Chapter 29

Chapter 29: Save Me!

The shopkeeper next door overheard and got interested.

He stuck his head out and mocked the guest with a sneer. “Hey, you old thing. You can recognize something only nobles have?”

Another meat buyer chimed in, grinning. “Maybe he’s seen too many ‘nobles’ at the tower…”

The guest didn’t react. His expression stayed calm, his eyes steady, like he’d already lived through worse than cheap words.

The butcher, on the other hand, found it grating.

He lifted his knife and shooed them away, face fierce. “Get lost! Don’t stand here and ruin my business. You buying meat or not?

If you’re not buying, go stand somewhere else.”

The would-be onlookers lost interest and drifted away.

Don’t be fooled by the butcher’s bloody trade—he was one of the better-off people on the street. Most families only ate meat during festivals, but his household had meat often, their dishes rich with oil. His words carried weight. People didn’t pick fights with him unless they were stupid.

Once the crowd scattered, the butcher turned back to the guest. “Old thing. What you said earlier—true?”

“Of course,” the guest said.

The butcher scratched at the thought. “How do you know?”

The guest tapped the counter with a finger. “Not important. What matters is that you’re going to lose—and you’ll pay what you owe.”

The butcher barked a laugh. “Fine, fine. If I lose, that’s good news!

I’ll even bring you a bit of liquor later to go with the offal.” He waved it off. He made decent money. The “stake” didn’t hurt.

While they waited, the butcher leaned on the counter and tried to ease his nerves with chatter. “Hey. The way you talk—you sound like you’ve studied. Did you really learn letters?”

“Just a few,” the guest said.

The butcher’s eyes brightened. He slapped the counter. “Then listen, old thing. My kid’s about to start learning—”

The guest cut in gently. “You want your kid to study?”

The butcher nodded, knife working fast as he cut. “Doesn’t need to learn much. I’m not expecting him to become an official. With our roots, how could we ever be nobles?

Just enough so he won’t get cheated when he counts money.

This shop’ll be his someday…”

“What if your kid has a literary heart,” the guest asked, “or martial gall? Would you support him?

Studying with a literary heart or training with martial gall can eat through a household’s fortune.”

The butcher scoffed, thinking he was being teased. “With roots like ours? My kid wouldn’t have that kind of fate. He’ll learn to butcher meat, same as me.”

In his mind, anyone with a literary heart signature seal or a martial gall tiger tally was a noble—powerful, rich, untouchable. Those people could leap rooftops and conjure the impossible. That was the work of immortals.

They were just commoners rolling in the dirt.

He was a butcher. His kid would be a butcher.

Anything else was a dream too far to reach.

The guest watched him, eyes calm as still water. The fact that the butcher didn’t even dare to daydream left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He sighed softly. “An inherited trade…”

The butcher frowned. “What’s that?”

“It means the child takes up the father’s work,” the guest said. “A skilled smith’s son learns fur-working. A skilled bowmaker’s son learns basket-weaving.”

The butcher didn’t fully understand, but one thing was clear now—this old thing could read. And not just a little.

Which only made it stranger.

In times like these, people respected anyone who could read and write. If the guest went out teaching children, he wouldn’t have ended up like this. How had someone like him been bought by the Moonlight Tower to work as a kitchen menial?

The butcher held the question in his chest, but the guest didn’t seem inclined to answer. Business came in, and the butcher had to focus.

Still, he made up his mind. Tonight, he’d bring his kid and seek the old thing out. And he’d bring real meat—two jin of it. Eating offal every day couldn’t be good.

Meanwhile, the thug led Shen Tang farther and farther from the main street.

He walked openly for a while. Once Shen Tang’s attention drifted and her guard lowered, he suggested taking a shortcut through the alleys.

The farther they went, the quieter it got. The walls seemed to close in. Even the air felt dirtier.

Shen Tang’s unease finally showed.

“How much farther to the inn?” she asked.

“Almost there,” the man replied.

After two more turns, Shen Tang asked again, “Are you sure you didn’t take the wrong road?”

The man’s patience snapped. They were only a few steps from his destination now, and he felt invincible. He raised his voice, making it a threat. “I said almost there. Why is little lady so impatient?”

Shen Tang’s heart sank. “I want to go back—”

The man let out a nasty laugh and kept moving. “Too late!”

He kicked a door open and shouted into the courtyard, “Business is here!”

The place beyond was a filthy, hidden yard, weeds crawling through cracks in the walls. Voices carried from inside—casual, practiced.

Shen Tang tried to scramble down from Moto and run.

The moment her feet hit the ground, before she could steady herself, the man shoved her hard into the yard.

She stumbled, almost falling. Panic shot through her as she looked up at the two people stepping out—a man and a woman.

The woman’s eyes lit up. “What a pretty little lady. Lai Tou, where’d you trick her from? Look at that delicate skin—”

She reached to pinch Shen Tang’s cheek.

Shen Tang jerked away, then spun to glare at the thug. “Y-you… you weren’t sent by Yuan Liang to get me?”

Lai Tou ignored her and bragged instead. “Three sentences and she followed me like a lamb. Pretty face, no brains.”

The other man leaned in, studying Shen Tang’s features. Shen Tang shrank back, eyes wet, looking like she might cry.

The man licked his lips and chuckled. “What does a girl need brains for?

If women had brains, how would we make a living?

We’ll take her to the Moonlight Tower later. They’ve been pushing for good stock.”

The woman frowned, ignoring the insult. “The Moonlight Tower? Isn’t that place full of male courtesans? What do they want a maid for?”

Lai Tou and the man exchanged a look and laughed.

The answer flowed between them without words—slick, ugly, obvious.

“You don’t need to understand,” Lai Tou said. “They order, we deliver.”

“And women shouldn’t ask so much,” the man added.

Lai Tou grabbed Shen Tang by the shoulder and shoved her toward a small, pitch-black room that reeked of rot.

Shen Tang twisted free and sidestepped.

Humiliation and fury burned through her. “You dare sell me?”

The woman’s eyes sharpened. She lunged to grab a handful of Shen Tang’s flesh, voice turning vicious. “Don’t say you—if the Heavenly King’s own lady walked in, we could sell her.

Behave!

Or you’ll suffer.”

Shen Tang slipped around a pillar, dodging as she moved, the corners of her eyes red with anger. “Aren’t you afraid Heaven will punish you?”

Seeing her quick feet, the three moved together, closing the space, ready to seize her and beat her until she learned.

“Punish?” Lai Tou spat. “I am Heaven!”

“Qi Yuan Liang—save me!”

“Scream your throat raw,” the man snapped, “no one’s coming!”

The courtyard wasn’t large. Shen Tang ran out of space fast. She was shoved into a dead end, shoulders hunched, looking like a trembling little lady about to cry.

Then, in the blink of an eye, the fear drained from her face.

“I’m terrified,” she said, voice thick with tears.

A beat later, her mouth curved—cold and sharp.

“Like hell.”

She kicked off the wall for leverage, spun, and swept her long leg across.