The Lamb

The passageway was cramped and deep, pitch-black to the point where one could not see their own fingers. Even though it was midday, the sunlight could not penetrate it at all, leaving the space feeling cold and ominous.

With Chen Zhuo's increasingly sharp eyesight, he looked into the passage and was surprised to find nothing but absolute darkness.

"To enter, or not to enter?"

It was not out of fear.

A gentleman does not stand under a crumbling wall.

If one were to risk their life merely out of curiosity, that would be utter foolishness.

Chen Zhuo gave a cold smile. After only a moment of hesitation, he ducked straight into the passage, reaching back to pull the wooden board shut behind him.

He truly wanted to see what kind of courage Zhou Sheng possessed, and what he relied upon to dare touch the taboos of a Blade-Catcher.

The fact that this place was so heavily guarded was likely inseparable from the fact that Zhou Sheng had replaced his blood with that of a demon.

"A heretical half-breed."

Chen Zhuo's gaze grew cold. He pressed a hand to the hilt of the blade at his waist, hunched his body slightly, and moved slowly forward in the direction he remembered.

He had now reached the Bone-Entering Realm in his physical cultivation, and his control over his body was meticulous.

Moving with conscious caution, his actions were as soft as a cat's, and the sound he made was extremely faint.

Walking through the passage, Chen Zhuo carefully noted that there were footprints of varying depths beneath his feet.

Perhaps because so much time had passed, the footprints were all covered in a layer of dust.

He also discovered crooked graffiti on the walls of the passage, which looked like the drawings of a child.

The traces of life proved that this place had not originally been like this, but had been remodeled by someone.

Chen Zhuo's assessment was correct; given the conditions of this shantytown, it would have required a network of alleys to be accessible.

Unlike now, where only a single narrow passage led inside.

Before long, light reappeared before Chen Zhuo's eyes.

Having stayed in the dark for so long, he should have been happy to welcome the light, but Chen Zhuo felt a chill in his heart.

He was gradually approaching Zhou Sheng's location.

Faintly, he seemed to hear the sound of crying rising and falling, interspersed with shouting.

It was just too far away to hear clearly.

His movements became even softer.

Soon, a glimmer of light appeared ahead.

Seeing that he was about to emerge from the darkness and reach the end of the passage, a high stone wall suddenly stood before him, blocking his path.

"How could there be a stone wall in the shantytown?"

Chen Zhuo frowned slightly.

However, this did not stump him. With a slight push from his feet, his entire body launched upward.

Reaching out, his hand firmly gripped the top edge of the stone wall.

The wall was covered with a layer of wooden planks; Chen Zhuo pried hard, breaking a large hole directly through it.

Daylight spilled onto him once more.

Chen Zhuo poked his head through the hole and swept his gaze inside, discovering that a residence was hidden within.

Three rooms were lined up at the top, with two rooms on each side.

The residence was not large, but it was built entirely of stone; in this shantytown, it was practically a fortress.

Moreover, seven or eight burly men in gray robes with their faces covered by gray scarves were patrolling the grounds. Judging by their physiques, every one of them was a trained fighter.

"Who is it that has such grand resources?"

Chen Zhuo was startled, but he decided to investigate further. Taking advantage of a gap in the guards' patrol, he seized the opportunity and vaulted over the stone wall.

He crouched low, found a room, and slipped inside without a sound.

To his surprise, as soon as he entered, Chen Zhuo almost couldn't help himself, instinctively reaching for his long blade.

He had drawn the blade halfway, but when he saw the situation inside, he sheathed it again.

In the small room, about twenty disheveled women sat on the floor, their gazes all fixed upon him in unison.

All the women had messy hair, tattered clothes, and faces smeared with filth, making it impossible to tell their ages.

But judging by their frames alone, several of them were likely no older than children just starting their schooling.

Chen Zhuo frowned, catching a whiff of an indescribable stench, as foul as meat that had been rotting for three days.

