What the Hell Kind of Justice Had to Be Begged For?

After a series of utterly stifled roars, silence settled over their surroundings again.

Zhang Xuan noticed blood slowly dripping from Monk's two fists at his sides. He had clenched them so tightly that his nails had dug deep into his palms...

Monk pressed his palms together and bowed silently to the boy.

Zhang Xuan said nothing.

A long time passed...

"My lords," the boy suddenly spoke, his voice terrifyingly calm. He staggered to his feet. "Do you still remember what your own mothers looked like?"

Monk lowered his eyes. "I have never seen my mother, not since the day I was born."

Zhang Xuan turned his face away. "I don't really remember."

He was not brushing the boy off. There truly were no memories of his mother in his mind.

The boy wiped the blood from his forehead with his sleeve, leaving another dark red streak on the cuff. "Is that so? Then I'm a little luckier than you two, my lords. At least I still remember my mother. I remember everything about her."

As he spoke, the boy gave a self-mocking smile. The movement of his lips split the scab on his forehead, and fresh beads of blood seeped out.

Those eyes, which should have been clear and bright, sat in sunken sockets, their whites threaded with blood vessels like fine, dense spiderwebs.

"My mother... was a very good person."

"She always mended my clothes beneath the oil lamp. She embroidered the patches into little rabbits, making the stitches tiny and close because she was afraid they would chafe me."

The boy's voice grew low and hoarse, as though it came from somewhere far away. "I told her I didn't want those patterns, or the other brats in the village would laugh at me. But she just smiled and said, 'Little rabbits hop and leap, sickness and disaster retreat'..."

"That year, heavy snow sealed off the mountain, and we ran out of food at home. She lied and said she'd already eaten, then pushed the last half bowl of millet porridge toward me." The boy swallowed, his voice sounding as though it had been scraped by sand and stones. "But the bottom of her bowl was so clean it looked like she'd licked it—no, she hadn't even licked it. She hadn't touched a single mouthful."

The boy's gaze gradually grew distant, as though he had returned to that home he could never go back to, returned to his mother's side.

Suddenly, the boy jerked his head up and met Zhang Xuan's eyes, the hatred in his gaze so thick it seemed about to spill over.

"When she coaxed me to sleep today, she was still humming nursery rhymes. She said I wouldn't be hungry once I fell asleep." The boy stared at his own shadow on the ground. "After I fell asleep, before those beasts broke in, she hid me in the wardrobe..."

Only after a long silence did the boy force the last sentence through his teeth:

"She never made a sound, not even when she died... because she was afraid of waking me while I was still hidden in the wardrobe."

The boy's voice was low and hoarse, every word steeped in blood and tears.

"They weren't Demon Ghosts, and they certainly weren't human. They were beasts. Just for their own amusement, they took my mother, took my mother..." At that, the boy broke into sobs and could no longer speak.

The night wind still howled, and the moonlight remained deathly pale, yet it seemed that nothing remained between heaven and earth but that frail figure and those heart-rending cries.

"Let's go." Monk turned, the moonlight casting a heavy shadow beneath his feet.

Zhang Xuan froze, somewhat surprised by Monk's response. "I thought you'd tell me to show mercy and take the brat along."

Monk stopped. Two extraordinarily deep footprints marked the spot where he had just stood. His loose robes stirred without any wind, yet his voice was terrifyingly calm. "If that child stays in the village, the village chief, Zhao Wu, will target him. But if he's careful, he may still survive."

Zhang Xuan walked up beside Monk. His head was lowered, and neither sorrow nor joy could be discerned on the face hidden in shadow.

"But if he sets foot on the path of vengeance..." Monk sighed soundlessly and lifted his head to look at the pure white crescent moon. "There will be no going back!"

It was unclear whether that lament was for the boy behind them, whose life and death were both tragic, or for the monk's own past self.

"In this world, compassion is the sharpest knife. Those who cannot hold it steady... wound not only others, but themselves."

"If you have something to say, just say it. You Buddhists love spouting these baffling riddles." Zhang Xuan raised an eyebrow, his gaze sharp as a blade. "Whatever this world is like, a man should still choose his own path."

With that, he stopped and turned back toward the boy, whose eyes were silent with sorrow, his heart all but dead. He called out, "Brat, have you got anything valuable on you?"

The boy, whose eyes held nothing but ashen despair, stared blankly for a moment before tearing the beast-tooth pendant from his neck with trembling hands.

Three beast teeth gleamed softly in the moonlight. The knot in the woven hemp cord had been worn smooth and shiny—clearly, someone had rubbed it day and night.

The boy looked at the beast-tooth pendant in his hand, his eyes filled with attachment. Yet in the next instant, he resolutely threw it toward Zhang Xuan...

Zhang Xuan reached out and caught it, then held it before his eyes for a while...

The beast teeth were nothing special, but they had been polished exquisitely smooth. The hemp cord, too, had been carefully selected. It was soft enough to wear against the skin without chafing.

The moonlight happened to brush across the knot in the woven hemp cord—hidden there was a crooked character for "peace," as though someone who could not read had painstakingly copied it, embroidering it stitch by stitch.

Seeing Zhang Xuan's slight frown, the boy grew frantic. He cried urgently in his hoarse voice, "I know something like this is hardly a treasure. If it isn't good enough for you, my lord, I'll give you my life as well. Please, my lord..."

Zhang Xuan suddenly chuckled. "What the hell kind of justice has to be begged for?"

With that, he stopped looking at the boy. As he turned, his blood-red cloak swept out in a biting arc. He had already fastened the beast-tooth pendant to his waist, where it struck the Azure Phoenix Jade Pendant with a clear, ringing chime.

Watching the flippant "company commander" walk away, the hope in the boy's eyes faded bit by bit, like a candle flame in the wind.

"One more thing, brat. Who said this pendant wasn't a treasure? In your heart, you wouldn't trade it for a thousand pieces of gold, would you?"

The "company commander's" voice rang out from the distance. As though struck by lightning, the boy slowly began to tremble.

Zhang Xuan narrowed his eyes slightly, his back still toward the boy. "I don't like meddling in other people's affairs. But business is another matter. Since I've accepted three such precious beast teeth from you, how about I trade you three worthless, rotten human heads?"

The boy abruptly raised his head, fire kindling in the ashen despair of his eyes. He bowed deeply, great drops of tears striking the gravel path at his feet. "Thank you... my lord!"

The Monk, who had silently watched everything from the side, now stepped forward as well and stood before Zhang Xuan with his fist cupped in his other hand. Then, under Zhang Xuan's astonished gaze, his mountainlike frame bent in a bow, like a golden mountain toppling and a jade pillar falling, and he saluted Zhang Xuan deeply.

"Thank you for your compassion, my lord."

This was no Buddhist rite. He offered the roughest fist-and-palm salute of the martial world, yet at that moment, nothing could have been more fitting.

With both hands tucked into his sleeves, Zhang Xuan looked helplessly at the Monk. "This isn't compassion. It's business."

The night wind swept up fallen leaves, and the Monk smiled without a sound.

He was grateful—grateful that this new friend of his was a fool who would risk his life for "business."