Chapter 24: The Curse of Purification
Something big happened in Melon Village; the melons no longer tasted sweet.
The respected elder of the village, an old man with a gray beard, sat in a chair under the shade of a tree, closing his eyes to rest for a moment. After a while, he felt a heaviness in his chest as if three melons were pressing down on him.
He initially thought something was weighing on his chest. When he opened his eyes, he saw a large bulge there, bigger than his head.
The old man with the gray beard thought he was dreaming and extended his wrinkled right hand to grab it. It felt soft and elastic; he thought someone had stuffed something inside him and pulled at it from under his clothes.
A large chunk of white fatty flesh came out. His chicken-like hand sank into the fat, sharp nails digging painfully into the flesh.
It was his own flesh!
Just as the old man was trying to make sense of what was happening, several villagers passed by and stared at the old man, who, within one hour, had developed impressive chest muscles. The ignorant rural farmers had never seen such a scene and felt disgusted and terrified, yelling out:
“Monster!”
“The old man has grown huge breasts!”
“Cow man.”
The old man’s muddled mind suddenly cleared up. He looked at the bulging, flabby flesh in panic and clenched it tightly, pulling fearfully.
Two pieces of fat were quickly stretched out.
An indescribable pain surged up, causing the old man’s tears to flow, and his elderly face turned red.
The chunky white fat was fused with the frail, withered body of the old man, and for the “simple” villagers, the shock was akin to having their foreheads rammed by an angry bull.
They turned away, hastily leaving while shouting:
“The old man with the gray beard has grown big breasts!”
“Bigger than a cow’s.”
“Disgusting, ugh ugh.”
Today, due to the visit of the holy army, nearly all villagers were forced to stay in the village to prevent looting by the troops, and boredom set in. These remarks spread through the village like sparks falling on dry grass. The villagers gathered in groups to see the commotion, even the guard dogs followed the crowd.
The old man with the gray beard knew something was wrong. He struggled to push himself off the chair, wanting to stand up and retreat into his house. Gripping his cane with both hands, he shuffled toward his door, but with two large burdens added to his chest, he lost his balance and fell face-first to the ground.
Falling at his age was serious, but fortunately, the two burdens served as cushions; he fell to the ground, and only the small stones embedded into the fat caused him a bit of pain, enough for him to turn around, presenting his newfound “muscular chest” to the onlooking villagers, causing it to jiggle under their gazes.
A scream erupted, rushing toward him from all directions.
The old man with the gray beard managed to lift his head slightly and saw that the spectators surrounded him so tightly that not even water could leak through.
The crowd was filled with surprise, disgust, panic, and confusion. A middle-aged plump woman bit her hand, while a man next to her widened his eyes, muttering, “It’s even bigger than a cow’s.” A child clutched his mother’s skirt, exclaiming, “Mom, Mom, so ugly, so ugly.”
The old man’s turbid eyes were filled with tears as he shouted, “Don’t look, don’t look.”
Afterward, he struggled with trembling hands, trying to pull his clothes up to cover the fleshy chest. But he lacked the strength, and no matter how he tugged, he couldn’t pull it up.
Finally, someone couldn’t bear to watch anymore, stepped in, helped him up, seated him on the chair, and reached over to help pull his shirt up.
But the fleshy chest was reluctant to go back after making such an appearance, and multiple attempts failed. The kind-hearted person couldn’t keep watching the chest and turned away, frustrated, tugging ineffectively a few more times.
“Crack!”
The coarse cloth garment tore apart under the scrutiny of all.
“Wow!”
The crowd gasped in shock. Even a young man who had witnessed his father being sacrificed to the beastmen yesterday forgot his grief.
The old man’s face turned scarlet, crying out, “Don’t look, don’t look.”
Tears streamed down.
Finally, someone thought to find a piece of clothing to cover him. But the scene was chaotic, people crowded together, all wanting to get a glimpse. The old man sat helplessly in his chair, tears streaming down his face.
After what felt like the most embarrassing and torturous twenty minutes of his life, he finally received something to cover himself with, hiding his whiteness.
The garment was brought by his old partner, who immediately started crying when she arrived.
Someone voiced the thoughts of the onlookers: “What on earth is happening?”
“Is it contagious?”
As soon as the words were spoken, the crowd immediately stepped back, stopping about ten paces from the old man with the gray beard. Although the distance between them increased, it only allowed more people to see.
People began to discuss animatedly; some claimed it was a sickness, while others asserted that the old man was turning into a beastman—a rare cow man. Some feared it might be contagious, suggesting it should be burned like a plague. Others proposed keeping him around as a real cow—if he could produce milk.
The old man was frightened. If he couldn’t provide a convincing explanation, the next step would…
He hurriedly said, “It must be the despicable outsiders who are causing this. We should keep the doors tightly shut; whenever outsiders show up, it’s never good news.”
