Unlike the Xiaocheng of days past, where song and dance filled the streets and people wallowed in luxury, the city now seemed to bear the marks of a troubled age. Every household kept its doors firmly shut, and only a pitiful handful of lights glimmered across the entire city.
The city was utterly silent, save for the occasional chirp of insects and the metallic clank of armor joints. Gongshu Wu followed behind Chu Yao as the two headed straight for the butcher's house. The once-bustling Night Market was deserted; stalls lay toppled along the roadside, a desolate sight.
Even someone as hard-hearted as Gongshu Wu couldn't help but sigh.
So this was war.
Even though the enemy hadn't truly broken through yet.
Still, silence didn't mean the city was "dead." Filthy things happened constantly in unseen, shadowy corners—robbery, murder, for instance. Two corpses lay in the alley leading to the butcher's house, their eyes still open in death, their body heat not yet fully gone.
Gongshu Wu stepped through the pool of blood formed by the two corpses, leaving bloody footprints along the muddy, stinking road.
"Ah, we're too late."
If only they'd arrived sooner.
Perhaps the old man and the child lying on the ground could have been saved.
Chu Yao's expression remained calm and unreadable as he said, "Even if we'd arrived earlier, it wouldn't have helped. Going to meet the King of Hell sooner is a good thing."
The two were probably a grandfather and grandson who survived by begging nearby.
Even before the Rebel Army came, they'd been so hungry they were skin and bones. With the Rebel Army laying siege to the city, ordinary people could barely keep themselves alive, let alone spare any kindness or food for them.
Living another day would only mean