CG Chapter 144: Xiao Xian Butcher
Nature versus nurture is one of the oldest questions in the history of mankind.
This question naturally laid the groundwork for more amusing questions, and one of the most important of them is: Are demons born or created?
The three promised days quickly passed by; during that time, Aretius deepened his understanding of this world, from culture to art, and from art to philosophy.
Know thyself, and know thy enemy, and in a hundred battles you will never be in peril.
With a deep understanding of the world, Aretius could change his status and demeanor even further.
In an instant, he could have an imperial aura even more legitimate than that of the previous Han Emperor or Wu Wuqing, or even lower than that of an insignificant passerby, anyone could step on.
To him, it's all worth nothing, so he can change into anything.
If he had a trace of reverence for imperial power or contempt for the beggars, then his all would be but a pile of shreds in front of any master.
Qi Hao and Aretius met again; however, this time, it wasn't in the inn but inside an inconspicuous house in one of the outer districts of the city where the slums lay.
Two cups of hot, expensive-looking tea that seemed like they didn't belong in the shabby hut were placed in front of the two. The steam curled like the twitching of centipedes on a dry summer day.
This tea was naturally brought by Qi Hao, who spent a heavy sum in the hopes of growing his investment and their karma.
Qi Hao naturally wasn't stupid, and as there is no love without reason, Qi Hao did all of this simply because he wanted to go further.
He, like many people of this world, had a dream to touch the stars, and with Aretius's grace, he might just be able to do so one day.
"I have gathered all the information I could on short notice here."
He pointed to a thick stack of papers gathered together to form a giant booklet of a couple of hundred pages.
"I truly hope that this would come of use to you, Senior White Ghost," Qi Hao said, looking at the booklet with a gaze that carried a hint of nervousness, because to him that wasn't just a booklet, but a gambling ticket or an unopened stone at a jade store.
As Aretius reached for the booklet, Qi Hao suddenly continued as if he remembered something.
"Oh, and Senior, my men just gathered some information on a chain of incidents all thought to be connected to the same person."
"In the last couple of days, multiple children have either gone missing or been found dead, with corpses mangled into a deformed shape as if they had been twisted by a wild wolf who only ate the hearts."
Qi Hao stayed silent for a few seconds, remembering the news, before saying:
"The government is currently trying to suppress the news as much as possible to avoid causing any more problems. However, you know what they say: there is no smoke without fire, and the people who have lost their loved ones can't be silenced forever. The people call that man the Xiao Xian Butcher because of the artworks he leaves behind."
Hearing the news, Aretius simply smiled before leaving.
With his back to Qi Hao, he said, "Until fate causes our paths to cross, Little Hao."
Even after Aretius left, Qi Hao remained looking at the same spot, thinking of something. This went on for a few minutes, with even the tea going cold before he shook his head, trying to get himself out of that state.
…
At the same time, in a small village made only of a few broken houses, most people who passed by the village would have thought that it was abandoned if not for the deformed creatures that were too horrid to be called human passing through.
It is a natural law that in any place where mankind walks, there would be class segregation. This might come in many shapes and forms: it might be wealth, skin color, or shape.
In the case of the Great Shen, many of these abominations gathered in Jixing Village, a place for outcasts of society who weren't accepted by anyone, so they decided to build a home for themselves in this run-down village.
Coincidentally, a boy who was ostracized by his own family heard news of this village.
Finding out it was but a few days away from his city, he decided to journey there all alone.
Unfortunately, it seemed that even the outcasts didn't accept someone not within their familiar knowledge.
Fang Huo, the outcast son of the Great Fang Clan, lay limp outside one of the houses.
His lips were cracked and dry from thirst.
His black hair turned brown from dirt and mud that was thrown at him by people.
His eyes were dull, almost soulless.
And his ink-like skin had multiple crimson cracks.
He didn't know the reason, but since he was kicked out of the clan, these cracks seemed to have started growing larger, causing an unimaginable amount of pain to course through his whole body.
What was even more despairing, however, wasn't the pain of the body; that caused him to become completely numb to everything, simply waiting for death.
Worse, even the deformed people didn't accept him; he was an outcast among outcasts, a child who had no one or anywhere to go.
Pain, suffering, agony.
Hatred, suffering, agony.
Hatred, hatred, agony.
Hatred, hatred, hatred.
They twist and twist and twist and then ask why you broke.
Hate was the only emotion he felt at that point, covering the unimaginable pain he was experiencing every second.
Fang Huo hated everything and everyone; he hated his cursed fate for being so merciless, the villagers for not accepting him; he hated the Fang Clan for abandoning him for no reason, but more importantly, he hated heaven for being so indifferent.
What heavenly protection and what bullshit? No one was there for him back then, and no one is by his side right now.
He was, and still is, all alone.
In an instant, his eyes shone again, but this time they didn't shine with hope, but a red-blackish light of hatred and pain, one so strong that its only purpose was to burn the whole world with it.