“With the New Year fast approaching, A’hui would like to wish all our listeners an early Happy New Year! At the same time, a reminder to everyone traveling, visiting relatives, or seeing friends: please do your utmost to avoid Desong Cliff. I’m sure everyone has seen the reports in the newspapers. The situation at Desong Cliff has grown extremely tense of late; just yesterday alone, over two hundred people reportedly lost their lives in the fighting...”
Luo Zhengnan nodded slightly. A’hui’s voice was as pleasing as ever.
Li Banfeng felt this fierce battle at Desong Cliff had started under peculiar circumstances, so he had told Luo Zhengnan to send people to investigate. Afraid his subordinates wouldn’t be reliable, Luo Zhengnan had come in person. Upon arriving at the entrance to Deyuan Village, he saw a crowd gathered. Thinking another fight was about to erupt, he looked for a suitable vantage point to observe the battle.
Yet the moment he found a good spot, Luo Zhengnan realized this wasn’t a battle at all. Seven or eight people were beating a child—a child of merely four or five.
What had this child done wrong? This crowd included men and women, old and young, and they were all ganging up on him alone.
A slap from one, a kick from another. They weren't delivering lethal blows, just tormenting the child. His face was covered in blood, and he couldn't even cry anymore, his breath fading fast. As they beat him, they laughed:
“Shameless, virtueless thief-spawn, do you know what brought you to this end?”
“Stop playing dead, thief-spawn! Get up! Today we shall teach you how to be a person of virtue!”
“Your father and mother were virtueless and wicked. That you can receive our instruction today is your great fortune!”
In years past, there had been a saying on the underworld path: *A Virtue Cultivator has neither mother nor father; their name carries ten thousand li, smelling worse than an outhouse.* The reputation of Virtue Cultivators along the rivers and lakes was ranker than a latrine. But Virtue Cultivators couldn't care less. In their words: everyone in the underworld is a person devoid of virtue, and their slanders against Virtue Cultivators only prove that Virtue Cultivators have struck a nerve!
From the day one became a Virtue Cultivator, shame ceased to exist in this pathway. Just look at the scene before him—this wasn't something human beings would do.
Luo Zhengnan couldn't stand the sight of it. Back when he served as hall master of the Medicine King Hall in the Jiangxiang Gang, he had never allowed his men to kidnap children. How could he tolerate such a scene? But if he came to blows with these Virtue Cultivators now, what would happen to the task the Seventh Lord had assigned him?
Just as he was caught in this dilemma, a blond, blue-eyed man walked into the crowd, stepped forward, and scooped the child into his arms. Luo Zhengnan looked at the man and recognized him: it was Dr. Critick from Boundless Hospital in Lüshui City.
What was he doing here?
Critick held the child and silently scanned the crowd.
The group of Virtue Cultivators grew slightly apprehensive. This foreigner had appeared among them almost without making a sound, proving his cultivation was by no means low.
A man around thirty summoned his courage and yelled, “His parents were both people devoid of virtue, which means he was born a virtueless seed! What business is it of yours to stick your nose in this?”
The man’s shout instantly emboldened the rest. The others crowded forward, chattering endlessly into Critick's ears.
“Virtue is the foundation of character, regardless of age!”
“Those devoid of virtue must be severely punished to correct their conduct! We are doing this for his own good!”
“You’re an outsider—what right do you have to interfere in our village affairs? Put down that thief-spawn! Don’t think our Desong Cliff can be bullied so easily!”
Luo Zhengnan broke into a cold sweat on Critick's behalf. If Critick lost ground in a verbal argument, these Virtue Cultivators could suppress him until he was powerless to fight back. Yet Critick did not argue. Without uttering a single word, he carried the child and walked away.
These Virtue Cultivators had no intention of letting him leave. They knew this foreigner was a powerful cultivator and wouldn't be easy to deal with, but right now they held the upper hand in numbers, pressing him so hard he couldn't even speak. If they laced their words with a bit of technique, they might just be able to bring him down!
They had already prepared their techniques, yet the foreigner turned and walked away, giving them no opportunity. He was even taking the little thief-spawn with him—they had to pursue!
Still, without someone taking the lead, none dared to give chase; no one wanted to stick their neck out.
