Those Who Mutilate Children for Begging Deserve Death by a Thousand Cuts

Morning frost blanketed the ground; crows roosted in old trees. Cold mist shrouded a thousand homes.

Early that morning, the princess of Dual Cultivation Manor left without saying goodbye.

Zhu Yingxiong knew when she left.

He clearly sensed her footsteps gradually fading away. She paused briefly at the end of the mountain path before finally vanishing into the morning mist.

He did not open his eyes, nor did he stop her.

The time was not right. He knew that well.

Besides, he had never been the sort of man who could not walk straight at the sight of a beautiful woman. Since crossing over into this world, he had taken every step cautiously, weighing every move.

When he rose, he discovered that the sword was still there.

She had left, but she had left the sword behind.

Zhu Yingxiong held the sword, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly.

He knew that the princess of Dual Cultivation Manor had fallen for him. Yet she had still left—so decisively that she had not even offered a word of farewell.

Why was she so conflicted?

The reason was this:

First, because he was a monk. Second, still because he was a monk.

Why did being a monk matter so much?

Because her father was also a monk. He was Zhu Yingxiong's martial uncle, Shaolin's "Sword Monk," No Attachment.

When Martial Uncle No Attachment was young, he had become entangled with a woman from Dual Cultivation Manor and had fathered Gu Zixian. Yet in the end, he returned to Shaolin, continuing to be its Sword Monk, continuing to be its eminent monk.

Clearly, Master No Attachment had abandoned mother and daughter. Well, what a melodramatic story.

That was why Gu Zixian could not untangle the knot in her heart whenever she saw him, a monk. She had fallen for him, yet feared falling for him; afraid of following in her mother's footsteps, she chose to leave.

Zhu Yingxiong temporarily put the matter aside. There would be time to discuss it later. Right now, more pressing matters awaited.

He headed for Luoyang once more.

Fortunately, he had not drifted too far down the Luo River that day. If he hurried, he could reach it in half a day.

At noon, he entered Luoyang through the south gate again. This time, no one tried to kill him. At last, he stepped into Luoyang City.

Luoyang truly deserved its reputation as the ancient capital of nine dynasties, the center of the realm, its prosperity unrivaled throughout the land.

The broad streets could accommodate eight horses abreast. Shops stood in dense rows on both sides, their banners fluttering in the wind—the apricot curtains of taverns, the cloth signs of teahouses, the colorful brocades of silk shops, the fragrant handkerchiefs of cosmetic stores—layer upon layer of dazzling color.

Pedestrians jostled shoulder to shoulder.

There were merchants in brocade robes and travelers leading camels, their bells jingling brightly.

There were martial wanderers with longswords at their waists, strolling two or three abreast, their voices rough and booming.

There were peddlers carrying shoulder poles, shaking rattle-drums as they walked, with laughing, chasing children trailing behind them.

In the distance, the leisurely toll of bells drifted over from the direction of White Horse Temple. Nearby, the racket of drinking games spilled from taverns, mingling with the music of strings and pipes.

Zhu Yingxiong moved with the crowd, walking slowly down the long street.

Moon-white monk's robes, plain socks and cloth shoes, a longsword in hand. He should have stood out somewhat, yet amid the constant traffic of Luoyang's streets, no one gave him a second look. Whose family did not have someone roaming the martial world? Who had not seen a few monks before?

And so he blended into the crowd, step by step, making his way deeper into Luoyang City.

The farther in he went, the more the cries of street vendors rose and fell around him.

A candied-haw seller squeezed past him with a straw rack over his shoulder, striking a bronze gong with a clanging ring; an old dough figurine maker sat at a street corner, his fingers dancing as he shaped a lifelike Monkey King;

A worker selling flatbread stood beside his oven, using wooden tongs to lift one scorching-hot cake after another as he shouted his wares. Steam mixed with the aroma of sesame, drifting straight into people's noses.

He stopped and bought a sesame flatbread from a roadside stall. It was baked golden brown and covered in sesame seeds. One bite revealed it to be fragrant and crisp—truly quite good.

The sunlight was perfect then, spilling across the bluestone road, over the passing pedestrians, and upon the lofty wine and tea banners. Everything was so bustling, so alive, so bright and beautiful.

As Zhu Yingxiong walked and looked about, his attention was gradually drawn to several children weaving through the crowd.

Several ragged children darted among the pedestrians. The oldest was no more than eleven or twelve, while the youngest was only seven or eight. They mingled with the crowd, glancing around, but their eyes kept flicking toward the waists and sleeves of passing pedestrians.

They targeted only those dressed in fine clothes, with bulging purses at their belts.

Their movements were light, swift, and clean. One child deliberately bumped into someone while another took the opportunity to reach out; one pointed toward the street in alarm while another had already slipped a purse into his clothes.

They worked in seamless coordination, their hands practiced. Who knew how long they had trained, or how many times they had done this?

Zhu Yingxiong watched as he walked. In just a short while, he saw them succeed three or four times.

