Points Available, Points Required: 1]

[Current Realm: Mortal]

Mortal.

The corner of Wang Quan's mouth twitched into a bitter smile. It really is... blunt. Aside from telling him that he was a mortal, this system offered not the slightest other hint. How did one advance realms? Did he need a cultivation method? Or some special medicinal pill? If he trained the Wind Slaying Saber Technique to a profound level, could he fight a monster like the Pig Demon?

Everything was unknown. He was like a man blindfolded and thrown into a beast cage, able to grope forward only by instinct and a bit of luck.

The former owner's memories contained nothing but some martial tricks from the jianghu and the survival experience of a bandit. He knew nothing about true cultivation or the divisions between realms. As for medicinal pills, they were things of legend. Yet the black pills issued by the garrison were so effective that they were clearly far beyond ordinary healing medicine. Commander Chen, Wei Dayong, and even the unseen Captain Chen were probably no ordinary martial artists.

The waters of this world ran deeper and were more dangerous than he had imagined. If he wanted to survive, relying on this little saber technique and luck was nowhere near enough.

He had to learn more—about cultivation, about this world, and about the nauseating Blood Tax deal between the garrison and the monsters.

The injuries in his abdomen had improved by half under the medicine's effects. At least, he could walk normally again. Footsteps and the clatter of a lock sounded outside the door.

The door was pushed open. Wei Dayong stood in the doorway, having already changed into a clean dark-blue martial outfit. His left arm hung in a sling across his chest. His face was still pale, but the habitual cold hardness had returned to his eyes. "Let's go."

Wang Quan rose and followed him.

The two did not head to the drill ground. Instead, they crossed several courtyards and made their way toward a secluded place in the garrison's northwest corner. The closer they got, the heavier the strange smell in the air became—a mixture of excrement, rot, blood, and despair. A tall wall appeared ahead, its top bristling with iron thorns to prevent climbing. There was only one iron-bound wooden gate, before which stood two guards with sabers at their waists.

When one of the guards saw Wei Dayong, an ingratiating smile immediately piled onto his face as he came forward. "Oh, Master Wei, what brings you here personally? What orders do you have?"

Wei Dayong's expression barely changed. He took a dark, heavy wooden token from his clothes and handed it over. "By Commander Chen's order, I'm taking five prisoners to fill Team Ding's vacancies for tonight's city patrol."

The guard accepted the token with both hands, inspected it carefully, and checked the seal upon it before bowing and returning it. "Yes, yes, Commander Chen's warrant is genuine." He gestured for his companion to open the heavy iron gate. "Please, sir. What sort of prisoners are you looking for?"

"Men who have committed crimes, are strong, and preferably arrived recently." As he spoke, Wei Dayong stepped through the gate.

Wang Quan followed closely. An even stronger stench and a chill rushed toward him, making his stomach churn.

Beyond the gate was a flight of stone steps leading downward. The walls on either side were slick with moisture and covered in moss. Torches were mounted in the walls, but the dim light illuminated only a few steps ahead. At the bottom was a narrow passage, with cells on either side sealed by thick wooden bars. The cells were low and damp, their floors covered with moldy straw. Huddled figures could faintly be seen within. At the sound of footsteps, some of the shadows stirred, issuing weak moans or indistinct curses.

The guard led the way with a torch and introduced the prisoners with a fawning smile. "These few on this side are thieves. Those over there were arrested for fighting and injuring people... The innermost cell holds two fierce bandits who robbed passersby. They've only been here a few days, so they're strong. Their tempers are wild, though."

Wei Dayong did not slow down, his gaze sweeping across cell after cell. The wavering firelight revealed the prisoners' numb, fearful, or vicious faces. At last, he stopped before the cell holding the two bandits, then pointed at another cell beside it containing three relatively young prisoners. "These five."

"Right away!" The guard swiftly pulled out his keys. With a rattling clamor, he unlocked the cell, went inside, and kicked and beat the five prisoners out. He bound their hands behind their backs with coarse hemp rope and strung them together. The five prisoners struggled, especially the two bandits, who glared furiously and hurled foul curses. The guard showed no mercy, smashing the sheath of his saber hard into their stomachs. Their curses immediately became painful groans.

Wei Dayong watched coldly, nodded at the guard, and gestured for Wang Quan to follow before turning away. The guard eagerly led the line of prisoners out of the cell, placing the end of the rope in Wang Quan's hand. With a smile, he said, "Take care, Master Wei. Just give the order whenever you need anything in the future."

When they returned to the sunlight, Wang Quan narrowed his eyes against the glare. The coarse hemp rope in his hand transmitted the force of struggling. Behind him, five bound prisoners stumbled forward—the Blood Tax. Wei Dayong walked silently ahead, passing through secluded alleys toward an even more desolate independent courtyard surrounded by high walls behind the garrison. It looked like a warehouse or an abandoned drill ground, a place rarely visited on ordinary days.

