Chapter 28 — Counterattack
Xie Jing was tough-boned and hot-tempered.
If the troupe master wanted to pull him into the opera troupe, he could only resort to dirty, underhanded tricks.
The troupe master had been coveting Xie Jing for a long time. He wasn’t short of servant boys, but after years of performing, his eyes were sharp — one glance was enough to see that Xie Jing was excellent material. To make a stage star was the dream of every troupe; with such a moneymaker in his hands, his troupe could stand firm in the northern region, maybe even expand to Beiping. But Grandma Kou treated this boy like her very life — doting on him as if he were her own eyes. Usually, there was nothing he could do. Only when the old woman fell ill did the troupe master finally see his chance.
That day, no matter what Xie Jing had become or how many silver dollars he earned, he would never be able to bring them home.
The troupe master had hired a few thugs to tail him and snatch that life-saving money.
The old lady couldn’t be allowed to live.
As long as she lived, Xie Jing would never join the troupe.
And the only way to make this unpolished jade willingly give himself up — to make him break without shattering — was to make him do it “out of gratitude.”
The troupe master prepared twenty silver dollars.
He waited patiently. Northern winters were harsh, and he calculated that the old woman wouldn’t survive the season. Then he would show up to offer funeral money — a “gesture” of goodwill. Xie Jing was filial; once the troupe master paid for the burial of his only relative, Xie Jing would surely feel indebted and stay with the troupe willingly.
But the troupe master never expected that Grandma Kou would actually survive the winter.
With her still alive, Xie Jing stayed by her side and refused to leave. Later, he even somehow got a job with the Bai family. The troupe master was furious — he’d circled that tall Bai residence for days, reluctant to give up this piece of fat meat, wanting to strike but not daring to.
When Xie Jing didn’t show up, one by one, the troupe’s boys either ran away or met misfortune. Even Little Lizi, the useless scoundrel the master used to despise, fled.
The troupe master was burning with anger, suppressing it for half a year until his back teeth nearly cracked. He couldn’t find Li Yuan anywhere — the little coward was sneaky, always hiding, running like a startled rabbit. A few times, the troupe master thought he’d seen his shadow in Qinghe County, but every time he got close, Li Yuan slipped away without a trace.
The troupe master knew Li Yuan well. The boy was timid, but when cornered, he had a vicious streak.
A rabbit, when desperate, bites back. And Li Yuan — he might just sink his teeth into your bones and drink your blood.
Still, the only reason the troupe master caught Li Yuan in the end… was Xie Jing.
That rabbit of a boy had treated the old woman’s house — the one belonging to her and Xie Jing — as his burrow and refused to leave it.
If you watched long enough, there would always be a chance to grab him.
The troupe master was delighted — after all, the humiliation he’d suffered at Xie Jing’s hands could now be vented tenfold on Li Yuan. He yanked the boy’s hair and sneered, “Xie Jing treasures that old crone more than his own life. You tell me — those three copper coins you gave him, and her life — which do you think weighs more? If I tell him you stole the two silver dollars that could’ve saved her, how much would he believe? Five-tenths? Six? Ha! Dog biting dog, fur flying everywhere — now that’s a show!”
Li Yuan struggled to form a few hoarse words through the gag in his mouth. “Aren’t you… afraid of the sin of your tongue… the Hell of Tongue-Tearing…”
“The Hell of Tongue-Tearing? Then I’ll tear yours out right now!”
The troupe master cursed and raised a knife, pressing its sharp edge to Li Yuan’s face. Just as he was about to strike, someone banged on the door outside, shouting his name.
Startled, he froze — but the voice was familiar. He opened the door.
Outside stood a burly man with wide shoulders and a long, uneven scar across his chest. His face was rough and fleshy. He carried a burlap sack that squirmed faintly, as if something inside was alive.
The troupe master recognized him and frowned. “Sanzi, what are you doing here?”