He opened his mouth, just about to speak, when these women turned their heads away one by one.

He keenly noticed that the exposed arms and legs of these women were all carved with rows of scars.

"How were you all captured and brought here?"

Chen Zhuo asked aloud.

However, he did not receive an answer.

No one paid him any mind; not a single person even stirred.

Embedded in their numb faces were eyes that had lost all luster.

Dull, bewildered, vacant...

Watching them, Chen Zhuo suddenly had the feeling that these women were not human.

They were much like lambs kept in this tiny space, waiting to be slaughtered.

Looking at them, Chen Zhuo felt a heaviness in his heart, as if a massive weight were pressing against his chest, making it difficult for him to breathe.

He suddenly understood something, and his chest felt increasingly stifled.

Chen Zhuo turned around with an expressionless face, quietly crouched in a corner, and waited in silence.

Soon, a gray-robed man opened the door and walked in, his eyes scanning the room with a vicious glare.

Chen Zhuo seized the opportunity to strike, his five fingers clenching to instantly crush the man's throat.

"Snap."

Before the gray-robed man could even let out a cry, he collapsed limply to the floor, his breath gone.

Chen Zhuo stripped off his own clothes and saber, changed into the gray robe as if no one were watching, donned the gray mask, took one last deep look at the women in the room, and turned to walk out the door.

"Anything unusual?"

As soon as Chen Zhuo stepped out, another gray-robed man approached to ask.

He shook his head without making a sound.

The gray-robed man noticed nothing amiss and waved his hand casually: "Check the next room, be thorough."

Chen Zhuo nodded in acknowledgment, walked straight to the room next door, and shoved the door open.

Even though the scene inside was much the same as the previous one, it still made Chen Zhuo's eyelids twitch violently.

As soon as Chen Zhuo entered the room, for every step he took forward, the women—though they did not scream—would retreat at least three steps.

Unlike the previous room, the women here were no longer numb or indifferent to his entry; they still retained some instinctive fear.

But that was all that remained: fear.

Chen Zhuo looked closely and discovered that their arms and legs also bore varying degrees of scars, which looked like knife wounds left behind by blade after blade.

Chen Zhuo took a deep breath and, urged on by the gray-robed man outside, turned and walked out.

"There's a third one."

Chen Zhuo panted heavily, doing his best to control his trembling hands as he slowly pushed open the door to the third room.

There were more women in this room than in the previous two, and they seemed more full of life.

The moment Chen Zhuo stepped inside, everyone scrambled back in a panic; thirty-four of them huddled together in a corner.

"Don't hit me anymore, don't hit me anymore, I'll be good..."

"Ah!! Don't come over here, don't come over!"

"Father, Mother, your daughter is being good, please don't abandon me, where are you all..."

The emotions of all the women seemed to be on the verge of collapse—or had already collapsed—with Chen Zhuo's entry.

Their cries and screams merged into one, making it impossible to distinguish one voice from another.

They had not yet become numb to their fate.

Chen Zhuo cast his gaze once more upon the women's arms and legs.

Their scars were clearly fewer than those of the women in the other two rooms, and they were fresher.

Some even had wounds that had not been treated and were already beginning to ooze pus.

"Noisy."

Unable to stand the commotion, the gray-robed man outside burst in, brandished the sharp dagger in his hand, and shouted: "If you cry again, I'll drag you all out and bleed you dry!"

Seeing the dagger in his hand, all the women terrifiedly stifled their sobs.

The air fell silent.

"Heh... they're all just livestock."

The gray-robed man seemed to derive a strange satisfaction from this; on a whim, he performed a flashy trick with the dagger.

"Pockmark, isn't this move of mine cool?"

The gray-robed man smiled smugly.

"Cool."

Chen Zhuo narrowed his eyes slightly.

In the next instant, catching the man off guard, he snatched the dagger and plunged it deep into his chest.

Gripping the dagger, he whispered in a low voice: "You're dead cool."