Side story 3: Zong Ren
Border Town.
The Slum.
A dilapidated, unremarkable earthen house.
Inside the room, blood spattered every wall.
Vivid, scarlet, yet sinister.
A boy who looked no more than eight or nine was crouching expressionlessly on the floor, looking at the two bodies before him, one man and one woman.
There was no fear in the boy's eyes, only endless numbness.
And in his hand, he still clutched a bloodstained knife.
"I have a name."
"My surname is Zong. My name is Zong Ren."
"Not bastard."
The boy murmured softly, slowly raised the sharp knife, and stabbed it into the man's corpse again.
Even in death, the man's eyes were wide open, filled with unwillingness.
Blood gushed out again, splashing across Zong Ren's face.
Feeling the warm blood, Zong Ren did not blink. He merely pulled the knife out in silence.
"It hurts when you press a branding iron against my skin."
"I told you, but you didn't believe me."
"Why didn't you believe me?"
Zong Ren kept murmuring softly, bringing the knife down again and again.
Before he knew it, blood had stained his clothes completely red.
Only when the corpse before him had become a mangled mess did Zong Ren slowly rise, casually toss the knife onto it, and return to his bedroom.
His bedroom was an iron cage in the corner.
Even sleeping inside required him to curl up.
From a corner of the cage, Zong Ren found a relatively clean set of clothes, then stripped off his bloodstained ones.
Still expressionless, he carried the clothes to the water vat and carefully washed the blood from his body, revealing his fair skin.
His skin was covered in bloody welts from a whip, and in several places, a branding iron had burned the flesh raw.