Chapter 20 – The City of Shalin
In the wilderness near the small town, an abandoned and collapsed earthen house welcomed an unexpected guest. Sharkskin boots stepped over the decaying threshold and into the dimly lit interior, where their owner stopped. Sunlight streaming through a hole in the roof fell on his shoulder but did not illuminate his face, hidden deep within a hood.
In front of him lay a grass mat, overgrown with weeds, showing no signs of disturbance.
He carefully moved aside the mat, revealing a wooden cover leading to a basement, and bent down to pull it open. Oily air rushed out to greet him; he proceeded cautiously downwards and saw a rudimentary teleportation array in the basement.
Its worth could easily pay for the excavation of a thousand basements and the construction of a thousand earthen houses above them.
The unexpected guest jumped down into the basement, crouching beside the teleportation array to examine it closely.
“Long neglected, accuracy is lacking, but it can still be used.” His voice was hoarse, as he muttered to himself while writing in a notebook, “Compared to last time, no magic energy, someone used it not long ago… people from the Hall are here.”
He crawled out of the basement, closed the wooden cover, and stepped over the threshold. His attire stood out sharply in the wilderness, and as he stepped into the shadows, his form blurred, becoming like a gray mouse sneaking into the underbrush, difficult to detect.
Just as he was about to slip into the woods, a thin figure suddenly emerged from a tree shadow less than half a meter away, brandishing a curved dagger in each hand, lunging at him from the left and right.
Startled, he tensed up, rolled to the left, and reached for the short sword at his waist.
But it was too late; the close distance left no room to evade the blade. He felt a chill at his waist and throat as the sharp dagger plunged deep into his side, and his body tightened, losing strength and slipping from the sword’s hilt.
The attacker yanked the cold blade free and gave him a hard kick in the back. He fell to the ground, the intense pain making him instinctively open his mouth to yell, but only low wheezing sounds emerged, with bubbles of blood forming from his severed trachea.
He struggled to turn over, seeking clarity in death. He had spent twenty years in the underbelly of Shalin City, most proud of his stealth, often the one attacking others.
Who could possibly hide so close to him, less than half a meter away, without him noticing?
The attacker delivered a finishing blow, flipping him over, fulfilling his last wish.
Gray eyes reflected the figure of the thin man, and his eyes widened in shock, nearly popping out of their sockets. For a moment, he forgot the pain, forgot everything; his lips trembled as he desperately uttered:
“Gray… King?”
“Nice to meet you,” the Gray King said, plunging the dagger into him once more, tilting his neck, and ensuring he was dead.
The Gray King searched his body for a while, finding the notebook and whistling.
“I do like those who take notes.” His long fingers flipped through the pages, “People from the Hall are here?”
No sooner had he spoken than the Gray King’s figure began to fade away in the sunlight. A gust of wind brought a falling leaf that landed on the corpse’s wide-open eyes.
Vigilant birds continued chirping in the branches, and the wind swayed the limbs, causing the birds to suddenly jump and fly out of the woods.
As they passed a small creek, a bird lifted its tail, dropping a droppings that landed squarely on George’s helmet.
“Lucky it didn’t land on my head,” George said, standing there to rest.
“If you hadn’t taken off your helmet, that bird droppings wouldn’t have landed on it, let alone on your head,” Jima said, fishing a clean rag from the creek. “Come on, Lord George, hand over your helmet, and I’ll wipe it.”
They set off from the tavern at dawn. It would take just over a day to reach Shalin City. On the road, Jima consistently practiced how to serve as a squire, helping George don his armor, polish it, and tend to the horses.
George handed over his helmet, “Are you angry?”
Jima took the helmet, vigorously wiping away the fresh bird droppings, “Can’t I just relax a bit in private?”
“You’re a squire now.”
“Nobody’s watching,” Jima handed the helmet back to George, “Okay, I was just throwing a little tantrum, you won’t hold it against me, right?”
“Of course not, you’re quite adorable.”
Jima smiled, but the goosebumps on her neck betrayed her.
The great Demon King stooping to serve a warrior with menial tasks truly displeased Jima. But as she thought, love is built from little moments shared, her dissatisfaction dissipated significantly.
Of course, Jima hadn’t been struck by Cupid overnight. Instead, she realized that the best way to secure a steady supply of carnal desire was to toy with George’s feelings, making him fall in love with her.
Moreover, it also provided a way for revenge. Showing him her old photos, informing the clueless virgin that he had fallen for a man, pulling out something bigger than his own.
Thinking of this, Jima smiled, revealing her small canines.
“Jima? Jima? What amusing thoughts are you having?”
Jima hurriedly masked her smile, handing the helmet to George, saying, “I thought of something happy.”
“By the way, this is your squire’s salary.” George handed her a small bag.
Upon opening the flat little bag, Jima saw only seven silver coins inside and pouted. It had been a long time since she had used silver coins; she remembered when she first crossed into this other world, she had to save for years, using coins sparingly to eventually acquire silver.
“One silver coin a day,” George said, “We should get moving.”
“Sure.”
After Jima stowed the coins away, she and George continued on their journey.
The next morning.
The yellow-gray city walls of Shalin City appeared in their view, and the wind brought the salty scent of the sea. A stone road stretched toward the city gate, filled with horse-drawn carriages and people.
