Xu Mu stood up, thinking that no matter what, he should go home first. But before he could take two steps, the after-effects of transmigration hit like a thousand troops charging through his mind. He blacked out and collapsed.
When he woke again, it was noon the next day. Rubbing his eyes, Xu Mu looked up and felt another wave of frustration—he'd spent two days since transmigrating sleeping in a cattle shed. Si Hu, with puffy, tear-swollen eyes, was spreading dry straw over him.
"Si Hu, stop a moment."
"Brother Mu? Brother Mu's awake!" Si Hu howled, drawing the attention of several servants who hurried toward the shed. Helpless, Xu Mu and Si Hu scrambled over the courtyard wall and fled to the street.
"Brother Mu, where are we going?" Spitting out a piece of straw, Si Hu rubbed his growling stomach painfully.
Xu Mu smiled, went to a street stall, and bought over a dozen coarse grain buns, wrapping them in oiled paper. The stall owner, seeing his thug's appearance, quickly added three more steamed buns as a gift. Xu Mu gave a few to Si Hu, then rewrapped the rest in 油纸. After a moment's hesitation, he followed the original owner's memories, turned down a few alleys, and headed for his dilapidated home.
He supposed he still had a conscience. He feared that the unknown servant wife might have frozen to death in the house overnight. He'd even asked Si Hu twice about the cost of a coffin.
Soon, Xu Mu stopped and looked up. The structure before him could hardly be called a "home"—the roof was caved in, patched with clumps of straw; the walls had gaps stuffed with unidentifiable, filthy scraps of leather; and the courtyard path was flooded with stagnant, foul water.
Standing silently for a moment, Xu Mu stepped forward and pushed open the door. Fortunately, there was no corpse inside. The tattered mattress that had "saved his life" was neatly folded by the bed. In the corner, there was a pile of fresh firewood, its bark still glistening with moisture. God knew when that young servant wife had gone out to gather such a pile.
Glancing around, Xu Mu walked to the broken table by the bed and picked up an old letter. The message was simple, as before:
Brother Xu,
Not sure if you'll come home. Gathered firewood and bought half a jar of tung oil on credit. These two days I'll work as a woodcutter to buy a quilt.
Folding the letter, Xu Mu wordlessly took some broken silver from his sleeve and tucked it under the mattress.
In just over a day, he'd roughly grasped that this world he'd transmigrated into was one that devoured people. Seven hundred li outside Wangzhou City, after the northern Di people breached the walls, hundreds of thousands of refugees were treated like cattle—children sold as slaves, the dead lying in heaps in the wilderness.
Not long ago, to fend off the northern Di, the Da Ji government had pressed tens of thousands of elderly men and widows into service as "meat troops," forcing them to repair the city walls under a hail of arrows and falling boulders. No one knew how many died.
Wangzhou City was full of widows whose husbands had been sent to the border. Being a thug was a precarious existence; Xu Mu feared he might end up like the original owner, dying senselessly one day. If he died, the servant wife would suffer terribly.
The best outcome, he thought, was to sever their ties, give her enough money for the journey, and send her away from Wangzhou's borderlands. In such chaotic, war-torn times, even if there were love, it should remain unspoken.
Shaking off these troubling thoughts, Xu Mu spoke calmly: "Si Hu, any way to make money?"
"Brother Mu, you forgot? Today's the Gang of Cripples' meeting." Si Hu swallowed the last bun, eyes bulging, then clapped his hands and stepped over.
The Gang of Cripples had seventeen thugs. Their leader was a one-legged cripple, nicknamed Lame Ma—hence the gang's name. On Lame Ma's orders, they gathered every three days to plot ways to make money. And today happened to be a meeting day.
At noon, Xu Mu took Si Hu to the old alley in southern Wangzhou. Over a dozen thugs huddled around a bonfire in an open space, listening to a cripple ramble. This was their leader, Lame Ma, hobbling in circles, his expression growing impatient. With refugees surrounding the city, the underworld's business was growing harder by the day.
"Brother Mu, you're a tough one to survive that beating. Spit out an idea—what do we do next?" Even though Xu Mu had tried to hide at the back of the crowd, he was called out.
Thugs spent their days robbing, kidnapping, even killing and arson. Without hesitation, Xu Mu shook his head: "Master Lame, I don't know anything about that." He'd feel guilty just suggesting something so villainous.
Lame Ma looked startled. Usually, even if Xu Mu had no ideas, he'd chatter on. What the hell—had the beating addled his brain?
"Brother Mu, you've got the guts of a cat! After you sell that servant wife someday, you'll starve to death, and good riddance!" Lame Ma snapped. If it weren't for keeping Si Hu, the big fool, around, he'd have kicked Xu Mu out long ago. The man couldn't even pee into the wind without getting his shoes wet—no backbone at all.
"Master Lame, how about hitting a fat target?" One thug grinned nastily. The others immediately howled in agreement. Si Hu was about to join in, but seeing Xu Mu's silent stare, he quickly fell quiet.
"I've got a business idea." When the thugs' noise died down a little, Lame Ma hobbled over and sat slowly on the ground. Xu Mu stood calmly, faintly smelling a scheme.
"Madame Sha put it out—go outside the city and kidnap girls. One tael per girl, two for a pretty one. Those refugees'll starve anyway; no need to be polite."
"Master Lame, can we 'have our fun' before handing them over?" "Having fun" was thug slang—like visiting brothels.
Lame Ma smiled sinisterly. "Go ahead. Just don't touch the townsfolk—officials will investigate."
"Tsk, let's go then!"
Xu Mu's face hardened. He took Si Hu and turned to leave, more aware than ever of how hard it was to survive in this predatory world.
"Brother Mu, if we're kidnapping girls, should we get ropes?" Once they reached the street, Si Hu rumbled. To him, doing evil was no big deal—just like eating or dressing, it was a necessity, driven by the need for money.
"No kidnapping." Xu Mu shook his head.
"Brother Mu, one girl's worth a tael—"
"I said no. Will you listen?" Xu Mu turned sharply, anger in his eyes.
"Y-yes... Brother Mu." Si Hu quickly bowed his head, twisting his 衣角. The old Brother Mu would've been first in line for such a money-making scheme, no matter how dirty.
"Si Hu, find a carriage to go north of the city." Xu Mu thought for a moment. Even if it cost eight coins, he needed to ride around Wangzhou to find a way to earn money.
The hired old coachman, clearly displeased with thugs, snapped his whip and drove the carriage fast. Xu Mu sat silently, watching the street scenes blur by—shops, people from all walks of life: beggars, rich men, wood-selling girls, noble ladies in silk.
"Hey, Brother Mu, that's your servant wife! I saw her once before!"
Xu Mu froze, then spun around. In a flash, following Si Hu's pointing finger, his gaze locked onto a wood-selling girl. Her thin, frail figure leaned silently against a restaurant wall, legs trembling as if from exhaustion. Hungry, perhaps, she occasionally lifted her delicate face to sniff the food aroma drifting from the restaurant. Then she lowered her eyes, staring at the two loads of fresh firewood before her, looking at a loss.