Chapter Forty-Five: A Night Shrouded in Darkness and Murder

Night had fallen.

That night, there was no raging storm. Yet the moon was shrouded by dark clouds, plunging the world into utter blackness. The wind howled fiercely.

A moonless, gusty night—perfect for murder.

In a peasant’s house at the edge of Dagu Village, seven human traffickers—Li Jinguo, Li Yinshu, Li Yinshui, Li Tietou, Li Tiehan, Wang Ping, and Liu San—were gathered around a table, playing three-card brag.

“Blind,” Li Tietou declared, not even bothering to look at his cards. He was always a reckless gambler.

“If you’re playing blind, so am I.” Wang Ping, also refusing to look at his cards, matched him.

Only three men remained in the round now: the boss, Li Jinguo, along with Wang Ping and Li Tietou.

Li Tietou and Wang Ping glanced at their boss, Li Jinguo. They both feared him, careful not to speak out of turn, even at the gambling table. Li Jinguo cast a cool look at his cards, then smiled faintly. “I fold. You two can fight it out.”

With Li Jinguo out, Wang Ping and Li Tietou’s spirits lifted.

Li Tietou chuckled. “I’m still blind.”

Wang Ping slapped the table. “Blind it is—let’s see who blinks first!”

They continued to raise the stakes, and soon, the pot had swelled to five thousand. Whoever lost this round would owe the other five thousand.

Wang Ping finally wavered. “No more blind betting for me. I’m looking at my cards.”

His nerves steadied after he peeked at his hand, and he kept pushing money into the pot.

Li Tietou, seeing Wang Ping’s confidence, began to feel uncertain himself, so he checked his cards too. Once he saw them, his doubts vanished, and he kept throwing money onto the table. The bets only grew larger, quickly reaching twenty thousand. The loser would have to pay out ten thousand in one go.

Seeing how high the stakes had climbed, Wang Ping grew anxious. “I want to see your cards.”

At this stage, checking another’s hand cost an extra two thousand.

Li Tietou abruptly revealed his cards—three Jacks, bold and glaring.

“Damn! Just barely beats mine,” Wang Ping cursed. His hand—three eights—was strong, but not strong enough.

“Three eights, such a big hand, and still lost. What rotten luck.”

“Tough break.”

“Wang Ping’s got bad luck tonight.”

“Tietou really hit the jackpot this round.”

Wang Ping grumbled, having lost twelve thousand in a single game. Despite being a trafficker, his earnings weren’t as high as outsiders might think—just a few hundred thousand a year—and losing over ten thousand in one round stung bitterly.

They began to shuffle the cards again.

Li Jinguo’s voice turned serious. “Wang Ping, Liu San, you two go bring some food to the kids locked in the basement. Make sure they don’t starve—we still need to sell them.”

“Got it.” Liu San nodded and stood up.

Wang Ping, still smarting from his big loss, was eager to win it back, but with the boss’s order, he had no choice but to obey. The food was just leftovers from their dinner, tossed together carelessly in a basin. They brought it down to the basement and opened the door, looking at the ten children inside.

All ten were covered in bruises, clear signs of abuse. When first brought here, they had cried for their parents, but the traffickers had beaten them so badly they no longer dared raise their voices.

Liu San set down the food. “Come eat, kids. This might be your last meal here. Tomorrow, you’ll be sold.”

The children, young as they were, understood enough to be terrified. At Liu San’s words, they began to sob quietly.

Wang Ping, already in a foul mood from his loss, lashed out, kicking one of the children and sending him sprawling. He snarled, “What are you crying for? Is your father dead, or your mother? Shut up and eat, or you’ll die here and ruin our sale.”

Thankfully, Wang Ping retained some sense—he knew they were merchandise. He hadn’t kicked with full force, or he might have killed the child outright. Even so, the boy was left gasping, nearly coughing up blood, his face ashen.

The other children, cowed by Wang Ping’s violence and the beatings they’d already endured, fell silent, quietly eating the messy scraps.

Wang Ping and Liu San, seeing the children eating, left the basement. As they closed the door, Wang Ping cursed, “Why is my luck so bad tonight? Damn it, I’m going to turn it around—I’ll win my money back from Li Tietou if it’s the last thing I do.”

Just then, from the darkness at the corner, two hands suddenly emerged.

They were pale, slender, and strong—heralds of death and darkness.

One hand gripped a bamboo chopstick. Swift as lightning, it struck.

With a low, sharp sound, the two chopsticks drove straight into the throats of Wang Ping and Liu San.

Wang Ping, still brooding over his gambling loss, was caught completely off guard. Before he could react, a chopstick pierced his throat. His eyes widened in shock; consciousness fled, and he collapsed to the floor as blood spurted out.

Liu San, more alert, noticed the attack the moment the chopsticks appeared. He tried to dodge to the right, but the deadly bamboo shifted course like a bolt of lightning, stabbing into his throat as well.

Clutching at his neck in a desperate attempt to stop the blood, Liu San’s strength ebbed away. He crumpled to the ground.

Death came swiftly.

Had anyone been able to see in the gloom, they would have glimpsed a figure stepping out—a person wearing a strange mask of the Monkey King. He moved lightly, catching the bodies of Wang Ping and Liu San before they could hit the ground and make a noise that might alert the others.

With great care, the masked man dragged their bodies into a shadowy corner, covering them with a cloth he’d found somewhere.

His movements were gentle as a whisper.

Then, the man in the Monkey King mask melted back into the darkness, waiting in ambush for the next unsuspecting trafficker to stumble into his trap.

If the others didn’t return, it would only be a matter of time before another trafficker came, unwittingly delivering himself into the net that had been cast.

(The next chapter will be updated around six in the evening.)