Fu Yang walked up to Shin Tian, his steps small, his posture bent as if the weight of hunger itself pressed him down. His voice came out low, soft, almost like a timid child who had been caught doing something wrong.
"Give me food… I'm hungry."
For a moment, Shin Tian blinked, clearly surprised. Then, like a wolf spotting easy prey, his lips twisted into a crooked smile. He leaned back, savoring the moment, before reaching into a bag and pulling something out. Without hesitation, he extended his hand, his voice filled with exaggerated kindness.
"Here you go, little boy."
Fu Yang bowed deeply, his shoulders trembling as if his gratitude could barely be contained. When he raised his eyes again, there was an innocence there, sweet and sticky, almost too perfect, like honey dripping from a broken comb. His voice quivered as though he stood at the edge of tears.
"Mmm… mmm… you're so good, sir. You've helped everyone… and you've helped me so many times. Wuu, wuuu… I want to repay this kindness, but I can't."
The villagers, who had been chatting and laughing nearby, turned at the sound of his broken voice. Their gazes softened at once. In their eyes, Fu Yang was nothing but a pitiful orphan boy, clinging desperately to a shred of compassion in a cruel world.
Shin Tian's heart stirred—not with pity, but with lust and ambition. He could sense the opportunity blooming before him like a poisonous flower. If he played this right, he could not only win more admiration from the villagers but also pull this pitiful child into his own circle. His tongue flicked across his lips in a quick, almost serpentine gesture, betraying the hunger behind his smile.
Patting Fu Yang's head, Shin Tian bent down, his voice dripping with false warmth.
"Oh, poor child. Why face this hardship alone? Share it with me."
Dropping to one knee, he met Fu Yang's eyes directly, as though sealing a bond between them.
"I will help you. Right now, in fact. Why not join my group? You'll not only be cared for but also learn to help others."
His grin widened unnaturally, the corners of his mouth pulling taut.
"Repay kindness with kindness—that's what we should do, isn't it? Isn't it?"
Fu Yang lifted his head, his expression bright with pure earnestness. His voice rang out clear, as if every word was carved from sincerity itself.
"Thank you, sir. You're the kindest person I've met in this village. I'm willing to join your group, and I promise I'll work hard."
Shin Tian's laughter burst out, sharp and loud.
"Good, good! Hahaha!" He clapped his hands, turning to the crowd. "Ryo! Oi, Ryo—come here!"
A boy a little older than Fu Yang hurried over. His eyes flickered nervously, darting between Shin Tian and Fu Yang. That fear did not escape Fu Yang's notice.
"Take this child to the Bamboo taravan. Give him food and clothes," Shin Tian commanded.
Ryo nodded quickly, reaching out to grab Fu Yang's hand. His touch was cold, trembling, but firm as he led the boy away.
Fu Yang allowed himself to be pulled, but as they left the circle of onlookers, he glanced back over his shoulder. For a brief second, his expression shifted—his lips curled into a cold, deadly smile, one that sliced through the mask of innocence like a knife. Then, as quick as it appeared, it vanished, and he disappeared into the shadows of the crowd.
Back in the square, the villagers cheered loudly for Shin Tian. They clapped his shoulders, praised his generosity, and whispered among themselves about his boundless kindness. Shin Tian basked in their admiration, soaking it in as though it were his birthright.
"It was simply the right thing to do," he told them, smiling like a benevolent saint.
The festival carried on, growing wilder as the night deepened. Children played in the square, women danced in colorful skirts that shimmered beneath torchlight, and cultivators sparred, their strikes lighting the air with bursts of energy that dazzled the crowd. Drums pounded, wine poured, and laughter echoed across the village.
Yet, Shin Tian's thoughts drifted. No matter how brightly the festival burned, his focus kept returning to that fragile boy with the grateful eyes. Soon, he excused himself quietly. When asked why he was leaving so early, he simply sighed.
"I'm just too tired. I need to rest."
With that, he slipped away from the noise and made his way toward the Bamboo taravan.
The Bamboo taravan stood at the edge of the village, tucked into a corner where shadows pooled. The two-story structure was built entirely from thick bamboo stalks, its walls bound tight with rope, its design both simple and sturdy. But despite its solid appearance, it carried an air of isolation, as though it belonged apart from the rest of the village.
Inside, Fu Yang sat in a room, his small body draped in new clothes. His skin was still warm from the bath, and the faint scent of herbal soap clung to him. He looked down at himself and smiled faintly.
"At last. I'm inside the taravan, far from the market. No one will know what happened here."
He rose slowly, walking to the door. With deliberate care, he pulled it shut and turned the lock. The click echoed through the bamboo halls.
Inside the room he had just left, Ryo's lifeless body lay sprawled across the floor. His arms were twisted at unnatural angles, his fingernails torn clean out, and his face was locked in a mask of frozen horror. The boy's wide eyes stared blankly at the ceiling, as though death had come too suddenly to understand.
Fu Yang's expression did not change as he stepped away. Instead, he began to search the taravan. His movements were precise, his eyes sharp, as if he already knew what he was looking for. Soon, his hand pressed against a bamboo wall, and he felt it—the faintest hollow echo.
There was a secret.
It took time, but eventually he found it: a hidden entrance, small enough that only a child could crawl through. No ordinary man would have noticed. No wonder the Tian family never questioned Shin Tian's darker deeds. The entrance was invisible to them, and only someone like Fu Yang could enter.
Without hesitation, Fu Yang dropped to the ground and crawled inside. The tunnel was narrow, forcing his body against the bamboo on all sides. His breath echoed as he pulled himself forward, inch by inch, through the suffocating darkness. The passage stretched on, nearly fifteen feet long, but he pressed on without fear.
At last, he emerged into a hidden chamber.
And there, in the dim light, he saw exactly what he had expected.
Three little frogs sat on the floor, their bodies curled as if in deep sleep. Their chests rose and fell slowly, as though they were lost in a state of hibernation.
Fu Yang's lips curved into a knowing smile. His eyes glinted, cold and sharp.
"So… it really was here."