Seeing the foreigner walking further away, an old woman plucked up her courage and used a move: Great Virtue Carries All. Critick was struck by a surge of brute force, stumbled, and fell to the ground.
Shielding the boy in his arms, he pushed himself up and continued walking forward.
Seeing that Critick was largely unharmed, the Virtue Cultivators didn't dare press the attack. Yet after that single blow, they felt they had scored an advantage. Their indignation eased considerably, and their faces took on expressions of smug pride.
The old woman who had struck dusted her hands and said, “A shameless foreigner devoid of virtue dares to act wild here? Doesn't he know his own weight?”
A young woman asked, “Where did this foreign devil come from? Could he be reinforcements sent by Deshan Village?”
Beside her, an old man bristled his beard. “How dare they! This is internal business of our Desong Cliff! If Deshan Village dares invite an outsider to meddle, they’ve forgotten their own bloodline and ancestors!”
A woman around fifty took a novel angle that no one else had thought of: “Let me tell you, don’t you think this little thief-spawn doesn’t look like someone from our Desong Cliff? With those deep eye sockets and that high bridge, could he be a bastard this foreigner left behind?”
An old crone beside her nodded. “Looks like it to me! When his mother was alive, she looked like an enchantress. You couldn't expect a woman like that to uphold wifely virtue!”
“I’d say her husband was a useless wreck too. How could he ever keep a rein on such a shameless, virtueless woman?”
“Well said! This thief-spawn is a bastard born of that shameless hussy and this foreigner! Why else would he take him away?”
“This bastard even brought an outsider into Desong Cliff! He deserves to be hacked into a thousand pieces!”
Such words sounded utterly absurd. The child had grown up in Desong Cliff from infancy, yet in the blink of an eye, he had become a foreigner’s spawn.
Yet Luo Zhengnan knew that this sort of thing was commonplace in Desong Cliff. It seemed like sheer nonsense, but within half a day, they could turn that lie into established fact. Unless the child could prove his own innocence in the future, he would forever be Critick’s bastard.
“Ptui!” the old woman spat. “We should’ve beaten that bastard to death with a club just now! Ptui!”
She spat once more, this time with a bit more force. The spit struck the ground with a distinct clatter.
The sound was far too crisp.
“Elder Sister,” another old woman looked down. “How did your tooth come out?”
The old woman licked inside her mouth. Sure enough, she had spat out a back molar. “Oh my, what’s happening to me...”
Her speech grew increasingly slurred, as if something were choking her throat. After coughing twice, she coughed up a sticky clump of flesh and blood.
Where had this flesh and blood come from?
“Elder Sister, what happened to you? Were you injured in yesterday's fight?”
“Hoo-ya, ya-ya...” The old woman kept trying to speak, but no one could understand a word. Her cheeks shifted a few times, and she felt something missing from her mouth.
She stared at the crowd with her mouth agape. A man shouted, “Her tongue is gone!”
Her tongue was gone; the clump of mangled flesh she had spat onto the ground was her tongue, yet she felt no pain at all. The crowd was frightened out of their wits. Though words of concern poured from their mouths, not one of them dared step forward.
An old man realized something was terribly wrong and leaned on his cane to leave.
Before he had taken two steps, his right hand suddenly went limp. His skin grew sticky, then split open, and thick clumps of purulent blood oozed from the fissures. His entire arm detached from his shoulder, falling to the ground along with the cane.
The group of Virtue Cultivators was stunned senseless, having no idea what was happening. A young woman whispered, “Could it be retribution...?”
“Nonsense!” a woman beside her yelled. “We were punishing that bastard! What did we do wrong? Why would retribution fall on us?”
Even as she spoke, her legs trembled violently. She had kicked the child several times just now, and now her leg felt numb.
Numbness meant it was coming soon.
The woman shuddered twice more, and her right calf detached from the knee, melting into mush.
A man broke down in tears of terror as both of his arms fell straight off at the shoulders.
Not one of the seven or eight Virtue Cultivators was spared. Some lost hands, some lost feet, and some lost both.
Even Luo Zhengnan felt a chill of fear.
He couldn't tell whether this was traumatic injury or pestilence. Having gathered enough information for the day, he quickly departed Deyuan Village.
***
Decheng Mountain was the highest mountain in the territory of Desong Cliff. Critick chose a cave.
The cave was well-ventilated, and inside was a spring. Critick had inspected it; the water was potable.
