Chapter 13: Bloodshed Beneath Prosperity

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Thanks to Wu Fei’s dedicated management, Yongji Pass transformed rapidly within just half a year—from a place of tattered clothes and barely getting by into a thriving, orderly hub. Yet, prosperity bred its own corrosion. As the saying goes, the problem isn’t scarcity but inequality; the greater the wealth created, the wider the gap between rich and poor. The original order’s exploitation of the lowest strata only intensified.

Exploitation breeds resistance, so what could be done? Wu Fei: Only suppression.

Within the military camp, massive execution blades were raised. As they fell, severed heads tumbled down, their eyes wide with unresolved hatred, rolling from the platform to the ground. Bloodied-faced soldiers watched these decapitations with grim satisfaction, as if watching a spectacle.

...The terrifying machinery of violence grew ever more powerful, fueled by wealth...

From the perspective of soldiers like Zhao Tu, after the slave trade market was brought under the control of the Major General, it was out of the Major General’s kindness that all merchants’ slaves were gathered and uniformly detained. The slaves were treated far better than under private slave traders. But this “leniency” was not met with gratitude; looser restraints merely gave them more opportunities to pick locks. Their daily full meals only strengthened the conspiracies yearning for freedom.

In the eighth month of the 24th year of the Shoutian Calendar, during a heavy, drifting rainstorm, over a hundred slaves escaped from Yongji Pass. Their breakout not only forced the city to compensate slave traders for their losses but also led some slaves to set fires. The blaze damaged parts of the city’s infrastructure, including the pulley systems of two cable-stayed city gates.

The slaves destroyed these key passages to flee, but this alarmed Wu Fei. In wartime, such damage would be catastrophic. The nervous city defense officers later explained that the western market was divided by barriers, with troops stationed at the checkpoints and an additional barbican beyond; slave rebellions could only escape southward from the city, unable to breach the northern barbican.

The Yongji garrison responded swiftly; within five hours, the relatively small-scale slave uprising was crushed.

Slaves, unarmed and wielding only clubs embedded with nails, stood no chance against armored soldiers equipped with shields. The once muscular southern frontier slaves, showcased on the loading platforms, did not star in any Hollywood-style heroic free-for-all. Their human wave crashed against ironclad formations, spilling blood in torrents.

Their stones and wooden barrels smashed against the ranks like ants challenging a towering tree.

Among the suppressors, soldiers like Zhao Tu, who had only tested their mettle on pigs before, fully immersed themselves in the killing frenzy this time. They focused intently on the feel of their blades piercing flesh, withdrawing with a wet slurp, the snapping of bones and tearing of flesh absorbing all their attention. The screams and pleas of the dying fell unheard.

A third-person perspective reveals that beneath the rhythmic clatter of soldiers’ footsteps and armor rubbing together, screams were drowned out by a river of blood flowing through the streets. The crimson, brutal atmosphere spread like a flood.

Wu Fei, commanding and observing from the city tower, sensed his new recruits’ initial nervousness dissolve as they confirmed the invincibility of their formation. They became bloodthirsty, their sudden transformation from timidity to a self-perceived bravery reminiscent of schoolchildren excitedly raiding a dungeon for the first time in an online game.

After the suppression, Zhao Xianzhong, eager to prove his loyalty to Wu Fei and repay the trust vested in him, intended to slaughter all the captives. But Wu Fei ordered a more measured “one in eight” execution method.

That is, an eight-sided die was rolled, and the unlucky number eight was condemned to the execution block.

Days later, the bloody stains on the city streets were washed away by clean water, but the crimson order inscribed itself into every crack between the bricks. Prosperity returned.

...Amid prosperity, alongside slaughter, came indulgence...

In Yongji Pass’s commercial district, there had originally been only one brothel catering to the city’s soldiers. But now, with the garrison troops being restructured and paid in full, soldiers who could save money spent less on such pleasures. Yet the influx of merchants caused this industry to multiply dozens of times.

Carters and hired martial artists traveling to and from the southern frontier braved poisonous insects and miasma—an adventure akin to sailors of the Age of Exploration—and thus needed ways to decompress.

In this era without video games and with alcohol a rare luxury prone to causing trouble, naturally, soldiers sought outlets within the city.

