Chapter Sixty-Nine: Racing Against Time

Since everything was reasonable, legal, and compliant, Peng Liang, who could understand Censor Zhang, couldn’t quite figure out what their own lord was doing here. Especially coming in disguise.

Di Yingwen, upon hearing the question, simply raised a hand and pushed a plate of melon seeds toward Peng Liang, then lowered his head to continue sipping his tea.

Peng Liang was speechless. Was the lord annoyed by his incessant questions? Was he? Was he?

Fine, he’d just treat it as watching a spectacle and broadening his horizons. So Peng Liang stopped asking and turned his head to look around.

Before long, the seats upstairs and downstairs were filled. Just then, a gong sounded from the high platform, signaling the start of the “show.”

The man in charge of the auction was a rotund, short, and chubby middle-aged fellow, very ordinary in appearance, looking like a lump of flesh. Yet his mouth was exceptionally glib, and he was adept at stirring up the crowd. Coupled with his comical figure, a few words from him sent ripples of laughter through the audience, both above and below.

The chubby auctioneer wasted no time. He signaled to the attendants, who brought out a cage and carried it around the platform, walking back and forth along a small wooden “bridge” so that everyone, from any angle, could clearly see what was inside—a child.

A clean, pretty little boy of about seven years old.

The iron cage was narrow. The boy’s head was stuck at the top, while his lower body was squeezed upright inside. He couldn’t even crouch, let alone shrink his neck.

Everyone could clearly see the boy’s face and body, but most overlooked his trembling legs and the terror and fear in his eyes.

What Di Ying noticed more was the faint glimmer of hope still lingering in those eyes.

His hands trembled, making it hard to hold the teacup. He set it down, withdrawing both hands into his sleeves.

The esteemed guests had begun bidding.

At this point, enthusiasm wasn’t high. Though the boy was beautiful, only a handful made offers. Soon, someone bought him for ten taels of silver—a lecherous-looking old man.

After that, cage after cage was brought out and displayed. One by one, delicate, cute, beautiful, clever boys and girls were paraded, pushing the auction house’s atmosphere to one climax after another.

In the open yard behind the auction house, a manager, dressed in the attire of a shopkeeper, bustled among many cages.

He walked to one cage, shoved a boy inside and locked it, while urging a dozen attendants, “Move faster. Release the ones that have been sold, line them up over there to be delivered to their buyers after the auction. Speed up the process here too—thirty-five remain unsold.”

The attendants responded, quickening their pace. They unclipped the locks at the children’s necks, then the sides of the cages, and with a pull, the cage would splay flat on the ground. One attendant would pull and push the released child to stand along the courtyard wall.

The children, briefly freed, made no attempt to escape or cry out. They obediently, trembling, lined up there—one after another. Having been “trained,” they dared not take even a single step more than allowed; they didn’t even dare to cry.

A six-year-old girl, after being let out, was shoved by an attendant and fell, so terrified she wet herself.

The attendant barked at her, then drew a long, cold needle from his sleeve and stabbed it into the girl’s leg.

In a flash of lightning, an even colder, sharper gleam swept through the air, sudden and deadly. It sliced off the attendant’s hand holding the needle—arm and all.

The attendant barely had time to scream before his eyes saw his own feet—and also several dark figures descending from above, and a head meeting his face to face.

The manager, startled by the sudden attack, tried to run but was stabbed through the back before he could take a second step.

Everything happened in silence—swift and violent.

Yet, even as the bloody scene erupted, none of the children at the wall moved a step or uttered a sound, not even the briefest cry of alarm.

They stood as if carved from clay or wood, their small faces frozen and blank, watching the carnage unfold. Some were splattered with blood, even in their eyes, yet none dared shed a tear.

It broke the hearts of the ten guards watching.

But time was short.

With the villains slain, five guards stayed to quickly release the remaining children, deftly unclipping the locks as the attendants had done before. The other five sprang up to perch on the wall.

Peng Liang sheathed his sword, grabbed each child, and tossed them to the guards on the wall, who caught them and passed them down outside.

The children’s silence, their lack of screams or cries, unexpectedly became an advantage at this moment. The cloths Peng Liang’s group had prepared to muffle them were rendered unnecessary.

They worked swiftly, but it still wasn’t enough—they had to be faster, much faster. All eighty-eight children had to be evacuated in the shortest time possible!

Inside the building, the lord’s voice could be heard bidding—he was buying them time.

But eventually, the sound of the gavel falling and the guests’ raucous laughter reached them. That meant no further bidding—the transaction was closed, and attendants would soon come to the back to exchange “goods.”

Faster! They had to be faster!

Sweat beaded on Peng Liang’s brow, his arms beginning to tremble from strain.

At that tense moment, the curtain separating the building from the backyard was lifted, and a wave of heated air rolled into the yard.

The lanterns under the eaves swayed in the draft.

Under the raised curtain, the attendants carrying the cages entered; one at the rear reached to drop the curtain.

But another said, “Leave it up or we won’t be able to see properly as we come in.”

Peng Liang’s fingers tightened on his blade.

The attendant in front said, “Leave it up? Those sharp-eyed servants of the guests will notice if the children aren’t well cared for and cause trouble! Hurry up, come in, and let the curtain down!”

So the attendant let go, and the light dimmed as the curtain fell.

As their eyes adjusted from bright to dim, the four attendants carrying cages hesitated, pausing to let their vision clear.