Chapter 4
Justice-bearer
Upon the road to Lang Chau, he espied writhing forms amidst the thickets. At first, he took them for a wild beast in rut, yet it proved to be men sowing disorder in a realm thought to be at peace.
All manner of malefactors have been cast into gaol or driven into exile from Lang Chau. The officials and soldiery turn a blind eye, permitting vice and wagering to flourish unchecked. Thiet Nam groweth vexed and inquireth among the folk. Yet the matters he enquires into pertain to the decrees of the court—and none among the common folk dare stand against the mandarins, for fear of misfortune unseen. Thus do all turn away from the lone bearer of justice.
Suppressing his anger, Thiet Nam still cannot comprehend why the magistrates ignore the situation. The sparse scene unsettles him even more—buyers come and go, yet enthusiasm has long faded. Only a group of elders silently shed tears for the ethnic market.
An elderly couple supports each other, leaning on their canes, their steps unsteady. The husband stumbles over a stone and falls. Thiet Nam rushes forward to help him up. After thanking him, the wife softly scolds her husband:
- How many times have I told you? You are old and frail, you have no strength left, yet you still insist on coming here.
- I cannot resign myself to this fate! - The old man shakes his head in dismay, beholding the throngs that flock unto the wagering dens. His voice quivereth - That land hath held all my memories; my whole life hath been bound to it. It is as dear to me as mine own flesh and blood. But now...
The elder gazed upon the wagering hall of bamboo, his sighs heavy with sorrow. He searcheth with weary eyes and seeth no sign, yet unexpectedly someone appears by chance. This may well be his final chance to uncover the truth. Learning from the previous time, fearing they remain silent out of dread for the magistrates, Thiet Nam must choose each word with care.
Having learned from former events, and anxious that the people dare not speak for fear of the magistrates, Thiet Nam measures every word with utmost prudence.
- My mother wishes to taste the red-rooted palm—an ancient tree, whispered about in old tales. It is said that only those dwelling in the open ground sell it. Do Grandfather and Grandmother know of them?
The elders yearn to dwell beside their filial descendants, and Thiet Nam comporteth himself with great courtesy. When he speaketh of his mother, The old folk do find him agreeable and do begin to unseal their hearts. The elderly woman speaketh:
- The vacant ground is the property of the master of the eating-house. The poor do pay rent to ply their trade. Of late, the master letteth the land unto the dice-players, for their offered sum far surpasseth ours.
The elderly woman gazeth intently as the stranger applieth balm unto her husband's wounds. Thiet Nam observeth that she doth nod ever so slightly, a glimmer of contentment playing upon her visage—as though she hath long awaited this guardian of justice. She feeleth joy for some unknown cause, not for his kindness toward her husband. Yet at this moment, his gaze is wholly drawn to a scene of depravity before him.
- They do gamble, they do revel in vice—do they not fear the soldiery shall seize them?
The elder sitteth upright in sudden wrath, cursing aloud:
- Cursed be they—the mandarins and the soldiery—who care not for the plight…
His fury awaketh the old affliction, and a violent cough shaketh his chest, robbing him of breath. His wife, stricken with dread, doth pat his back and calleth unto Thiet Nam:
- Quickly! Fetch the medicine from my pouch!
- I bear a most excellent draught for coughs!
Thiet Nam draweth forth a small vial from his bindle and removeth the stopper, allowing the gentle fragrance of herbs to seep into the old man's breath. Like wisps of warmth, the scent doth infuse him with strength; his pallid hue returneth slowly to life, and his weary eyes do fall half-shut. At last, after countless years, he may savor undisturbed repose.
The elderly woman, overcome with joy, thanketh Thiet Nam with great fervor. He setteth the old man gently against the trunk of a roadside tree and bestoweth the vial upon the two elders. It is then that he heareth the final chapter of their tale:
- This affliction hath plagued my husband these many years. Now that we forfeit our daily bread, his condition worseneth. If the vacant ground be leased by a man of virtue, we endure hunger without complaint. But as matters now stand…
The elderly woman casteth a sorrowful glance upon her stubborn husband and sigheth in lament:
- My husband hath been so devoted that, come sun or rain, though his frail body hath oft fainted and near unto death, he hath still insisted on coming each day.