He settled the child inside, applied medicinal ointment to his wounds, opened a tin of canned beef, and fed him the meat along with the broth.
Critick’s medicine was remarkably effective. After eating a little food, the child quickly regained his vigor, limping along, barely able to walk.
“What is your name?”
The child lowered his head, remaining silent.
“Can you not speak?” Critick examined the child’s throat and vocal cords; there seemed to be no damage.
“My name is Tang Xinde.” The boy raised his head, his voice quite clear and loud, eager to prove he could speak.
“Why does your name have the word *De* in it too? I asked several people, and all their names contained the character for virtue.”
The child stared at Critick for a moment, then shook his head. Such a complicated question was beyond him.
Critick asked again, “How old are you?”
“Almost six.”
Critick nodded. “Your name is a bit difficult for me to pronounce. I mean no offense, but would it be alright if I call you Xiao De from now on?”
The child nodded.
“Where are your father and mother?”
“Dead.”
“Why?”
“They said my parents were people without virtue, that they did things without virtue. They got married on their own when they were young, which had no virtue. They knew Grandpa Pan, which had no virtue. They refused to fight with the other villages, which had no virtue. And the people in our village, none of them have virtue either...”
The child rambled, jumping from one disjointed sentence to another. Critick was thoroughly bewildered. “Forget it. Just tell me something I can understand. Is your village called Deyuan Village?”
“No!”
“Then what is your village called?”
“Deshan Village.”
“What is your village chief’s name? How high is their cultivation?”
The boy looked blank.
“How many villages are there in Desong Cliff in total? And how many take orders from Deyuan Village?”
The child remained silent.
“You don't know?”
The child shook his head.
Critick frowned. “If you know nothing, you won’t be of much use to me.”
The child still couldn't comprehend. He kept his head lowered, his body trembling continuously.
Critick looked at the boy’s tattered, unlined clothes and asked, “Why are you trembling? Are you scared, or are you cold?”
The child did not reply.
“Stay here. I’m going out to play a game. Don’t follow me.” Critick stood up and left the cave. Walking along the mountainside, he took out several seeds and buried them near the cave entrance.
A few dozen meters further, he buried a few more seeds.
Continuing down the mountain for another few dozen meters, Critick took out seeds and looked back first. Xiao De was standing at the entrance of the cave, holding an empty tin can filled with water, pouring it over the seeds.
Critick hurried back to stop him. “What are you doing?”
“Playing the game with you.”
Critick sighed. “Your mental resilience is truly formidable. Your parents just died, you nearly died yourself, and you’re still in the mood to play games?”
The child lowered his head, clutching the tin can, his lips pressed tightly together.
Critick brought him back inside the cave and opened two more tins. “Stay in the cave and don’t go outside. Eat these when you’re hungry.
“Before I return, you had better recall some things—things of value to me.
“Also, do not water the seeds outside again, or they will grow very quickly.”
The child asked, “You don’t want them to grow?”
“I just don't want them to grow too quickly.”
The child had indeed been traumatized, yet he still had the nerve to ask so many questions.
Critick left, leaving the child hugging the tin can, gazing silently toward the mouth of the cave.
***
In Deyuan Village, Village Chief Song Demei sat in her courtyard.
Not long ago, she had killed the local spirit designated by the Peddler.
Now the situation looked exceedingly bright, yet several of her villagers had suddenly been injured.
Their bodies bore varying degrees of festering rot, though none of the injuries were fatal.
“Where did this foreigner you speak of come from?” Song Demei asked.
The old man with a severed leg replied, “We don't know where he came from! We didn't say anything to him, and he just attacked me!”
“How did he attack?”
The old man looked at the woman with the severed arm beside him, who looked at the man whose hands had rotted away... The group exchanged glances, and finally all turned their gaze to the old woman who had lost her tongue.
The old woman mumbled incoherently, unable to say a thing clearly.
None of them knew how the foreigner had struck. To be precise, the foreigner hadn't raised a hand at all.
Song Demei surveyed the crowd, her calm tinged with anger. “Another outsider seeks to plot against our Desong Cliff. We must never allow it!”
The crowd in the courtyard chorused, “Never allow it!”
