Decapitation Trick

That day, Lin Shou had just finished a funeral gig at Tianqiao.

He'd helped bury an old man who'd been a small-time peddler in life—a frugal sort who'd scraped together a bit of property.

Ten years ago, the old man was struck by a horse cart, crushing his legs. From then on, he lay bedridden, in need of care. Yet all five of his children vanished like smoke, never to be seen again.

A young house servant had stayed to look after him, the two of them clinging to each other. Later, the old man went back to peddling, got lucky, and saved up some modest wealth.

Come the day of the old man's burial, those filial sons and filial daughters who hadn't shown their faces in ten years suddenly appeared—no idea how they'd gotten word so fast.

One by one, they wailed at the funeral altar, tears streaming, putting on a grand show of devotion for Lin Shou's amusement.

After the crying, they started asking about the old man's peddling business and who'd inherited the property. When they learned he'd left everything to that young servant—

How could those filial sons and daughters be happy with that?

Huh? We cried our eyes out at your funeral, Dad, and you don't leave us a single cent? What kind of father does that? So we just bawled for nothing?

Old man, you got rich and forgot your kids! Made your fortune and couldn't spare a thought for your children!

The funeral hall erupted into a brawl. The filial sons flipped tables, hurled curses, and tried to beat the servant—nearly tipping over the old man's coffin.

A family's misfortune. If the old man could see this from the underworld, he'd probably burst right out of his coffin, so furious he'd come back to life.

Lin Shou had watched the whole spectacle, thoroughly entertained.

He wasn't surprised, though. Working in the Small Yin Sect meant dealing with matters between the living and the dead. You couldn't judge the people or events by normal standards.

Between life and death, it was like letting the ghosts in people's hearts loose—anything could happen.

The longer you worked this trade, the more absurdity you saw.

Grave-robbing at funerals, burying the living with the dead, the young seeing off the old, setting up empty tombs and planting life-seeds, corpses face-down in the coffin, people snatching bodies from the casket...

White affairs were far more interesting than red ones.

After finishing the job, Lin Shou hoisted his ever more radiant Burial Shovel and found a cold-tea stall near Tianqiao to wet his throat before heading back to the Corpse-Stitching Shop.

He sipped his tea, turning to watch the street performers.

Tianqiao was a place for big-time entertainment—in other words, a spot where the lowest rungs of society came for fun. Street-side jugglers, monkey shows, magic acts—all crammed together.

It was the place the Jianghu crowd in the Capital City recognized most.

Whether you wanted fame or fortune, If you could make a name for yourself at Tianqiao, where hidden dragons and crouching tigers among the Jianghu craftsmen gathered, your reputation would follow you wherever you went.

Money lords over servants, skill lords over peers.

In a trade that relied on talent, unlike officials or merchants who needed money and connections, or farmers who had to pray against drought or flood, the rules were simple.

If your skill surpassed every competitor, you were the boss. You were the top of the trade.

Two stalls both smashing rocks on chests—if you could break a five-pound stone and the other guy could shatter a five-hundred-pound iron ingot, he deserved the tips and the meals.

So don't underestimate Tianqiao's small size—it represented the face of all Eight Sects of the Jianghu.

Newcomers setting up stalls here couldn't last without real skill. Take the new magic act that had arrived a few days ago.

An old man and his son.

The old man was rough-looking, the boy about ten.

They had only one trick, performed once a day. It was called the "Decapitation Trick."

How did it work?

The old man laid his son on the ground, picked up a big cleaver, and chopped the boy's head off... Yes, a father's love.

Of course, it was a trick—not a real father killing his son. Great Jing Law: beheading someone in broad daylight on the street meant summary execution.

While the crowd gasped in amazement, the old man took a tray around for coins, muttering, "Have mercy, sirs. We're poor, can't afford food. This is the only act we've got. Make you laugh, and if you toss us a meal, you're our parents reborn. Have mercy."

Between performances, there had to be a spiel for tips. This trade ran on skill, and the show had to be paid for.

The art of begging for coins had its own rules. You had to read the audience's mind. If you finished the whole act, they'd lose interest. You had to stop at the most gripping moment, when they were itching to see what happened next—then you cut off and ask for money. They'd be desperate and willing to pay.

Right now, with a living man chopped and laid out, the crowd was dying to see the rest. Perfect time to beg.

The old man's act was thrilling. In no time, the tray was full of silver. Everyone loved watching him.

Once he'd collected enough, he started the next part. He reattached his son's head and shouted, "Rise!"

Hey, the boy stood up.

Head perfectly intact, alive and kicking.

No one could figure out the trick. They couldn't understand how a severed head and body could be joined back with a single "Rise!" and bring him back to life.

Brilliant, brilliant.

The crowd roared with applause.

The old man and his son had only been there a few days, but with this one stunt, they'd drawn huge crowds to Tianqiao. The daily tips were enough to make others green with envy.

Lin Shou had noticed several magic acts losing business these past two days. Whenever the old man set up, everyone flocked to him.

His act was fresh, something no one had seen before.

If this were anywhere else, a bunch of performers with mediocre skills, inferior technique, unable to compete for business—there'd be nothing to be done about it.

But this was Tianqiao in the Capital City, a place where crouching tigers and hidden dragons dwell.

Every mountain has a higher peak, and deep pools always harbor dragons.

That old man's Decapitation Trick had been raking in money easy and light for three days straight. His stall was packed like a market, carts and horses streaming by nonstop, onlookers packed in layers deep.

It left the other conjuring performers with doors as quiet as a deserted house, business ice-cold, forced to spend a bit of coin hiring a few Beggar Sect atmosphere groups just to barely scrape by with dignity.

This situation held until the fourth day, the very day Lin Shou had just buried the old man and was also in the tea shed watching the old man perform his trick—when trouble struck.

The old man went through his act as usual today.

He chopped his son down with a big cleaver, then went around begging for reward money.

After collecting the rewards, he faced his son and called out a "Rise"...

Eh? Didn't get up?

The son's corpse lay on the ground, not moving a bit.

The old man's face shifted slightly, and he tried another "Rise"...

Still no movement. The son lay there on the ground, as good as dead.

This time, the old man's face changed completely. He bent at the waist, cupped his hands, and bowed deeply to the crowd of onlookers, then said with a deep bow:

"This one has just arrived in the Capital City, unfamiliar with the customs, and failed to pay respects to the local masters and seniors here. I beg your generous understanding. If some master's great skill has caused this humble trick of mine to fail, I implore you to lift your hand. This one is willing to honor you as my teacher."