Her voice did tremble with indignation as she recounted their plight. Her husband had let this land, and the covenant had not yet fulfilled its appointed term. Yet, moved by avarice, the heartless landholder did seize upon the occasion for greater silver and did transfer its rights by force unto the wagering hall.
- My son did bear the covenant in hand, seeking justice; yet alas—the vile fiends of the wagering den did rend the sacred parchment asunder and did smite him, leaving him maimed. For three days he lay abed, coughing blood, until death at last did claim him.
A grown son, crippled and helpless, doth ever rely upon his frail, aging parents for care. When they pass from this world, he is left to drag his broken body through life, begging alms from the mercies of others—a fate more bitter than death. Though death may release the son from suffering, it doth rend his parents' hearts asunder. The mother, choking on her grief, weepeth bitterly.
- Our family is ruined! And the ethnic market withereth along with us!
The ethnic market hath once been a place where memories were kept, yet now it hath become cold and lifeless, like a tomb wherein bygone days are laid to rest. No longer have households echoed with laughter, nor have villagers danced to the melodies of reed pipes to forge companionship. The haunting strains of the flute and H'mong Pen Pipe have mourned the absence of the songstress, yearning for the days of old—when village lads, in youthful fervor, have danced with the reed pipe to confess their love unto the mountain maidens.
In times long past, the market rang with the lively chatter of children at play. Now, parents dare not bring their offspring, fearing they may inherit unseemly habits. Those who must lead their children hasten to procure their goods, anxious to distance themselves from the tumultuous scene.
- The Grand Chancellor and the Emperor do wreak this chaos!
The old woman casteth all blame in fury upon those who abandon their children at the marketplace:
- Here, they host their grand martial gathering, yet they indulge the reckless misdeeds of these villainous brutes. Compared to common scoundrels, the nobles are far more despicable!
The old woman berateth the rulers of the realm, stoking the flames of anger that consume Thiet Nam's mood. His bloodshot eyes, streaked with crimson veins, pierce straight into the wagering den.
"Damn you! Accursed old fiend, what dark machinations do you weave?"
The Emperor remaineth in the prime of his years, yet Thiet Nam dareth curse the old fiend. His wife understandeth that his words are aimed at the Grand Chancellor of the realm. She standeth aghast, hearing a voice akin to the howling of demons at her ear, unnerved by the haunting sensation that the figure before her is no longer... human.
The one who is "no longer human" hath cast aside his patience, forsaking what little faith remaineth in the imperial court—for that court hath already abandoned its people. Enraged beyond restraint, Thiet Nam stormeth toward the den, felling every guard that standeth in his way. With a mighty kick, he dasheth the great doors asunder, his aura steeped in murderous intent, charging forth to quell the chaos. The guards brandish their cudgels and rush upon him, encircling him as they bellow:
- You art weary of life, boy!
- Crush him to death!
Dozens of ruffians surge forward with menacing vigor. The gamblers within the den, indifferent, continue casting their dice, believing the troublemakers shall soon be expelled. Yet the sudden eruption of anguished screams filleth the room, striking terror into all present. Each face turneth pale with dread, for most of the guards now lie motionless upon the ground, their limbs shattered beyond recognition—a sight too gruesome.
The remaining guards, their spirits utterly crushed, seek to flee. Misfortune, however, loometh large, for the wagering hall of bamboo hath but a single door, and that lone exit is firmly blocked by Thiet Nam. Trembling from head to toe, none dare advance. The master of the wagering den belloweth in fury:
- Defeat him, and I shall reward each of you with a thousand taels of silver—enough to indulge in pleasures with women to your heart's content!
The scent of silver, mingled with the allure of women's fragrance, spurreth the greedy and lustful scoundrels into a frenzied assault. Thiet Nam, with a single kick, sendeth the leader hurtling into the cluster of guards. Without pause, he seizeth the nearest man by the neck and slammeth him upon the table with such force that his facial bones shatter.