The system offers a historical lesson: The Netherlands abolished its red-light districts only in the 23rd century due to fierce competition from intelligent bionic robots. Tracing that industry’s origins takes one back to when the Dutch were “cart drivers of the sea.” Back then, sailors’ visits to red-light districts were essential. No matter how many sea voyage-themed movies or games depicted such scenes, the fact remained: sailors sought women ashore, and if denied, caused trouble. When encountering uncivilized villages or tribes without formal military order, these sailors were unleashed, freely expressing their primal instincts.

Centuries later, American soldiers still maintained these primal instincts, and some island nations, lacking military resistance, had to create districts like Tokyo's Shibuya to contain their destructive tendencies.

...And now, Yongji Pass is such a landlocked node on this “maritime” route...

Within Yongji Pass, while other areas enforced nighttime light restrictions, the Flower Fairy Tower in the commercial district shone brightly all night. The owner was a woman—Xiao Qing.

After the Battle of Chilian Mountain, this “snake woman” had been fully used by Wu Fei—once summoned from the camp, Wu Fei had no further plans for her, intending her to take the generous hundred taels of gold she earned as a reward and return home.

But she no longer had a home. Defining herself as a maid sold to the Wu family, she quickly found her value in gathering intelligence.

This “work” wasn’t assigned by Wu Fei but developed by her. Using her status as the Major General’s maid, she invested her initial hundred taels perfectly into the commercial district. Though a hundred taels was modest, her greatest capital was her identity as the Major General’s maid. As long as Wu Fei didn’t repudiate that, she was untouchable in Yongji Pass’s underworld.

Wu Fei neither managed her nor denied her false authority. After all, the intelligence she provided was crucial for understanding the increasingly complex underground factions within the city.

Merchants, amid the dazzling lights and revelry, inadvertently revealed profit margins and regional price changes during their trips. Only female slaves who had been in the main camp paid attention to such useful information, turning it into invaluable intelligence Wu Fei could not ignore.

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As for the various exotic “services” inside the Flower Fairy Tower? They could drain a man’s spirit and willpower, so Wu Fei never set foot inside.

He only overheard escorts discussing before entering the city: “Horned people are tight, webbed people are moist, clawed people are fiery, snake people are icy cold.”

...

Yongji Pass was poised to develop into a medium-sized fortress town with four to five thousand residents, where blood and whip coexisted.

For Wu Fei, a man from a modern civilization, this development was dark indeed. Yet eradicating such darkness would be like fixing bugs in a shitty codebase—one that relies on bugs to function.

Wu Fei had considered developing workshops, but those required population and roads for transporting materials. This was a border pass—such conditions didn’t exist. The current population wasn’t enough to sustain workshops. Only when the population reached ten thousand and wealth accumulated could Yongji’s economy upgrade.

At present, Yongji Pass’s core mission was as a military stronghold serving border troops.

What matters most for a border garrison? Combat effectiveness. Without it, when enemies invade, the people become fish meat on a chopping board—empty talk about principles means nothing.

This world was not Earth. The battlefield had sorcery and monsters. Soldiers held long spears, tightly packed to form a bristling wall.

For what? For the civilians behind them? For the Da Yao Dynasty? Spare me. Such lofty ideals were Confucian platitudes; Confucians themselves never fought. The only thing that made these soldiers willing to fight was blood for blood.

“Blood pay” meant those who shed blood had more rights than those who did not.

More bluntly, in Yongji Pass, soldiers who fought alongside Wu Fei outside the gates, if they accidentally killed someone in a street fight, would only face fines, detention, or exile—not death.

Murder charges could be mitigated unless they involved heinous crimes. This wasn’t favoritism, but an accepted internal principle. If Wu Fei didn’t follow this, soldiers wouldn’t obey orders firmly.

That’s why when Wu Fei banned alcohol, the soldiers dared to make a fuss. So much so that Wu Hanluan had to confine Wu Fei first before quietly handling the troublemakers.

Because Wu Fei, lacking “blood pay,” was just a “little sparrow” in the eyes of veteran soldiers, even with the rank of Major General. Only after following Wu Hanluan south and fighting hard battles, shedding blood, did he become recognized as a real Major General.

This episode left a deep impression on Xuanchong (Wu Fei): in the army, never trust a piece of paper appointment. These bloodthirsty men only acknowledge a leader who also wields a blade.

From Zhao Tu and others, it was clear this army’s style was “bloodthirsty.”

At the frontline fighting aliens, if you don’t kill heads by the score, how will the farmers keep their fields? Without sword-backed might, how can virtue be shown?