Halfway there, Wei Dayong suddenly spoke. His voice was not loud, but it carried clearly to Wang Quan's ears. "Once we're out, you may ask three questions." He paused without stopping. "Whether I answer them depends on my mood. You can take your time thinking."

Wang Quan's heart jumped, and he tightened his grip on the rope.

Three questions. He had to think carefully. At last, they arrived before the walled courtyard. The heavy wooden gate was tightly shut. No guards stood outside, yet an imposing, oppressive air hung over the place. Wei Dayong knocked in a particular rhythm. The sound of an iron bolt sliding came from within, and the gate opened a crack. He pushed the five Blood Tax prisoners inside one after another. Faint shouts and the clinking of chains drifted out, and then the gate closed again, cutting off everything within.

After completing the errand, Wei Dayong seemed to relax, his tense shoulders sagging slightly. He turned and looked at Wang Quan, who had followed silently behind him the entire time. His arrow-scarred face showed little expression.

"If you have questions, ask them now."

Wang Quan drew a deep breath. The cold wind of the wilderness poured into his lungs, clearing his overheated mind somewhat. He quickly organized the thoughts roiling inside him. His doubts about survival, strength, and a way out finally condensed into the three questions he most needed answered.

"Master Wei," Wang Quan began. His voice was a little dry from tension. "First question: For someone like me, what do I need to do to obtain a true cultivation method?"

Wei Dayong did not stop walking. He looked toward the gray, dusty alley ahead, with no surprise on his face, as though he had expected this question all along. He walked several steps in silence before slowly saying, "A cultivation method? The true cultivation arts are all clutched in Captain Chen's hands." He glanced sideways at Wang Quan, his gaze somewhat complicated. "Want one? Exchange merit for it, exchange your life for it, or... offer some other value."

Wang Quan's heart sank, but he was not discouraged. He immediately asked his second question, the deepest desire in his heart. "Then the second question, Master Wei: For someone like me, a criminal in exile, is there any way to truly escape this identity?"

This time, Wei Dayong's footsteps paused almost imperceptibly. He turned his head again, studying Wang Quan for longer this time. His gaze was sharp, as though he wanted to pierce through Wang Quan's flesh and see what was hidden within his bones. The alley was quiet, save for the faint echoes of their footsteps.

"Escape completely?" Wei Dayong repeated. The corner of his mouth pulled into the faintest of curves, so slight it was almost nonexistent. It was impossible to tell whether it was mockery or something else. "When you... are able to escape, you'll naturally escape."

He suppressed the emotions surging within him and asked the final question—the most direct one, and the one most closely tied to life and death in the present.

"Third question, Master Wei. If... if I encounter something like last night again, something like the Pig Demon or something else, what should I do so that I can... kill them?"

"Kill a monster?"

Wei Dayong finally stopped walking and turned fully around to face Wang Quan. On his weathered face, the arrow scar looked particularly ferocious in the dim light. He did not answer immediately. Instead, with eyes that had witnessed too much life and death—slightly clouded, yet still sharp—he stared straight into the depths of Wang Quan's eyes, as though judging the quality of his soul.

The alley fell utterly silent. Even the distant commotion from the garrison seemed cut off. Time flowed slowly through the soundless exchange of gazes.

"You're asking how to kill a monster..." Wei Dayong finally spoke, his voice low and even, revealing no emotion. "Make your blade fast enough. Make your strength great enough." Wei Dayong leaned slightly forward, narrowing the distance between them. His gaze seemed almost tangible, pressing down heavily on Wang Quan as he slowly asked the question:

"But the most important thing is... boy, do you have the guts? Do you have the... killing intent to throw everything away, where either it dies or you do?"

His eyes locked tightly onto Wang Quan's, not missing the slightest fluctuation. This was not a question so much as a cold examination. Wang Quan felt his throat tighten. Under that oppressive stare, he could even hear the rush of his own blood. The Pig Demon's terror from the previous night, the despair of standing on the brink of death... scene after scene flashed through his mind. Fear still existed, but beneath its ashes, something hotter and more unwilling to yield had also quietly begun to grow.

He did not avoid Wei Dayong's gaze, even though his fingertips had gone cold. He did not answer yes or no, because before a question like that, any words would have seemed pale and powerless. He merely pressed his lips together hard, the line of his jaw tensing.

Wei Dayong stared at him for a long time, so long that the shadows in the alley seemed to shift several inches. At last, that faint, unreadable expression vanished from his face, replaced once more by his usual cold, numb hardness. He said nothing else. Then, without a word, he turned around, his back quickly melting into the mottled shadows cast by the walls ahead.