Chapter Sixty-Two: The Wooden Beast

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As they gazed upon the field strewn with corpses, all fell silent. The horror before them was a wickedness almost unimaginable in the world of men. Shu Wu felt a heavy oppression in his chest; though he had witnessed countless acts of cruelty and depravity, to see such atrocities committed against their own kind was still beyond comprehension. Had he not seen it with his own eyes, he would never have believed it.

This was an age of purgatory, where behind every dazzling facade lurked unspeakable sins and horrors. It was common knowledge that demons devoured flesh and sucked bone, that spirits killed without restraint. Yet the deeds of humankind, though cloaked in the trappings of righteousness, fared little better in the shadows.

The sole difference was this: the bloodlust of demons was open for all to see, while the malice of men hid in darkness.

Unable to endure the suffocating grief, Shu Wu exhaled a long, heavy breath, then looked upon the second eldest, now pinned to the ground by the constables, his expression shifting between gloom and rage. The other constables, moved to action, dispersed to search elsewhere, while Liu Chou found an excuse to step away, leaving only Shu Wu and that villain behind.

When the others returned, having gathered the children and tidied the house, the second eldest was already dead—staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed, a corpse now, just as the leader before him.

“Men, this villain tried to escape and has been executed!” Shu Wu announced righteously. The faces of the constables brightened, and they all echoed in agreement:

“We saw it with our own eyes—the slaying of a thief perfectly aligns with the law.”

“This one was ruthless; since he tried to flee, there could be no mercy.”

“The constable’s courage in ridding us of this fiend upholds the law and sets an example for all.”

Shu Wu glanced at Liu Chou, their eyes meeting. Liu Chou gave a slight nod, and with that, the last of Shu Wu’s worries dissipated, replaced by the relief of catharsis. Only then did he clear his throat and begin to address the aftermath.

There had been many children in the old dwelling—over twenty beast-children, dozens of girls—but now, only three beast-children and five girls had survived. Perhaps some were still out begging or thieving and had not returned. These children clung to one another, eyes flitting, filled with fear. When the constables tried to examine the beast-children’s pelts, the children instantly crouched low, baring their teeth and growling, wary and defensive.

Shu Wu sighed lightly and went forward himself. At the first meeting of eyes, the children flopped onto their backs, bellies exposed, limbs raised like cats or dogs.

With the beast-children and girls trembling before him, Shu Wu made a quick inspection, then walked to Liu Chou’s side, shaking his head. “Brother Du Pu, these children are going to be a problem.”

“Why is that?” Liu Chou asked offhandedly.

“The girls are no trouble—once we return to the station, we can send word to each village for their families to claim them.” Shu Wu paused, his brows knitting, anxiety in his eyes. “But as for these beast-children, their pelts have fused with their flesh. If we try to strip them by force, they will surely die. Yet if we leave them as they are, the complaints from the villages will be relentless. Who would take them in?”

To Shu Wu and the others, the beast-children were pitiable, but to Liu Chou, not necessarily so. He had seen far worse fates than these. He had no intention of burdening himself with this matter, especially now, surrounded by danger, uncertain whether he could even protect himself. Hearing Shu Wu’s dilemma, Liu Chou grew wary and replied bluntly:

“Brother Shu Wu, speak plainly. We are but humble folk, limited in our abilities. We must act within our means.”

Shu Wu’s gaze wandered, and he sighed deeply. “I know that well. It’s just that my heart is troubled. I hoped you might have an idea—how can we secure a future for these children?”

Realizing Shu Wu only sought advice, Liu Chou relaxed and considered briefly. “Report it up the chain—see if the county captain has a plan.”

Shu Wu forced a bitter smile and shook his head. “What plan would there be? It’ll only be handed back to us, as always.”

“If their families reject them and the authorities won’t take them, you’d be left to shoulder it alone?” Liu Chou said. “You can’t expect to just find a plot of land and raise them yourself, can you?”

Shu Wu shook his head again. “I could barely feed three of them. How could I tend fields as well? Even if I could now, what of when I am old?”

The well-field system was the Zhou dynasty’s method of land distribution. Fields were divided into three classes: the best belonged to the nobles and were cultivated as public fields; the next, for citizens, required less tax but military service in war; the worst were given to the wild folk—those who lived outside the city, called ‘the commoners.’ They had to first till the large public fields before being allowed a small private plot.

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Shu Wu held the status of a citizen, but these beast-children would be seen at best as wild folk, their fields assigned accordingly and bound to servitude. Relying on Shu Wu alone was impossible.

His dilemma was real, and Liu Chou had no solution but to sigh with him. “It’s true—unless they can till the public fields, nothing can be done.”

A glint of cunning flashed in Shu Wu’s eyes, but he quickly masked it with another sigh...

While the two discussed, the constables had completed their tasks. As agreed, the reward and a thousand coins were to be handed to Liu Chou, but the loot itself was to be divided per custom. Together, Liu Chou and Shu Wu took eighty percent. Shu Wu, however, pushed his entire share to Liu Chou, saying, “This will settle my debt to you.”

The villains’ lair had yielded much—coins were only a part; most was gold and silverware. Even Liu Chou hadn’t expected that their share would be worth forty or fifty thousand cash. He accepted with a smile and took his leave, leaving the rest for the East Bridge constable station to deal with.