He did not possess such an overwhelming sense of justice that he had to meddle in everything. Luoyang City had its own rules, its government offices, and its constables. It was not his place, as a passing monk, to play some incorruptible magistrate.

But even these children made mistakes eventually.

One of them, a skinny youth with an unusually large head, reached once more for the purse at a wealthy merchant's waist.

This time, he was not so lucky—the merchant happened to turn around and grabbed his wrist at once.

"You little thief! You dared steal from me!"

The merchant had a booming voice. One shout drew quite a crowd. Clutching the youth's wrist, he shouted that he would hand him over to the authorities.

Yet though the youth looked skinny, he was ruthless.

With a flick of his left hand, he pulled out a sharp blade. No, rather than a blade, it was a piece of iron sharpened to an extremely keen edge, likely ground against stone for a very long time. Its edge glinted coldly.

Without another word, the youth raised his hand and slashed at the merchant's wrist.

The merchant cried out in pain and let go.

The youth broke free and plunged into the crowd. He turned left and right, weaving through several corners before disappearing without a trace.

The merchant clutched his wrist, grimacing in agony and hopping about as he cursed, but there was nothing he could do. Looking down, he saw that his purse was still at his waist and finally let out a breath of relief.

Zhu Yingxiong merely shook his head at the sight and continued onward. He

He wandered and paused along the way, taking in the splendor of Luoyang City, until he reached its southwestern quarter at dusk.

There stood a famous temple named Anguo Temple. It was there that he intended to seek lodging for the night.

As he passed an inn, his gaze casually swept over it, and he caught sight of a familiar figure.

Skinny, with a large head—it was the thief from earlier that day.

The youth led two children beneath an eave. Several beggar children had originally been sitting there, dressed in rags, disheveled and filthy, huddled together against the wall.

The large-headed youth approached them and handed a purse to one of the older boys.

Only then did Zhu Yingxiong notice that the older boy was sitting on the ground with his legs splayed—not quite. He had no legs. Below the knees, his trouser legs were empty, hanging limp against the ground.

His gaze swept across them, and his heart sank slightly.

Those beggar children were all disabled. Some were missing arms, some legs, while others had their eyes tightly shut within sunken sockets.

The large-headed youth crouched down and tried to press the purse into the legless boy's hands. The two began arguing, their voices low, but they could not escape Zhu Yingxiong's sharp hearing.

"Take the money."

"If I take it, what will you do?"

"It's fine. I can get more."

"No. You couldn't scrape enough together today. If you still can't scrape enough together..."

"Don't worry about it. I have a way."

The legless boy continued shaking his head, refusing to take it.

"If you don't have enough money to pay tribute, what will happen to Xin'er?" the large-headed youth asked anxiously, looking toward a beggar child beside them.

That child was small and thin, her face filthy, but when she spoke, her voice was remarkably clear. She was a girl.

"Brother Li, I don't want your money."

Zhu Yingxiong could not help moving a few steps closer. He saw clearly now that the girl called Xin'er was missing an arm. The right sleeve hung empty, swaying softly in the evening breeze.

The children noticed someone approaching and immediately fell silent. They all turned to look at him, their eyes filled with vigilance and wariness.

Those eyes did not resemble children's eyes. They were more like a group of startled wildcats, ready to flee or fight back at any moment.

Zhu Yingxiong's gaze fell upon their disabilities, passing over them one by one.

He was certain they had not been born this way.

The marks at the severed ends clearly showed that they had been cut off with sharp blades, deliberately inflicted by someone.

The wounds had long since healed, but the way they had healed told him all too clearly what these children had suffered.

Suddenly, a nameless karmic fire blazed in his heart. It came fiercely, setting his chest ablaze.

He had heard of mutilating children for begging. He had only read those words in old records and knew only that it was one of the most vicious practices in the world.

Women and children were abducted, cruelly maimed and deformed in every possible way, then forced to beg until every last drop of their blood and sweat was drained.

This crime provoked the wrath of gods and men alike, unforgivable in its wickedness. Those who committed such unending karma would surely fall into hell.

According to the Ming Code: anyone who mutilated people for begging was to be executed by death by a thousand cuts. Their relatives were to be executed or exiled by collective punishment.

He suppressed the surging fury in his heart and made his voice as gentle as possible.

"Amitabha. May I ask which sect you belong to?"

None of the children answered. They merely watched him with greater wariness. Misery had taught them one lesson long ago: trust no one.

Zhu Yingxiong knew he would get nothing from them. He did not press them further, merely turned around and slowly walked away.

But he already had a plan in mind.

As long as they were in Luoyang City, they would not be difficult to find. Since he had encountered this, he could not pretend he had seen nothing.

After taking two steps, a clear girl's voice suddenly sounded behind him.

"Plainclothes Sect."

"Xin'er! Shut up!" someone snapped in a low voice.

Zhu Yingxiong did not turn around.

He kept walking, his steps never pausing. Yet the moment he heard those three words, his eyes narrowed slightly.

Plainclothes Sect.

He remembered it.