Now in the slave market, the heads of rebellious slaves were all salted and stacked into a gruesome tower. After the “one in eight” executions, slaves passing by this ghastly monument returned quietly to their cages, never daring to raise their voices again. This was far more effective than the improved rations months earlier.

Xuanchong set a modest goal for himself: to wage war in this world without razing cities.

...Two days later...

Wu Fei gazed at the gruesome tower. Most city dwellers had grown accustomed to the horrific sight.

Most were indifferent, but Wu Fei sensed a reaction. Raising his hand, a force field lifted his cup, suspending it in his palm. This force was under his control; the cup felt as if being “pinched” by the force, ready to be crushed at his will.

Even a slight grip sent tiny cracks through the glass, producing creaking noises like glass under uneven heat.

This had nothing to do with the force’s strength but its inherent property: anything touched by it would be damaged. Even the nearby wooden table warped as if sun-scorched, its grain rising and aging.

Wu Fei felt this “force field” came from the gruesome head tower. He also sensed Zhao Xianzhong bore the same force.

Upon inquiry, it was “Sha Qi” (Killing Energy).

Wu Fei recalled when he returned to camp, Wu Hanluan had slapped him from a distance—then he was shaken.

Now, he had this energy too! It seemed he had committed too many killings.

From then on, Wu Fei realized he was utterly without a destiny for cultivation. Sha Qi corresponds to spiritual energy. Spiritual energy is drawn from nature’s essence in uninhabited places; in the “human path,” Confucians, Legalists, and strategists each have their own aura. As a strategist, Wu Fei embodied Sha Bing (military killing energy), produced by battle.

With Sha Qi, a general can block blades and arrows and intimidate troops.

Wu Fei had worried about facing fierce warriors or monsters breaking into his command center. Running away would shatter morale, but standing firm was daunting, especially with monsters storming alongside cavalry. Now, with Sha Qi, he could hold out a few seconds longer.

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With a crack, the cup shattered under the invading Sha Qi, exploding like firecrackers into countless shards. Wu Fei flicked his hand; the shards flew like slingshot pellets, sparking against the brick wall.

Then he asked the system, “Does this Sha Qi affect me?”

System: “Currently, no effect.”

Before Xuanchong could relax, the system added, “That’s because before the Sha Qi entered your body, you restrained your emotional response.”

Xuanchong paused, recalling how he had struggled to maintain clarity when watching soldiers behead people, suppressing the urge to give in to destruction.

He cautiously asked, “System, what if I hadn’t cared then? If I’d fully indulged and upgraded?”

The system replied enigmatically, “Then...” deliberately pausing half a second, “who knows!”

Xuanchong hesitated, glancing at Zhao Xianzhong’s side, where he had lingered for days, fascinated by the gruesome head tower. A chill ran down Xuanchong’s spine.

He recalled an opening statement from an ancient immortal text: cultivation of spirit requires purity and asceticism; cultivation of Sha Qi is insatiable desire.

Xuanchong began practicing climbing, scaling the ten-zhang-high city wall, simply to test whether his “body measurement instrument” functioned properly.

...

Half an incense stick later, upon reaching the battlements, he unexpectedly encountered Yao Sangu.

Yao Sangu gazed at him and said, “General, you look well today.”

Wu Fei replied, “Just early morning exercise.”

Yao Sangu smiled mysteriously: “General, are you still troubled by the ‘Sha Qi condensation’ technique?”

Wu Fei hesitated, “What guidance does the fairy offer?”

Yao Sangu produced a book—a jade scroll called the “Treasure Manual.” After all this time traveling, Wu Fei had only seen bamboo scrolls, never paper; this was a true book.

But as Wu Fei took it, he paused—the texture was leather.

Yao Sangu smiled enigmatically, “General, why not give it a try?”

As she descended the city tower, Xuanchong opened the jade scroll. The script was “tadpole script,” read by focusing the eyes until the gaze defocuses, letting each eye see different parts. The misaligned tadpole characters then form readable text.

Trying to cross his eyes, Xuanchong saw the tadpole script flow into his eyes, unknowingly causing blue light to flicker from them.

At that moment, the system popped up: “Would you like ‘translation software’?”

Xuanchong paused, “Of course.”

Soon, familiar “Chinese localization-style annotations” appeared in his vision. Rubbing his eyes, the blue light turned into eye gunk, which fell from the corner.

...

Yao Sangu’s smile froze as she descended the tower. Looking up at the battlements for a long time, she stomped her foot in anger and left.