“They must have some disease, especially that long-legged elf with white hair; there’s definitely something strange about them…”
The villagers couldn’t help but recall the incident over ten years ago when a homeless person they took in claimed he was healthy, and soon several villagers fell ill, eventually dying bedridden. The enraged villagers burned the house along with the homeless man.
Given the elder’s high status, many believed his words.
The old man’s eyes glimmered. He felt that George was friendly, unlike the military leader who often resorted to pillaging and killing. Seizing the opportunity, he said, “We must demand an explanation from them!”
Fueled by righteous indignation, the crowd noisily made their way to the village entrance, with two villagers supporting the old man with his ample chest, trailing behind. The rest of the crowd subconsciously kept a “social distance” from him.
As the gates of Melon Village opened, the crowd surged out, but they began to slow down, with the old man leading the way.
Before them stood a small military encampment that had mysteriously risen outside the village, with only one wooden wall left to be erected. Behind the gap were neatly arranged tents, and in front of the tents stood spears and swords, while shields were lined up around the tents.
Suddenly, the bravado of the crowd dissipated as they realized they were facing a disciplined army.
Someone remarked, “What if they take this opportunity to attack us once we’re outside?”
The crowd halted immediately, and the old man urged them to return for weapons to bolster their courage. The villagers armed themselves with pitchforks, flails, bows, long knives, and shields—few had armor, and the surrounding atmosphere became loud.
Now, they felt they had the confidence for negotiations.
The old man with the gray beard took the lead: “Let us pass.”
However, after only a few steps, someone shouted, “He’s growing horns, he’s growing horns!”
The villagers supporting the old man also stopped.
The old man asked, “Why are you stopping?”
A terrified villager beside him pointed at his head and said, “Your head.”
At that, they lost their grip on the old man, and the group scattered, pointing pitchforks and knives at him.
“Are you planning to kill an old man?” the gray-bearded elder said, trembling as he raised his hand and touched his head, only to find horns protruding there.
“You are turning into a beastman!”
“It’s a cow man.”
Pitchforks moved closer.
“Do you not recognize me anymore?” the gray-bearded elder lamented, tears streaming down his face, “I held you when you were little. You, your father was my most beloved son, and…”
The crowd hesitated for a moment.
A young man said, “My father also said similar things after he was chosen yesterday.”
He remembered how his father, after being selected, pleaded desperately for a reprieve but was eventually bound like a pig and taken to the forest.
The old man fell silent as he realized that, for fairness, he had drawn lots himself. He would never be chosen since the villagers wouldn’t send an elder to be sacrificed to the beastmen, reasoning that beastmen did not eat old men.
“You said sending someone to the beastmen would keep us safe; no one would give birth to beastmen!”
“You said the goddess would protect us.”
The pitchforks drew closer.
Just then, a relunctant voice rang out from the crowd, “It must be him, he has been cursed as a sacrifice to the beastmen.”
To their surprise, amidst the chaotic noise, the villagers heard that voice.
“Quickly look, he has grown horns on his head too.”
The crowd parted to reveal another farmer with horns on his head, panicking as he pressed his hands against his continually growing horns.
“He was one of the people who carried the sacrifice yesterday!”
The villagers immediately turned their focus back to the second person who had carried the sacrifice the day before, who was also a strong farmer now with horns sprouting from his head before he could explain himself.
Panicked villagers shouted, “A curse! This is a curse!”
“He must have died in great pain, cursing the entire village.”
“What are you waiting for? Hurry and drive them away!”
Someone forcefully poked the back of the gray-bearded elder with a stick, and before he could cry out against the disrespect, he fell again, thanks to his fleshy chest cushioning the fall.
“Drive them away! Drive them away!”
Under the thrashing of sticks, the remaining two “cursed” beastmen were also pushed beside the old man.
“Wait, wait.” The old man with the gray beard cried out, waving his hands from the ground, “Go call the holy knights; they must have a way to remove the curse.”
The villagers, unsure, hesitated.
The old man hurriedly added, “He is a servant of the good lord; the army is civilized and courteous, they do not steal or pillage; they will certainly have a method to lift the curse. If you drive us away, who can guarantee that the curse won’t spread throughout the village?”
The last sentence was a subtle threat. Since one person had been taken as a sacrifice and could curse three people as they died, the curses from these three abandoned souls might drag down nine people. If things continued this way, no one in the village would be spared.
The villagers tentatively believed him, and someone came over to help the old man up.
The old man took a breath, feeling as if he had survived a disaster; at least his face wasn’t as red.
A young man beside him said, “At this time, how is it that the outsiders are not despicable?”
The gray-bearded elder pretended not to hear, and his face turned red again.
Ten minutes later.
Outside the military camp, beneath a tree.