He hadn’t expected such a casual division to yield enough to purchase a monster core—this truly exceeded his expectations.

With time to spare, Liu Chou returned to the Eagle’s Perch Trading Hall and bought the cheapest monster core, then headed home, locked the door, and prepared to test the power of the Divine Armament Cauldron.

Back at the Du Pu residence, behind closed doors, Liu Chou focused his thoughts and was instantly transported into the world within the gourd. The landscape was unchanged, the courtyard as before. Only the demon-refining gourd in the center had altered slightly: three of its six bronze mirrors now bore inscriptions, displaying the characters for Yin, Chen, and Wu.

Last time, Liu Chou had taken only a few weapons from the armory—a broadsword, a spear, a full suit of armor, and a vaguely mechanical beast. The first three were pure metal, perfect for refining into a hand crossbow.

He placed the hand crossbow inside, and the demon-refining gourd responded:

“Jiawu Gourd... Divine Armament Cauldron... Ghost Axe Divine Weapon... Hand Crossbow... Refinement possible...”

“Currently, there are four units of spirit essence in the Jiawu Gourd; forty-five more are needed to refine the crossbow...”

“No copper, iron, or refined gold present—must be supplemented...”

Without hesitation, Liu Chou placed the broadsword inside. The mirror inscriptions faded, then reformed with a new message:

“There is now sufficient refined iron in the Jiawu Gourd. To refine, forty-five more units of spirit essence are required...”

Clearly, it was time for the monster core.

But—

To his utter surprise, when the monster core was inserted, the gourd showed no recognition. It seemed the artificially made core, despite being filled with spiritual energy for mechanical beasts, was not accepted; no matter how many times he tried, the gourd would not respond.

It appeared that while these cores, crafted by cultivators’ arrays, contained spirit essence suitable for powering mechanical beasts, they differed from the natural spiritual energy of heaven and earth. They worked for mundane devices, but for true treasures of the world, they were inadequate.

The difference was like that between regular gasoline and aviation fuel—similar in source, yet worlds apart in use. No matter what, ninety-octane could never power an airplane.

Given this, he would have to devise another plan...

Taking the monster core back out, Liu Chou’s gaze fell upon the mechanical beast nearby. Suddenly, a thought struck him: if the monster core couldn’t be used for refining, why not try it on the mechanical beast to see what it was?

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No sooner thought than done. Liu Chou began to search the mechanical beast but oddly found no compartment for the monster core. After some thought, he pried open its jaws and peered inside.

Usually, a mechanical beast’s head was just for ramming or control, but to his surprise, this one had a pitch-black channel inside its mouth, leading who knew where. On a whim, Liu Chou fed the core in through its mouth. With a few gurgling sounds, it rolled down somewhere within.

Suddenly, an inexplicable sense of danger rose. Liu Chou leapt away from the creature in a flash, staff at the ready, bracing for attack.

The mechanical beast shuddered and, astonishingly, opened its eyes like a living thing, eyelids fluttering. Then it snorted out clouds of thick smoke and turned its head toward Liu Chou. Its eyes, though artificial, glinted with a fierce intelligence, and its joints began to creak in turn, claws shifting, eager for action.

This was the prelude to an attack!

That the beast could be powered up was not surprising—but its behavior was. Unlike ordinary mechanical beasts, which moved with rigidity and clumsiness, this one was agile, brimming with cunning, as if it possessed independent thought—almost like advanced artificial intelligence.

Its actions were completely outside Liu Chou’s expectations, and from the aura it emitted, it was no weakling—at least level five or six, only slightly inferior to Liu Chou himself.

With keen instincts, Liu Chou sensed the danger immediately, dodging in time to avoid harm. Relying on memories from his past life, he quickly identified the beast’s weakness.

Simply put, the greatest limitation for such a construct was its energy source—the very core he had just fed it.

The thirty-thousand-cash core was of the lowest grade, normally only enough to power small mechanical beasts. Though this creature was small, if it attacked, the spiritual energy would be rapidly depleted. Since it could not escape, Liu Chou only needed to endure for a while to prevail.

The beast shuddered, then lunged at him like a mountain. If it had been an ordinary mechanical beast, it would have been dismantled for materials to forge weapons—his original intention. But now, discovering its uniqueness, Liu Chou was reluctant to destroy it. He decided to let it expend the core’s energy; once it was dormant again, he could study it at leisure.

With that, he refused combat, instead darting across the courtyard, leading the beast on a chase.

The beast was quick, but Liu Chou was faster. Round and round they went; the mechanical creature was always just a step behind. After several near misses, the beast suddenly accelerated, pouncing with such force that Liu Chou, caught slightly off guard, could only swing his staff at it. The impact sent him flying tens of meters, crashing hard into the courtyard wall.

The blow was heavy—his chest churned with blood, and he nearly vomited; had he not braced himself, the injuries would have been severe.

The beast charged again. Liu Chou dropped low, slid beneath, and dodged. With a thunderous swing, he struck the creature’s side, sending it flying in retaliation.

Damn it, if you want to see what I’m made of, I’ll show you! You think I’m afraid of you?

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