The gamblers, their legs weakened by fear, collapse to the ground; some even lose control of their bladders, witnessing Thiet Nam crush the jawbone of another with a single punch.
Thiet Nam decisively endeth the battle, lifting his foes one by one and hurling them fiercely into the pile of tables and chairs. Suddenly, a towering ruffian swingeth his cudgel from the side in a surprise attack. Thiet Nam flicketh the cudgel skyward, his left hand turning in a swift arc as he striketh forth a thunderous punch that sendeth the foe spinning through the air in wild somersaults. Without pause, he followeth with a fierce kick that driveth the man hurtling toward the gathered women.
The burliest of men lingereth on the fringes, awaiting his moment. He beholdeth the blood-crazed beast expose a vulnerability and seizeth the chance, brandishing his blade for a treacherous strike to the back. The master of the wagering den waiteth with wicked glee, certain the troublemaker shall meet his end, skewered by the attack. Yet midway through its arc, Thiet Nam spinneth with deft precision and sendeth the weapon flying with a single kick. Seizing the fallen cudgel, he swingeth it with all his might, smashing it upon the ruffian's head.
Blood poureth down the man's face, splattering across the room as the shattered cudgel breaketh apart. The ruffian collapseth to the ground, seemingly lifeless.
The women, witnessing the scene, believe Thiet Nam doth commit murder. Their faces turn pale as they huddle together, crying out in terror:
- Murder! There is a killer! Save us!
The scream driveth the monster into a frenzy. His eyes burn crimson, his fury blazeth, striking fear into all who behold him. The crowd shrinketh back, trembling in silence. The wagering den's master and the gamblers stand frozen, their faces ashen and lifeless. The beast advanceth coldly, and they fall to their knees, begging for mercy:
- Whatever silver the hero desireth, we shall offer all our wealth!
The wagering den's master, trembling, emptieth his bag of gold and silver, pleading desperately:
- Spare us, I beg you!
The gamblers, desperate to preserve their lives, debase themselves with pitiful pleas:
- My life is worth less than that of a dog. Should the hero slay me, it would only sully your noble hands!
- Yea, yea! If the hero requireth a gatekeeper, a thief-catcher, or even a loyal hound, I am willing to serve with utmost fidelity!
- Please, noble hero, show mercy and spare this wretched life!
Thiet Nam coldly holdeth the gold and silver in his hands. The wagering den's master, mistaking this for a sign of clemency, is overcome with joy, as though his long-dead father hath suddenly risen from the grave. He doth kowtow, bowing low, as if worshipping the stars themselves.
- Art you not one who coveteth gold above all else? - Thiet Nam letteth out a cold, merciless laugh, his gaze as sharp as a dagger piercing into the wagering den's master. He striketh the gold against the man's head - I shall let you savor the taste of gold."
After Thiet Nam striketh his opponent, leaving his head bloodied, he momentarily releaseth him. The wagering den's master rolleth on the ground, shrieking in a piercing voice:
- We are strangers! Why dost you strike me without cause?
Thiet Nam roareth:
- Dare you speak further, and I shall sever you tongue and cast it to the hounds!
The wagering den's master falleth silent, clutching his bloodied face, not daring to utter a sound. The women, trembling with terror, are relieved to find themselves unharmed. They hold Thiet Nam to be too noble-hearted to harm delicate maidens. Some women, holding all men to be as lustful creatures, do reveal sly, seductive smiles. Shedding their garments, they expose their bare bodies and cling to his feet, pleading:
- We shall honor you this night; please spare us!
- Handsome hero, come unto me!
Another gathering, fearing the buffalo shall be slow and must drink turbid water, swiftly cast off their garments and rush toward Thiet Nam, intending to press their milk-laden bosoms against him, vying with their sisters for what they call 'life'.
"Any harlot who doth continue her mischief shall have her head shorn, smeared with lime, and be cast into the river!"
The women, pale-faced and weeping, feel humiliation outweigh fear. To fail in seduction is disgrace enough; now stripped bare before all, even the most shameless cannot endure the weight of scorn. With trembling hands, they do gather their garments to shield themselves, lowering their faces in quiet shame.