A man ran into the courtyard. “Chief, we found the foreigner! He’s been walking between several nearby villages, buying rice, flour, and oil. Looks like he plans to settle here. Right now, he’s buying clothes at Chen Laoliu’s tailor shop!”
“I’ll go meet him and see who sent him.” Song Demei walked out of the courtyard, followed by a crowd.
Inside the tailor shop, Critick picked out a new set of clothes and handed Chen Laoliu a hundred-yuan Huan note.
Chen Laoliu smiled. “This suit comes to ninety-eight yuan including labor and materials. I'm practically doing this for the exposure; I’m truly not making a profit off you.”
Critick didn't quite grasp what Chen Laoliu meant, assuming it was a solicitation for a tip. “Keep the two yuan change.”
Chen Laoliu waved his hand. “An agreed price is an agreed price. How could I take more from you? I’m doing this to make a friend of you, and I only hope you'll come back often.”
Critick nodded. “I will certainly come often.”
“With those words, my business wasn’t in vain! Please wait a moment, I’ll fetch your change—not a cent short!”
The clerk served Critick tea and offered him a cigarette, neatly folding the clothes he had chosen into a box. Critick was rather surprised; he hadn't expected merchants in Desong Cliff to conduct business with such sincerity. Yet for those two yuan in change, Critick waited several minutes, and the shopkeeper simply failed to produce them.
“There’s really no need for change. I’m leaving.” Just as Critick reached the doorway, he saw Village Chief Song Demei leading a crowd of people to the shop entrance. Now Critick understood what Chen Laoliu had been doing. He turned back and asked, “You were stalling for time just to wait for them?”
Chen Laoliu pulled out the hundred-yuan note, flung it at Critick, and proclaimed self-righteously, “You think I wanted your business? I just didn't want you foreign devil to get away!”
Critick picked up the hundred-yuan note and asked Chen Laoliu, “Did you speak with such righteous indignation just to prove your loyalty to this village chief?”
Chen Laoliu threw out his chest and held his head high, his expression unchanged.
Song Demei asked Critick, “Outsider, were you the one who injured our villagers?”
“Yes,” Critick did not deny it.
“State your reason. By what right did you harm them?”
“They were beating a child. Gang violence against a lone victim, the strong bullying the weak—acts devoid of virtue that blackened the name of Desong Cliff and brought shame upon all Virtue Cultivators under heaven.”
Critick had spent considerable effort memorizing this speech. He had come prepared, aiming to dismantle the Virtue Cultivators' rhetoric and disrupt their technique's suppression.
The one-legged old man tried to argue from motive: “We were punishing a person devoid of virtue!”
Critick countered, “You were beating a five-year-old child.”
The woman with the severed arm shifted tactics, focusing on the child: “A person devoid of virtue, even if young, brings endless harm!”
Critick replied, “A whole group of you were beating an unarmed child.”
The man who had lost both hands tried to take the moral high ground: “Acting with a virtuous heart to carry out a virtuous deed, even if the methods were slightly inappropriate—”
Critick cut him off: “Several grown adults joined forces to beat a child, without a shred of shame. You’ve cast aside all decency, yet you still dare speak of virtue?”
These exchanges seemed ordinary on the surface, but for Critick, every word was a matter of life and death.
This was the typical ploy of a Virtue Cultivator: the technique Emulate the Virtuous. Though not a high-tier technique, its power was formidable. If the opponent could utter even a single phrase that placed Critick at a moral disadvantage, it would severely restrict his combat strength, drastically diminishing his ability to fight.
Critick had dispelled their moral suppression, but Song Demei was not so easily countered. She shifted the topic, saying, “Punishing those devoid of virtue in Desong Cliff is our internal affair! Even if they were in the wrong, it is not an outsider’s place to dictate terms!”
Critick shook his head. “I am not an outsider. I am a person of virtue. Desong Cliff is the homeland of people of virtue, and I, too, am part of Desong Cliff.”
“On what basis do you claim to be a person of virtue?”
“I have proof.” Critick pulled open his lapel. Tattooed upon his chest were four large characters: *Person of Virtue*.
Song Demei was momentarily at a loss for words. She looked at the wounded villagers and asked, “Your method of harming people reminds me of someone. What is your relationship with Lüshui Beggar of Lüshui City?”
Critick spoke the truth: “He is the founder of my pathway.”
