Washing Human Skin

The old locust tree's branches swayed, brushing through the mist.

Through the mist, rammed-earth courtyard walls flanked a gateway roofed with thatch.

The black-lacquered wooden gate stood half-open, and splashing sounds like someone washing clothes came from behind it.

Zhou Yang walked a few steps to the gate of A Fu's courtyard. After a moment's hesitation, he softened his steps and slipped through the half-open gate, then followed the sound of water with his gaze toward the main hall-

In the thin mist, a vivid red figure crouched before a large basin, vigorously scrubbing the clothes inside.

The red on the figure's body flowed as it scrubbed, and some scarlet liquid even splashed onto the ground around it.

Only when a pungent, bloody stench suddenly reached Zhou Yang's nose did he belatedly realize what the bright red liquid was!

A chill ran through him, and his arms and legs almost refused to obey him!

Just then, the "blood-covered figure" crouching before the basin stood up, lifting the garment out of the water!

The "garment" unfurled with a flap, and fine red bubbles streamed down its slick material.

The garment was a dark yellow color, with hair hanging from its head like waterweed and shriveled hands and feet. Bloody foam poured from the holes in its face!

How was that a garment?

It was an entire human skin!

Faced with a "ghost washing human skin," none of Zhou Yang's methods for calming his mind did him any good!

He could not even remember the contents of The Art of the Mind, which he often recited silently to himself!

But whether because of Zhou Yang's nature or because extreme fear always gave rise to a measure of anger, a furious fire erupted in his chest. Fueled by that anger, he nearly ground his teeth to pieces!

He was standing right beside the courtyard wall by the gate.

An iron shovel leaned against the wall.

Zhou Yang instinctively reached out and seized the shovel. He made up his mind that if the ghost came to eat him, he would smack it on the head, even if it meant dying!

But after steeling himself, he looked toward the main hall again. Where was the bloody skinning ghost? Where was the human skin covered in bloody foam?

Instead, the main hall door creaked open, and A Fu stepped out, bare-chested and wearing nothing but a pair of shorts below.

He kicked the large wooden basin away from the foot of the steps and walked over to Zhou Yang. After staring for a while at the hand gripping the shovel, he suddenly rolled his eyes upward, his black pupils contracting to tiny dots. He glared at Zhou Yang and asked darkly, "What are you doing with the shovel?"

"Yesterday's rain washed a lot of puddles into the road in front of your gate.

"I'm going to shovel some dirt over them and level it out. Otherwise, it's too hard for me to walk on."

Zhou Yang steadied his breathing as he answered.

As he spoke, he seemingly casually rubbed the edge of the shovel with the sole of his straw sandal, scraping off a layer of yellow mud.

In Guan Village, Zhou Yang had established a persona for himself that was not particularly warmhearted.

So even if he were going to level the road, he could only do it to serve his own needs.

A Fu lowered his head and stood motionless, his thoughts unknown.

A faintly astringent scent of vegetation wafted from his body.

Zhou Yang recognized the smell.

It was the scent produced when soap pod husks were soaked in water.

It could hardly be called fragrant, but it was by no means unpleasant.

He glanced again at the basin A Fu had kicked aside, lowered his eyelids, and made his face go blank.

To remain unflinching as Mount Tai collapsed before him, and not blink as a deer passed on his left... Such composure was far too difficult to attain. An ordinary person like him could not even maintain a fierce expression when confronted with something terrifying.

And it was foreseeable that terrifying situations like today's would be no rarity in the future.

If he lost his composure every time he faced such things, he would expose more and more flaws. Before long, his persona would fall apart, the ghosts would discover his true identity, and he would be killed.

So he would set himself a goal, starting now:

At the very least, the next time I face a terrifying, dangerous situation, even if I panic, I can still muster enough quick thinking to barely keep things under control.

A Fu clasped his hands behind his back and headed toward the side room. "You can level the road at noon.

"Work for me now. The less work you do, the less I'll pay you."

Since Zhou Yang had met him, A Fu had not asked his name or identity once.

Nor had Zhou Yang introduced himself.

That was because A Fu was unlike most of the villagers in Guan Village.