A black-haired girl named Jima bore a serious expression, one hand resting on her chin in deep thought. Beside her stood George, the “lord knight” feared by the villagers, leaning on his fearsome golden sword, fully armored, silencing a large group of militiamen as if they were a flock of sheep.
Three villagers with horns stood before her, anxiously watching Jima, who wore short sleeves and had a silver ring on her arm, looking like a beautiful and pure maiden without any horns.
Jima raised her head and took a step forward, making George seem like her attendant, “This is a bit difficult.”
The gray-bearded elder pleaded, “Please, just remove the curse, we’ll do anything.”
Jima shook her head, “Earlier, when I saw your skeletal tree and sensed the aura of a foul curse, I intended to warn you, but before I could, I was driven out of the village… Now it seems, it was fate’s arrangement.”
The old man cried out in despair, the flesh on his chest trembling, “I am old and blind; I offended you, please don’t be angry.”
“Although I cannot completely remove the curse, I can suppress it,” Jima said, “I can halt its spread, and I can remove the curse from the two young gentlemen, but for you…”
Jima deliberately dragged out the words.
The old man’s face turned pale, and he opened his mouth to speak.
Jima continued, “You may have to bear these breasts for the rest of your life.”
The old man’s face turned even whiter, “Ah?”
Jima spoke in a comforting tone:
“Look on the bright side; you won’t have to raise a cow anymore. In a few days, you’ll be able to produce milk for your grandson and even share it with your neighbors to foster relationships. Milking can also promote blood circulation, what a wonderful thing.”
The gray-bearded elder gasped and fainted on the spot. The two “bull-headed men” hurriedly caught him to prevent him from fainting again.
The villagers looked at Jima with hope.
Jima said, “I will do my best, but the price is a bit steep.”
“Master, please tell us.”
“Three chaste maidens, about fifteen years old—”
Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through her head. Jima covered her head and turned around, seeing George’s iron-gloved hand hovering above her head, his azure eyes from behind the barrel-shaped helmet fixed on her.
Oh no, I got too carried away and forgot that jerk George was watching me.
Jima continued to coax, “They just need to each pluck three leaves for me, and I need eight sheep, they must be tender lambs—”
The tingling sensation made her head spin, and without turning around, she knew that a certain unpleasant iron hand was getting closer.
She quickly changed her tune, “We will purchase them at a fair price because we will inject the curse into the lambs, conduct a sacred fire ritual, and consume them to digest the curse.”
The villagers’ gazes toward the outsiders shifted. What a wonderful girl; they truly are a good army.
Jima concluded, “I will do my best; I can only guarantee the curse will be suppressed and possibly cleared.”
The villagers were extremely grateful, selling Jima eight young sheep, a calf, and three castrated pigs at fair prices, while the chaste maidens brought three green leaves.
Jima initiated the ritual, holding a straight twig (which she had painstakingly picked up and treasured) in her right hand, circling around the three cursed villagers, while in her left hand, she held nine leaves, jumping left and right around them, muttering incomprehensible “incantations”:
“George is a big fool, George is a bad guy, you are all big dumbasses, big dumbasses, oh big dumbasses…”
Since this was spoken in Chinese, no one understood its meaning.
George watched Jima with amusement, finding her even more adorable and mischievous, wondering how she thought of such odd incantations on the fly.
Jima leaped in front of the terrified old man, shouting in Chinese: “Idiot strike!”
With that, she brought down the twig onto the old man’s chest, causing him to cry out in pain.
“Curse be gone!”
She then struck the old man on his backside, causing him to tumble for the third time.
Jima delivered a sharp slap to the remaining two on their backsides, then handed each three leaves and said, “Quick, eat these and chew them; the curse will be dispelled.”
The three promptly gnawed at the leaves, chewing hard.
Jima then yanked a few strands of hair from the old man’s head, blew towards the animal herd, and shouted, “Evil curse, leave quickly, leave quickly!”
“Mee~~~”
The lambs regarded Jima with confusion.
“Bala bala bala great holy stick!” Jima raised the twig, which shone with white light.
Under the white glow, the crowd was astonished to see the horns of the three shrinking back at a visibly rapid speed.
The old man felt significantly lighter, pressing his hands down only to find his chest muscles were gone, and he was filled with joy, tears flowing once more as he stood up to express his boundless gratitude towards Jima:
“You truly are my benefactor, kind soul!”
Having said that, he unexpectedly knelt down to bow, and George quickly helped him up so he wouldn’t kneel.
Choking back tears, the old man said to Jima, “Thank you! Thank you!”
“Alright, the effect is good,” Jima said, her face serious, “Next, we will hold a sacred fire purification ritual to cleanse these beasts; you are completely fine now, and the follow-up will be our responsibility.”
With that, she turned to the mesmerized soldiers standing by and said, “Get a few people to kill the sheep, cow, and pigs, remove all the dirty intestines, and prepare the sacred cumin and charcoal to light a holy fire.”
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Three more updates are still owed.
