The Faith and Salt

The heavy, rhythmic thud of a meat cleaver chopping through bone echoed from the kitchen downstairs.

Thin, dark rivulets of blood trickled off the edge of the chopping board.

A live fish was being hacked to pieces; the tavern owner handled the blade himself, throwing generous splashes of salt into the boiling soup.

Upstairs, Xiao Yan sat cross-legged in the darkness of the attic, his raw skin caked in a thick layer of wet clay.

Through a broken floorboard in the corner, he had a clear view of the wharf below.

The docks were entirely deserted—those soldiers had fled long ago, likely scattering even faster than the thugs.

Down in the main room, the landlady cast a nervous glance toward the ceiling, whispering in hushed tones with the waiter.

Xiao Yan could not catch their exact words, but he knew precisely what they were discussing—he had grown accustomed to it over the years.

He shifted his gaze out through the gap in the wooden planks, staring into the night and the heavy clouds.

The moon was nearly hidden, good.

Looking out at the empty sentry post and the faint, unnatural luminescence glowing within the river, his expression darkened.

A few mud crabs crept out from the rotting pilings of the wharf, sending small clusters of bubbles to the murky surface.

For crabs, that treacherous, glowing river had been its only home, no matter how foul it seemed.

Xiao Yan frowned slightly, staring down at his own scared body.

A short while later, Xiao Yan walked down from the attic.

Though traces of dry clay still clung to him, his skin had already grown back completely—fresh and unmarked, like a young girl’s, drawing a look of sheer astonishment from the landlady.

Picking up his belongings, Xiao Yan nodded to the villagers who had been guarding the shirtless leader.

The man looked as though he had just been thoroughly beaten by the locals; he was curling on the floor, groaning in pain.

And the villagers grimaced as they looked at Xiao Yan. "What do you plan to do with him?"

Instead of answering, Xiao Yan crouched down, pulled out a small pouch of homemade herbs, and tossed it to the thug leader. "Press it against the bruises. It will dull the ache."

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The bare-chested man looked up at Xiao Yan with cautious eyes before picking up the herbs and pressing them against his swollen shoulder.

"Why turn to banditry?" Xiao Yan asked.

The thug's tongue was still heavily swollen from the beating, his words thick and clumsy, as though his mouth were full of wool.

"Because..." he struggled to articulate, "there's no other way to make a living."

"No family?"

The man nodded.

"Not a single one left?"

The man's eyes were dull and gray. He nodded numbly again.

"The census registry you carry on you—who gave it to you?" Xiao Yan demanded.

He shook his head in genuine confusion.

Xiao Yan reached down and yanked a thick registry booklet from the man's waistband.

He flipped it open, revealing columns of dense, tightly packed grids that looked like the scales of a fish.

"This."

The leader closed his eyes tightly, his body trembling slightly. "If I speak, I am a dead man."

After a whispered consultation with the villagers, Zheng Laosi was shoved forward to speak for the crowd.

"You should kill him anyway," Zheng Laosi said, gesturing toward the captive leader.

"Why?"

Zheng Laosi blinked, clearly caught off guard by the question. "You're a slaughter, aren't you? Why do you care what happens to these bad people?"

"I'm under imperial orders to kill monsters, not humans."

"Fine, fine, play the saint if you like," Zheng Laosi muttered. "We won't dirty your hands. We'll finish him off ourselves, alright?"

"If you beat him to death, the world will have one less human," Xiao Yan said, putting a heavy, deliberate emphasis on the word human. "One who might have helped you defend this village against the monsters."

Zheng Laosi’s resolve wavered. He turned his head back, exchanging a hesitant glance with the conflicted villagers behind him.

"It knows..." the shirtless leader muttered suddenly, his eyes widening into a stare of pure terror.

"What?" Xiao Yan asked, leaning closer. "Who knows?"

The tattooed dragon on the man's shoulder suddenly began to squirm beneath his skin, triggering a sharp, agonizing shriek from his throat.

"Help... help me..." he wheezed, stretching out a trembling hand.

The dragon slithered down to his chest and plunged violently deep into his flesh.

The leader’s body gave one violent convulsion, and dark, thick blood erupted simultaneously from his eyes, nose, ears, and mouth.

Onlookers scrambled backward in horror, clearing a wide space around the corpse.

Only Xiao Yan remained, crouching silently beside the dead man.

He stared at the pooling blood on the floorboards with grim frustration before bringing a heavy, clenched fist down against his own thigh.

"What now?" Zheng Laosi asked from behind.

"I need to find a friend in Yangzhou."

"A friend?" Laosi sounded genuinely surprised.

"Yes."

Zheng Laosi hesitated. "I'm no big shot," he said, "but if you ever need help, come find me at Snowflake Village."

Xiao Yan glanced at the sturdy farmer, taking in this sudden kindness. "Thank you."

He turned to leave.

"We just finished making fish soup," the landlady called out. "Won't you eat before going?"

Moonlight had already been swallowed by clouds.

A solid mass of black stretched all the way to distant hills.

Xiao Yan raised a hand, waved dismissively, muttered a brief thanks, and walked straight into the dark.

Fish drifted in dark water below.

He made camp a short distance away, concealing himself in the deep shadow of clustered boulders.

From there, he kept clear sight of both tavern and wharf, watching for trouble.

Across the river, a pale girl hid behind a salt warehouse, staring silently toward Xiao Yan’s camp.

Her hair was heavily pinned and bound with red cords.

Her face remained completely blank.

A terrifying, bloody light glowed in her eyes.