The man’s name was Cheng San — homeless, rootless, making his living off blood and blades. He did every kind of dirty business imaginable. Years ago, the troupe master had once fed him a meal; Cheng San had knelt and called him “godfather,” even taking his surname Cheng. They were the same kind of vermin — snakes and rats in the same pit.
Grinning, Cheng San dropped the sack on the floor and shook it open. Two little girls tumbled out — about nine years old, dressed in red jackets and trousers, hands tied behind them, crying uncontrollably.
“Godfather, look — fine goods! The Yihong Brothel offered ten silver each! I didn’t sell them. I figured if I raised them for two years, they’d fetch even more.”
The troupe master quickly shut the door and hissed, “How many times have I told you? Qinghe County’s tiny — if you stir up trouble, we’ll have nowhere to stay!”
“Don’t worry, godfather, they’re strangers.”
Only then did the troupe master relax.
Cheng San drank a mouthful of water and glanced at the small bundle the troupe master was packing. “What’s that, godfather?”
“Nothing. Just looking for something.”
“What thing?”
“A small brass Buddha. The one I told you to redeem from the pawnshop last year.”
Cheng San walked straight over, bent down, and lifted the half-packed bundle on the wooden bed. Inside lay scattered jewelry — gold and silver trinkets, at least four or five gold rings. His eyes gleamed. Pretending to rummage, he said, “Oh, that brass Buddha — I know where it—”
Before he finished, he grunted — and went limp.
The troupe master stood behind him, holding that brass Buddha, its edge stained with blood. His face twisted with malice.
Cheng San slid off the bed, the back of his skull caved in. Blood soaked through his collar and pooled on the dirt floor, the metallic tang of blood mixing with the stench of urine.
The troupe master’s heart pounded violently. He threw down the little Buddha, then immediately began rifling through Cheng San’s body. Sure enough, he found several silver dollars.
He packed his things quickly, then hesitated. Finally, he wiped the blood off the Buddha and shoved it into the bundle too.
Afterward, he dragged Cheng San’s body outside and buried it.
When he came back, three captives were still huddled inside.
The two little girls were pale as paper, trembling — they had never seen blood before. Li Yuan’s head hung low; his face was hidden.
The troupe master still held the mud-stained hoe. Driven by madness, he walked toward Li Yuan.
Behind the door, the two little girls had seen him kill with their own eyes. They knew what was coming. The younger one couldn’t help letting out a sob — small and soft, like a kitten’s cry for help.
The sound made the troupe master pause. Then he turned toward them.
He crouched down. The girls shrank back, one shielding the other with her small body.
The troupe master grabbed their faces, examining them one by one, and chuckled darkly. “Ah, so that’s why they’re worth ten silver dollars — a pair of twin blossoms.”
He looked from one to the other. They were identical — even the tiny mole on their faces matched. A rare set of twins. If trained well, they could fetch far more than ten silver dollars.
His mind churned. He fetched old clothes to change them into, planning to take them away. The girls’ hands were tied, so their clothes half-fell off, half-hanging — revealing small patches of skin. The troupe master’s hands began to wander.
He had killed a man tonight — fear coursed through him, but so did a perverse thrill.
The children were helpless, bound and under his control — that power made something inside him swell grotesquely.
He shoved one of them down. The other suddenly screamed — a shrill, feral cry — and threw herself at him, head-butting and biting like a wild thing, refusing to let him touch her sister. The one beneath him cried too, calling “Sister! Sister!” over and over.
The troupe master’s eyes went bloodshot. He tore at her clothes—
A dull thud.
He collapsed without a word.
Behind him stood Li Yuan, blood dripping from his wrist, gripping half a brick.
The troupe master had taught him many tricks — and he had learned them all well.
With what strength he had left, Li Yuan dragged the man’s body aside and untied the twins. The younger girl was still shaking, her face wet with tears. But the older one — the moment her hands were free — snatched the brick, lifted it with both hands, and smashed the troupe master’s skull again and again.
Her strength was small, but a human head doesn’t take much. Soon, blood covered the floor.