They stepped onto the uneven stone path and approached the city gate.
“Sir, the city entrance tax is two copper coins.” The guard examined them briefly and spoke politely.
Jima pulled out four copper coins from George’s pouch, simultaneously asking, “My lord has come from Bartor, visiting Shalin City for the first time. Can you tell us where the Fire District is?”
“The Fire District?” The guard gave them a peculiar look. “Don’t go there, it’s not a good place, there are many unusual people.”
“Do you think my lord’s sword isn’t sharp enough or his armor not sturdy enough?”
“Don’t go causing trouble everywhere; Shalin City does not tolerate it.” The guard warned, pointing southeast. “It’s near the dock area; that’s the roughest place.”
Leading the horse, George and Jima stepped onto the damp stone road and entered the city.
What greeted their eyes was a multitude of bridges. The main path from the city gate was like a trunk, extending narrow arched bridges crossing over the waterways.
The waterways were crowded with boats. Big and small ships were crammed together, from tiny canoes to large cargo boats filled with goods. Busy and bustling, in comparison, the streets were less lively.
“So many boats,” George remarked from under his helmet. “The books say Shalin City is a city on the river, but seeing it in person is shocking.”
Rustic.
Jima wanted to say that but had to look around, feigning amazement as if it were her first time seeing Shalin City.
As they stepped out of the city gate, a terrible stench wafted from the side.
Just as Jima pinched her nose and prepared to turn away, George’s hand covered her eyes, “Don’t look, turn your head away.”
“Sir,” Jima said, “Covering my eyes doesn’t help; maybe in a few days, I’ll see something even more disgusting.”
She heard George give a long sigh, and the hand over her eyes released.
What came into view was a heap of barely alive people, their limbs nailed to their bodies with iron spikes, tied together with ropes, resembling a pile of dry leaves stacked by the city gate.
Flies swarmed over their gaunt skin. Some mischievous children threw stones at the pile of people, causing a cloud of flies to rise with a buzz.
The barely living people moved their mouths, making low sounds:
“Thirsty…”
“Please give me some water.”
“Have pity on me.”
Some beneath had already died, their bodies decaying, yet the living were forced to huddle together.
Each person’s neck bore a tag with writing:
“I stole bread from my master with this hand.” His hand was nailed to his collarbone.
“I revolted.” This was a brother with both hands nailed together.
Uh, no wonder it stank. It was the first time she learned that Shalin City had such putrid laws, but then again, it was no surprise; the path she entered was the “VIP passage,” filled with flowers, not corpses.
Jima’s face paled, and she squeezed closer to George, resembling a startled kitten. Of course, it was all an act.
George turned his head, gripping Jima’s hand tightly, striding ahead, trying to leave the crowd behind.
“Hey, outsiders, want a boat?”
To their left, less than ten meters away, a stairway led to the river. A dark-skinned ferryman waved at them.
Beside him were several other ferrymen, calling out to others.
Jima and George approached the ferryman, and Jima asked, “How did you know we were outsiders?”
The ferryman bent slightly and smiled:
“Those scared to use this path are either country folks or outsiders. Country folks aren’t as wealthy as you. Without a boat in Shalin City, one can’t move an inch; I’ve rowed boats in Shalin for thirty years and know every waterway; there’s no one more suitable than me.”
“To the Fire District.”
“The Fire District isn’t suitable for horseback riding,” the ferryman smiled, “it’s good for selling horses and disposing of stolen goods.”
“Then forget it, we’ll walk over.”
“Ah, you’re quite lucky to meet me today. I just happen to know the respectable people in the trade.”
“Respectable people?”
“Those not officially recognized as merchants; for a small insurance fee, they’ll keep you safe from various accidents.” The ferryman smiled. “Cargo mysteriously disappearing, wallets going missing, these accidents can be heart-wrenching.”
Aren’t they just thieves and swindlers?
“How much?”
The old ferryman grinned, “Two silver coins for each of you, one and a half for the horse, and half a silver coin for insurance.”
“Four silver coins? Are you trying to rip us off?”
It was just for a boat ride, and four days’ worth of wages would vanish; Jima suddenly felt the pinch.
“That’s a fair price,” the old ferryman said with a smile, “Little girl, if you don’t believe me, you can ask others. Don’t misjudge an old man for lacking experience.”
Silent George suddenly spoke, “Lies.”
These two words carried the weight of a judge’s gavel striking down hard in court.
The old ferryman’s expression stiffened, and he felt inexplicably guilty, unable to articulate his words: “Ah, I, heh.”
In the end, they paid three copper coins as a “friendship price” (the ferryman sighed, claiming he was losing greatly, but to showcase Shalin people’s hospitality, he begrudgingly offered them a friendship price).
Jima also tipped one copper coin, and the ferryman’s awkward face suddenly blossomed into a smile, as he rowed the boat smoothly, chattering away.
“Sir, seeing your armor reminds me of the iron gray dye trend ten years ago; the streets were filled with gray people, ha-ha, it’s out of style now.” The ferryman said, “By the way, that trend was started by the Demon King Jima.”
George recalled something, patting Jima’s shoulder, “Jima, just the same color as the breastplate you recommended.”
Jima’s tail stiffened, but she smiled, “What a coincidence.”