After Zhou Yang introduced himself the first time he worked in A Fu's shop, A Fu had known him.

There was no need for Zhou Yang to repeat his introduction every day as he did when meeting the other villagers.

Most of the people in Guan Village are actually ghosts.

Ghosts have different levels, too.

According to Chang Dafeng, the leader of Ding Ling's opera troupe, ghosts are divided into at least two levels: ordinary Puppets and the more dangerous ghosts.

A Fu feels more frightening to me than most of Guan Village's villagers.

Is he a Puppet or a ghost?

As they passed the water vat beside the blacksmith's shed, Zhou Yang glanced at it.

His and A Fu's figures were reflected in the vat's pitch-black water.

He could not help wondering-if he used the method of combing his hair before a mirror in Guan Village, could he perhaps see A Fu and the other villagers' true forms and tell whether they were Puppets or ghosts?

But when Ding Ling had combed her hair before a mirror at the opera troupe, the situation had been so dangerous and bizarre that Zhou Yang had only managed to seize that slim chance of survival for the two of them through a desperate effort.

The ghosts in Guan Village were undoubtedly more terrifying than those in Daliang Village.

If he rashly tried combing his hair before a mirror, even with a mirror between them, the ghosts of Guan Village would surely tear him apart and devour him alive!

At the very least, I need to raise my mindfulness several more levels and learn a method from the Draft of Divine Makeup and Ghost Painting before I dare try combing my hair before a mirror to see the true forms of Guan Village's ghosts.

A Fu led Zhou Yang into the shed, picked up an iron shovel, and handed it to him. "Shovel the iron slag in the corner into the furnace and smelt it."

Only yesterday, he had said he would formally teach Zhou Yang the craft of blacksmithing today.

But judging by A Fu's behavior now, he seemed to have forgotten everything he had said yesterday.

In Guan Village, Zhou Yang had very few ways to obtain blades or swords.

Even in A Fu's smithy, most of the ironware consisted of farming tools. Though there were sickles, kitchen knives, and the like, they were all locked in the storeroom. Zhou Yang could not possibly steal one and sell it on credit to his next Karmic Retribution Body.

Besides, he might not be able to sell a weapon forged by someone else on credit.

So he had to master the craft of forging blades and working iron.

Once he could forge blades and swords himself, even if the workmanship was a little crude, what he made would be far better than the little iron-sheet knife he had sold to the Cauldron Spirit on credit.

The quality of the blades and swords he sold on credit would also directly affect the Karmic Retribution Body's experiences in life, its karmic ties with Zhou Yang, the imprinting results, and so on.

A Fu had made no mention of teaching Zhou Yang to forge, so after some thought, Zhou Yang decided to finish the morning's chores first and bring up blacksmithing with A Fu in the afternoon.

He had nearly exposed a flaw in front of A Fu just now, so for the moment, he had better keep steady.

It was better to talk less and work more.

The morning passed in a hurry.

A Fu watched Zhou Yang finish smelting the last furnaceful of iron slag, then turned and left with a cold expression.

The moment A Fu stepped out of the shed, Zhou Yang went to stand by the door. He listened as the footsteps outside hurried away without turning back, then waited there a little longer before returning to the corner of the shed and plopping down on a wooden stump.

Life had three great hardships: smithing iron, poling boats, and grinding tofu.

Zhou Yang had not even begun blacksmithing proper yet; he had only done odd jobs around the smithy. Even so, he was trembling all over with exhaustion and could barely stand it.

The work was especially arduous, of course, but more importantly, Zhou Yang's own constitution was exceptionally poor.

On top of that, he was at an age when he was still growing, yet most of what he ate each day was not normal food fit for human consumption, so his physical condition naturally worsened by the day.

Savage physique, robust spirit.

Zhou Yang repeated the words silently and reached behind his waist for the Knife Credit Ledger.

He opened the book to its second page, and Ding Ling's personal history came into view.

Zhou Yang's gaze swept over the rows of ink characters on the page. Suddenly, they dissolved and spread into blotches of ink.

The blotches writhed and merged, finally forming eight large characters:

"You have sold a knife on credit. Would you like to enter it in the ledger?"