Chapter Nine: The Pitiful Young Girl

In no time at all, these students finished reading—after all, it was only twenty thousand words. As soon as they were done, they immediately swarmed around Feng Yuan, clamoring with questions.

“Senior Feng, is there more?”
“Senior Feng, what happens next?”
“Senior Feng, where is the protagonist going?”
“Senior Feng, how does the story develop from here? Tell us, we’re dying of curiosity!”

The students were nearly jumping up and down in their impatience. Feng Yuan’s novel was simply too enthralling. They were all avid readers, familiar with “The Legend of Immortal Fate,” but that work was written in classical language. While it was enjoyable, compared to Feng Yuan’s “Veiling the Sky,” it paled in comparison. This was the magnum opus of a legendary online author, the culmination of years of experience—naturally, it was leagues above the rest.

“Enough! What a ruckus—do you have no manners at all? Chattering like a marketplace, what a disgrace! All of you, step back!” Instructor He scolded sternly, prompting the students to retreat at once.

Instructor He then stepped forward, beaming as he asked, “Feng Yuan, where does the protagonist go next?”

Everyone: “…”

Feng Yuan glanced at Instructor He and the others, smiling faintly. He made a polite bow and said, “Thank you all for your enthusiasm. But if I reveal the next part, there won’t be any suspense left. How about this: tomorrow at this time, I’ll come by again and post the next chapters on the wall for everyone to read. How does that sound?”

“Yes! Please write as fast as you can, Senior!”
“That’s right, hurry up, we can’t stand the wait!”

The voices of the crowd overlapped in their eagerness.

“All right, I’ll do my best!” Feng Yuan said, pleased with their reaction. “In that case, I’ll take my leave for today. Instructor He, fellow students, farewell!”

With that, Feng Yuan strode out, with Zhang the Fat trailing behind. The students returned to reread “Veiling the Sky,” captivated by its brilliance.

“Feng Yuan, wait!” Instructor He called after him and caught up.

“Is there something you need, sir?”

“Heh, well… When you finish writing tomorrow, could you let me have a look first? It’s truly addictive!” Instructor He asked, somewhat embarrassed.

Feng Yuan hadn’t expected Instructor He to be so engrossed, and he couldn’t help but find it amusing. But then he remembered how he used to be the same—checking for updates every day, wanting to curse the author when there were none, and then, after reading a new chapter in a flash, wanting to curse again for it being too short. Such is the fervor of true fans, beyond their own control.

“Of course, sir. As soon as I finish, I’ll let you know right away,” Feng Yuan promised.

He and Zhang the Fat left together.

“Didn’t I tell you, Feng Yuan, your writing is sure to be a hit! Even Instructor He is hooked. I bet it won’t be long before you’re famous throughout the city!” Zhang said.

“Are you craving chicken drumsticks again?”

“Ahem… Come now, I was being sincere, not just fishing for food!”

“Oh, I thought you wanted one. I was about to buy you one, but since you’re not interested, never mind—let’s go home,” Feng Yuan replied, shaking his head as he headed home.

“Hey, Feng Yuan, actually, a chicken drumstick wouldn’t go amiss! Really, it’s no trouble!” Zhang the Fat called after him.

…

A while later, the two of them arrived at an inn, ordered some food and wine, and began to eat. Zhang the Fat had a chicken drumstick in one hand, a pork knuckle in the other, his mouth glistening with grease—truly a repulsive sight.

Feng Yuan wasn’t very hungry; he only wanted to eat quickly and go home to write more chapters, so he wouldn’t have to write every single day. After all, writing novels was exhausting.

As they ate, Feng Yuan noticed a commotion outside. A crowd had gathered in the street, though he couldn’t tell what was happening.

“Eat first, I’ll go take a look!” he told Zhang the Fat, then got up and stepped outside.

In the middle of the street, a crowd of a dozen or twenty people gathered, so tightly packed that not a crack showed, all chattering amongst themselves.

“Hey, brother, what’s going on? Why is it so lively?” Feng Yuan asked, tapping a man on the shoulder.

“They’re selling a girl. She’s quite a pretty one, but too expensive!” the man replied.

“Selling a girl?”

This was the first time Feng Yuan had witnessed open human trafficking. In China, it would be a grave crime, but here, selling sons and daughters was common, sometimes for next to nothing. During years of famine, it was said that a single bun could be exchanged for a wife.

Curious, Feng Yuan squeezed into the crowd and finally saw for himself.

A hunter was selling a young girl, her wrists bound with rope. She wore a green dress, looked about fourteen or fifteen, and her features were delicate and lovely—truly a budding beauty.

Yet she looked frail, her complexion pallid and bloodless, her eyes dull, her feet bare and wounded, the injuries festering. She was a pitiful sight.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I caught her deep in the mountains. She might be the daughter of the mountain god! A tael of silver is cheap—look at how pretty she is. Take her home and she’s sure to bear strong sons!” the hunter called out to the crowd.

“Yeah, right, the daughter of the mountain god. If you touch her, the mountain god will kill you!”

“That’s right, how dare you catch the mountain god’s child? Careful he doesn’t crush you beneath a mountain!”

“Blowing hot air, aren’t you!” voices in the crowd jeered.

People shook their heads. She was beautiful, but so sickly, and so expensive. What if she died after being bought—what a loss! No one was interested. After all, women sold for about a hundred copper coins in the market; a tael of silver was daylight robbery.

Soon, the crowd dispersed, leaving only Feng Yuan. He had been about to leave as well, but the girl’s eyes followed him, filled with a sorrowful helplessness that tugged at his heart and stirred old memories.

“Sir, do you want her? I’ll give you a discount—five hundred copper coins?” The hunter, seeing no buyers, halved the price.

Feng Yuan shook his head. “She’s sickly and will need expensive treatment—she might not even survive. Fifty coins at most, not a copper more.”

“Sir, that’s too little—how about four hundred?”

Feng Yuan turned to leave.

“Wait, sir—three hundred!”

“Two hundred!”

“How about one hundred?!”

“All right, fifty it is!” the hunter finally relented.

So Feng Yuan bought the girl for fifty copper coins—the price of two meals. Such was the worth of a human life in this era.

“Sir, be careful when you take her home—this little thing bites and scratches like a wildcat, see these wounds? All her doing. Be on your guard!” the hunter warned, showing Feng Yuan the scars on his arm.

Feng Yuan nodded, dismissing the hunter with a wave. He untied the girl’s ropes, then handed her a tael of silver. “Take this, go see a doctor, and then return to your family.”

He tried to leave, but found he couldn’t move—the girl had seized his clothing.

“I have no home, no parents. If I go back, they’ll just sell me again,” she said.

Feng Yuan frowned, thinking for a moment. “Would you like to come with me, then?”

“Yes!” the girl nodded.

“Very well. You may stay with me and help with laundry and cooking. Can you do that?” Feng Yuan asked.

The girl nodded in reply.