The moment the words landed, the onlookers scrambled backward, and the villagers caring for the wounded fled far away.
Chen Laoliu, the tailor shop owner, was frightened out of his wits. He had taken Critick’s money earlier—and though he had thrown it back, he had still touched the bill.
Song Demei curled her lips into a cold smile. “Did Lüshui Beggar send you? Does he want the territory of Desong Cliff?”
Critick shook his head. “This has nothing to do with the founder of my pathway. My own virtue and conscience brought me here to stop a war that should never have happened.
“Chief of Deyuan Village, how many innocent people have lost their lives in this war for the sake of your ambition? If you still count yourself a cultivator under the Virtue pathway, if you still have the last shred of conscience in your heart, heed my counsel: end this war immediately, and let no more people be buried alongside your ambition.”
Song Demei shook her head. “I do not want war. Everything I do is for Desong Cliff; my conscience is clear! As long as Desong Cliff remains in the hands of people of virtue, this war does not need to be fought!”
“I believe your claim of a clear conscience, and I believe a true person of virtue will become the leader of Desong Cliff. For the foreseeable future, I will remain here until this war has ended completely.”
Critick pushed his handcart, laden with the food and daily necessities he had just purchased.
He didn't believe a single promise from a Virtue Cultivator, nor did he wish to risk further arguments with them. But this was the mission the Peddler had entrusted to him: he had to discern for himself who deserved death and who should be spared, striving to resolve the conflict with the least amount of bloodshed.
Pushing the cart halfway up the mountain, a trench suddenly cracked open beneath his feet. The cart plunged into the ditch and overturned on the ground.
*Sever the Path to Forge a Way.* There was a journey cultivator nearby.
Song Demei’s subordinates weren't limited to Virtue Cultivators. Through his senses, Critick judged that at least thirty cultivators had surrounded him.
Did these people deserve to die? Did this question still require discernment?
By the rules Critick had set for himself, it probably did not.
***
Night fell. Song Demei sat in her courtyard, her expression grim.
Not one of the people she had dispatched had returned; they had likely perished at the foreigner's hands.
To control Desong Cliff, she had to eliminate that foreigner. Yet he was proving far from easy to handle.
***
In the dead of night, Critick returned to the cave. The handcart was smashed, most of the supplies were ruined, and he was injured.
The child sat quietly in the cave, exhausted, forcing himself to stay awake.
Sitting opposite the boy, Critick bandaged his own wounds while asking, “Have you thought of anything of value?”
The boy shook his head; he didn't understand Critick's words.
Critick looked helpless. “You’d better think quickly. My patience is limited, my situation here is precarious, and I don’t wish to waste too much time on you...”
Before he could finish, the boy cupped the tin can in both hands and held it out to him.
The can was filled with a bit of dirt, and planted within it was a wild flower whose name he didn't know.
Critick took the tin can and looked at it. “A very pretty flower. You may water it.”
The child beamed with joy. Critick set the can aside and counted the remaining tins in his pack. “We don't have much food left. In two days, there won't be any canned meat to eat.”
The boy brought two tins over to Critick—the ones Critick had opened before leaving.
“You didn't eat them?”
“I was waiting for you to come back.”
“Waiting for me to come back?” Critick froze for a long time. The phrase felt strangely unfamiliar to him.
The child nodded. His stomach let out a rumble; he was starving.
Critick looked at the tins, reached into his clothes, and pulled out a small cloth bag. “I brought back a little flour and some leaven. We should be able to bake some bread. Have you ever eaten bread?”
The child shook his head.
“All the better if you haven’t; that way you won't be picky.” Critick pulled another box from his breast. “Bought this for you.”
The boy opened the box. Inside was a padded cotton suit.
Fetching some water, Critick began kneading dough, speaking as he worked: “I set a rule for myself: anyone who takes the initiative to attack me must die. Those who do not attack me may temporarily live, depending on the circumstances. Sometimes I forget my own rules; you must remind me from time to time.”
The child still couldn't quite follow Critick's words. He put on the padded suit, but buttoned the fasteners wrong, staring at the uneven lapels without understanding where he had gone astray.
If it was wrong, so be it.
He stood before Critick, proudly showing off his new clothes.
Critick set down the dough in his hands, rebuttoned the child's coat properly, and nodded.
“It looks very nice.”
Chapter 608