Slave Trade

[30 silver coins!]

With the money and goods exchanged, Old John hitched up a donkey cart and headed straight for Green Forest City with the cargo.

They drove through lively, prosperous streets and passed through bustling crowds.

Yin Ming finally gained a preliminary understanding of this world's surface-level civilization.

It was not as backward as he had imagined, roughly comparable to Blue Star during the First Industrial Revolution. He had even seen a steam-powered car.

"Master John, it's been so long since you came to visit me!"

"They all said Little John had shriveled up like a dried caterpillar and couldn't do it anymore! But I—I don't believe them."

"Oh my! Why does my chest hurt so badly? Won't some kind person massage it for me?"

As they passed through the legendary red-light district, several women with faces powdered ghostly white and vivid lipstick greeted the two Johns enthusiastically.

With his pockets empty, John threw out a few harsh words and hurried toward the slave market.

Yin Ming finally understood why this fellow dealt in slaves yet remained both skinny and poor!

"..."

Very soon!

The cart arrived at the darkest corner of the city.

Iron cages of all sizes lined both sides of the road. Blackish-brown filth covered the ground, and a pungent, fishy stench hung in the air.

Inside were beastkin girls with animal ears and tails, red-eyed mermen with scales, and small dwarves with red beards.

Of course, ordinary humans were the most numerous and best-selling.

The nobles' fields, ranches, and mines all required vast numbers of cheap slaves to dig glittering gold coins out of the earth for them.

"Lord Singed, guess what fine goods I've brought you."

Old John pulled back the ragged burlap cloth in one motion, revealing Yin Ming, bound with hemp rope, to a bloated slave owner.

In peacetime, a healthy, strong serf was relatively rare merchandise.

"Just an ordinary serf. Anyone who didn't know better would think you'd caught an elf."

Singed did not waste words. The first thing he did was inspect Yin Ming's teeth. His technique was even more practiced than the old woman's, and he even checked his internal organs by pressing on them. It was more thorough than a doctor's physical examination.

"Thirty-five silver coins. That's the highest price I can offer."

"Even ten times that price wouldn't buy a sturdy calf."

"Forty silver coins, for the sake of our friendship."

"A young man who's just come of age can work for many years. He'd also make a fine breeding stud."

"Forty-five silver coins..."

After some bargaining, the deal was finally settled at fifty silver coins.

"..."

[50 silver coins!]

Yin Ming floated in midair like a wandering ghost.

He watched coldly as his own body was bought and sold like livestock.

He felt rage and humiliation. He looked around with a sword in hand, utterly at a loss; even if he wanted to ruin the feng shui of their ancestral graves, he could not find where their ancestors were buried.

Besides, from the natives' perspective, these people had done nothing wrong. They were merely conducting the most ordinary kind of serf trade.

It was just unfortunate that the serf being traded happened to be him.

If he had been the former serf, Eno, he would not have felt the slightest emotional stir. If he was lucky enough to be bought by a good master, he might even have been overwhelmed with gratitude.

"At the end of the day, I'm still too weak!"

Modern thinking could not accept the lowly status of a serf with no human rights, yet he lacked the strength to make the world run according to his will.

Every problem stemmed from insufficient firepower!

If he possessed strength like Zhu Bajie's—the power to ascend and become a True Immortal—then if he could not solve the problem, could he not at least solve the people causing it?

"This world may not be in an age of declining spiritual energy."

"I lack neither Golden Core nor Qi Refining cultivation methods, but this world has no spiritual energy. In its place is a mysterious supernatural element. Even Old Pig cannot recover his magic power in this world, much less cultivate the immortal path."

"The known native supernatural professions include wizards, who can contend with those of the Tribulation Realm and True Immortals. They surely possess no shortage of thunderous methods to defend the Dao, but I don't have a single wizard cultivation method!"

Yin Ming sighed. For the first time in his life, he felt such an extreme thirst for power.

In the Mountain Territory, Viscount Orson had pursued supernatural power, and the aftermath of several experts' battle had left no survivors among the thousands of people in the entire town.

At the slave market, people were freely bought and sold like livestock. Nobles held the power of life and death over lowly serfs, and even if they were used as sacrifices to evil gods, no one thought there was anything wrong with it.

The sight was horrifying. Yin Ming was deeply shaken, and he felt an intense lack of security in this turbulent otherworld.

"..."

With a clang.

Yin Ming was locked inside an iron cage as well, becoming one of Singed's many goods on display.

The other slaves in the cage voluntarily made room for him.

Their eyes were not empty. Only when they looked at the slave owner did their bodies unconsciously curl up, revealing a trace of fear.

Only those with faith would feel numbness and despair. Serfs had no concept of freedom at all; instead, they took pleasure in their lot.

"How much is this slave?"

Over the course of the morning, four lords pointed at Yin Ming and asked about his price, but all left because they could not agree on one.

During that time, a handsome, fair-skinned youth with defined abs was bought at a high price by a wealthy woman weighing over two hundred pounds, round as a ball and with rough, matte skin.

Singed thoughtfully included a jar of miracle medicine. It was said to be an ancestral secret formula leaked from the royal court; after taking a dose, an eighty-year-old man would dare draw his gun against the fiercest female Magic Beast.

Around noon, a man in a black jacket selected four young and strong slaves.

Singed directly quoted the lowest price: one gold coin and twenty silver coins per slave. The deal was successfully agreed upon.

Thus, Yin Ming and the other three slaves were transported to a manor a hundred li away and locked in a house built of black stone to await their fate.

"It's over! It's completely over!" The older serf suddenly collapsed to the ground in despair.

"What's wrong? Having a master is better than staying with a slave owner and going hungry every day." The younger slave beside him asked with a puzzled expression.

"Did you see the lion-head crest at the entrance? This is Count Golden Lion's manor, the place where serfs die off the fastest and the slave market's biggest customer."

"Gulp! No wonder that miserly old man offered such a huge discount." Another slave had clearly heard of Count Golden Lion's reputation, and he became uneasy.

"..."

The effects of the Drunken Dragon Grass did not last long. Yin Ming chose to wake up at mealtime and received a palm-length piece of black bread, a cup of less-than-clear water, and a small dish of dark, unknown wild vegetables.

The black bread tasted even worse than he had imagined. It was like tree bark, bran, and kaolin ground together and baked over fierce heat. Even with the resolve of taking medicine, he could only force down half of it.

The other three serfs spent half the day in unease and panic, tossing and turning even when they slept.

"Compared to having a blade at my throat and possibly becoming a sacrifice to an evil god the next second, what is there to fear from a native noble?"

After finally finding a safe place in this otherworld, he had to get a good night's sleep.

"..."

The next morning.

A sharp crack rang out.

Jeroen Hoven swung his whip, producing a loud sonic boom.

Still bleary-eyed, Yin Ming saw a burly man standing outside the black-stone house, muscles all over his body nearly bursting through his fitted steward's uniform.

Holding a leather whip as thick as a finger, he wore a professional fake smile. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Jeroen Hoven, steward of Tulip Manor. From now on, I will teach—no, train you into qualified serfs."