37: Chapter 37 Selling Oneself to Bury Mother

The north wind of Qingzhou carried grit, lashing against Ding Qing's sharply defined face.

He was bare-chested, his bronze skin gleaming with a cold, metallic luster under the dim sky.

Nine deep, Body-Suppressing Black Patterns lay dormant beneath his bulging muscles, slowly pulsating with his breath, like nine sleeping black Dragons.

In stark contrast to this fierce body was the tightly wrapped swaddling cloth in the crook of his left arm, made of rough animal hide.

The infant was fast asleep, its small face buried against his rock-solid chest, only a few wisps of soft baby hair visible.

He had left the dilapidated temple where the Nameless Blade-Wielder was buried.

He had also completely shaken off the heavy 'responsibility' and 'prudence' of the Old Daoist in Yellow Robes.

The Old Daoist's path was to follow established remnants, seeking a glimmer of light amidst the echoes of despair.

But Ding Qing's path was to wield a sharp blade, cleave through Chaos, and personally forge a new trajectory!

The infant in his arms was the 'blade embryo' he had chosen.

He intended to bring this future blade to stir this turbulent era, to personally experience its cruelty, and to absorb its nourishment.

This dilapidated small town on the border of Qingzhou was the first place he arrived.

The town's name was 'Panshi,' but it had long since weathered to the point of collapse.

The city walls were mottled, with gaps everywhere, and the faded 'Zhou' royal banner on the wall fluttered tattered in the harsh wind.

The city gates were wide open, unguarded by soldiers.

Only a few sallow-faced, emaciated vagrants huddled in the corner, their eyes numb and empty.

The air was filled with dust, poor-quality coal smoke, animal feces, and a persistent, restless Qi.

The streets were filthy, with sewage flowing everywhere.

Most shops on both sides were deserted, and even those that were open had shopkeepers and assistants with listless expressions.

Only in front of a few mud walls adorned with strange symbols did crowds of fervent or fearful people gather.

He overheard several people in grey cloth robes whispering about 'the Arrival of the Age of Dharma Decline,' 'Holy Fire Burning the World,' and 'joining our Holy Sect to escape the sea of suffering'—sheer nonsense.

The seeds of cults were wildly sprouting in this land that had lost its order.

Ding Qing held the child, his tall and robust figure wrapped in a simple fur coat, his bare feet treading on the cold bluestone slabs, each step carrying the solemnity of a mountain.

His hat brim was pulled low, the shadow obscuring the upper half of his face, revealing only his tightly pressed, sharply chiseled jawline.

He exuded a fierce Evil Qi that kept people away, like a walking humanoid Vicious Beast.

Wherever he passed, the bustling market seemed to be cleaved open by an invisible force.

Pedestrians and vendors alike fell silent and glanced sideways, instinctively avoiding him. Even the fervent grey-robed preachers showed a hint of imperceptible dread when their gazes swept over him.

Just then, a commotion, neither too loud nor too soft, came from the street corner ahead, accompanied by a deliberately raised, tearful, mournful female voice.

"Mother... how could you leave your daughter and go... Your unfilial daughter doesn't even have money to buy you a thin coffin... Mother..."

Where the crowd gathered, a tattered straw mat lay on the ground, covered by a patched grey cloth, beneath which a human silhouette was visible.

Presumably, it was the deceased mother.

A young woman knelt beside the straw mat, crying profusely.

She wore a coarse cloth dress, also faded and patched, yet it could not conceal her graceful figure.

Her face, though stained with tears and some deliberately smudged soot, still revealed picturesque features.

Especially her eyes, watery and now brimming with tears, made her appear even more delicate and pitiable, inviting sympathy.

However, deep within those eyes, there was a hint of mischievousness and... sharpness that seemed out of place with the sorrowful scene.

In front of the woman, a sharpened wooden stick was stuck in the ground, with a torn cloth hanging from its tip, on which four large characters were crookedly written: 'Selling oneself to bury a mother.'

"Alas, how pitiful..."

"Indeed, such a beautiful girl..."

"This world, it drives people to death..."

The onlookers discussed amongst themselves, mostly with sympathy and sighs.

Ding Qing stopped, not moved by the crying.

His eyes, sharp as blade edges, instantly pierced through the facade of sorrow and landed on the 'corpse' beneath the straw mat.

Breathing!

Extremely faint, almost covered by the woman's wailing and the sound of the wind.

But how keen were Ding Qing's five senses, tempered by Iron Cloth Shirt Nine Gates Great Perfection and honed in life-and-death struggles?

He clearly detected the regular and deliberate slight rise and fall beneath the straw mat.

That was definitely not the movement a dead person's chest should make.

And when the woman wailed, her eyes occasionally darted quickly over the onlookers.

Especially the reactions of those who were dressed a bit more decently; there was scrutiny and... a hint of imperceptible cunning in her gaze.

A play.

A meticulously staged 'selling oneself to bury a mother' drama.

A mocking smile played on Ding Qing's lips.

Such a trick, was it merely to gain sympathy and extract money?

Or even... to lure certain 'benevolent people' with peculiar fetishes.

Just as he was about to lift his foot and leave this boring farce, the infant in the swaddling cloth in his arms seemed to be disturbed by the surrounding noise, squirming restlessly and letting out a tiny whimper.

Ding Qing instinctively lowered his head.

His huge hand adjusted the animal hide, his movements carrying a gentle touch that was almost stiff, completely contrary to his fierce demeanor.

His rough knuckles gently brushed the infant's delicate cheek, conveying a stable and warm Qi.

The child quickly quieted down.

This tiny interaction, however, fell into the eyes of the kneeling woman.

She raised her tear-filled eyes and looked towards Ding Qing.

The stark contrast between the tall, fierce, bare-footed man exuding an aura of desperation and the infant in his arms instantly captivated her gaze.

Especially the eyes that were revealed from under the shadow of his hat when Ding Qing lowered his head.

Cold, profound.

Like an abyss containing lava.

Yet, when he looked at the infant, a hint of indescribable solemnity flickered.

That was definitely not the gaze a common vagrant or bandit should possess!

An alarm subtly rang in the woman's heart.

A hint of curiosity and probing was quietly stirred.

She cried even louder, leaning slightly forward as if heartbroken and about to collapse onto her 'mother'.

Yet, her peripheral vision remained fixed on Ding Qing, with a hint of inquiry.

"Make way! Everyone, make way! Steward Li is here!"

Several shouts came from behind the crowd, accompanied by the clatter of horse-drawn carriages.

The onlookers hastily parted to clear a path.

A somewhat presentable blue cloth carriage, surrounded by several household Guards, drove up.

The curtain was lifted, revealing the face of a portly middle-aged man dressed in silk and wearing a steward's hat.

This man had a fair complexion, was well-maintained, with a neatly trimmed three-strand beard, and a deliberately benevolent smile on his face.

It was none other than Steward Li Degui, the renowned philanthropist of Panshi City.

Steward Li's gaze swept over the crowd and naturally fell upon the kneeling, weeping, stunningly beautiful woman.

When he clearly saw the woman's appearance and figure, his eyes instantly burst forth with undisguised greedy light, like a hungry wolf seeing a delicious lamb.

His lecherous nature, hidden beneath that benevolent smile, was exposed.

"Oh my, such a tragic affair in this world!"

Steward Li's voice was loud, with a compassionate tone, as he alighted from the carriage with the help of his household servants.

He quickly walked to the woman, bent down, and said with concern:

"Girl, don't cry, don't cry! The dead cannot be brought back to life, please accept your sorrow and move on!"

The woman raised her tear-filled eyes, as if clutching at a life-saving straw.

"Esteemed Steward... I beg you, please have mercy and lend this humble girl a few taels of silver to bury my mother... This humble girl, Qiu Shuzhen, is willing to work like an ox or a horse to repay your great kindness!"

She stated her name, her voice mournful and sincere.

"Qiu Shuzhen... A good name, a good name!"

Steward Li's eyes narrowed into a slit as he smiled, his gaze raking over Qiu Shuzhen's curvaceous figure several times, then he patted his chest and declared:

"Girl, rest assured! I, Li, cannot bear to see such tragedies. This matter of burying your mother, leave it to me. I will ensure your mother is honorably laid to rest!"

He then instructed his household servants:

"Someone! Quickly go to the coffin shop, buy a good quality fir wood coffin, and find a geomantically auspicious burial ground. This girl's mother is now my, Li Degui's, relative!"

The household servants responded and departed. Qiu Shuzhen repeatedly kowtowed, brimming with gratitude:

"Thank you, Esteemed Steward! Thank you for your great kindness! Shuzhen... Shuzhen has no way to repay you..."

She perfectly displayed excitement and a hint of shyness.

"As for you, girl..."

Steward Li smiled, reaching out to help Qiu Shuzhen up, his fingers almost touching her arm.

"Since you've sold yourself to bury your mother, you are now a member of my Li family. First, come back to my mansion with me. After your mother's funeral arrangements, we'll choose an auspicious day..."