A BL novel by Priest ❤ ❤
Here is the raw: http://www.jjwxc.net/onebook.php?novelid=1488729
Women, only when they are subjected to non-lethal threats or harm, do they scream.
Because genuine fear and terror is paralyzing, capable of making one lose their voice in those critical junctures.
An old man dressed in shabby clothes was huddled in a corner, a pungent odor festering from one of his legs that was bitten in the middle, its rotten flesh oozing with rancid puss.
Perhaps he was dying.
His eyes, however, were shockingly bright, and beneath his pigmented, wrinkled eyelids, the dark brown orbs gave out a strange and crazed light, glancing sharply up at the sky.
The sky tonight was amazingly clear and limpid, shrouded by neither fog, mist, nor haze.
Stars and rivers were like beads riding on satin waves, tranquil and leisure in their current.
The old man parted his shriveled lips, a cold smile gracing his face.
Less than 10 steps away from him, a woman was being ravaged by a beast. Her stomach had been ripped apart by the beast’s claws, forming a wound so deep it revealed her bones.
Blood soaked half of her body and her black hair fell like a curtain behind her naked back, pasted to her skin by credit of sweat and blood.
Except for the initial cry which pierced her throat, she made no other sound. Her scream had been hoarse like rusty metal streaking against rough hide.
Perhaps she is already dead.
The old man slowly turned his head, a crazed smile meeting his lips as his eyes fell upon the beast.
The entire tribe had fallen to enemy hands and this is how they dealt with prisoners of war.
First decapitate the men, parading their heads around like a baskets of fruit, then roast the corpses of the children upon a bonfire, collecting their body oil as spoils of war, and then finally leaving the women and even underage girls to be pleasure slaves for taking.
Adorning the beast’s face was a terrifying scar. Its eyes were bloodshot as it moved its body up and down vigorously, the barbs on the beast’s claws tearing bloody gashes into the woman’s body.
The places his mouth touched dripped with saliva and with every thrust of his lower part, he moaned nosily with pleasure and excitement.
The ugliness was striking.
Faced with such a sight, the old man unexpectedly started to weep, tears leaking from his dry eyes, flowing down the rugged lines of his crow’s feet.
It was such a horrifying scene that he twisted his head violently, as if pained to watch any further.
At that moment, however, he spotted a pair of clear eyes peeking out from a shrubbery, staring attentively his way.
The old man was stunned for a second before realizing who the child was.
The parents of the child tried to protect him until the final moment of their lives, hiding him in the bushes, purposefully blocking the invader’s sight with their body.
This little fellow was born at the wrong time, under an unlucky star.
His mother was originally a strong and beautiful woman, but unfortunately she could not give her a child the same strong and healthy body.
He was born prematurely in the war between the two tribes, congenitally insufficient.
Even obtaining milk was an arduous task.
Every time he cried, purple bruises will surface on his neck and chest as a result of malnutrition.
What a pity that after finally giving birth during such a terse and difficult time period, the baby is fated to a tragic, short-lived life.
And although he is a boy, he has no animal markings, which means he can not turn into a beast.
These types of people were known as sub-beasts, their physical conditions not much better than the average women and even after going through puberty, are doomed to have minimal fighting ability.
His parents didn’t even have the chance to name him before they died.
The old man suddenly found it strange that such a young child could seem so mature, quietly curling his delicate little body in the deep bushes, watching everything inquisitively with a wary eye, keeping quiet and hidden.
Were it not for his big wide eyes, appearing like two black pearls, the old man would have never detected his presence.
Struggling to retrieve something from the inner folds of his lapel, he moved slightly and took out a small bone plate.
The elder rolled it towards the infant.
His actions caused the giant beast not too far away to perk up, looking at him with disdain and indifference in those blood-red pupils. It then turned its back, uninterested once again.
Only after affirming he hadn’t aroused the beast’s interest did the old man lower his head again, taking another glance at the boy.
He found out that the infant had unexpectedly extended his hand, grabbing the bone plate with a stubby finger so short that it was almost indistinguishable from the flesh of his palm.
The child had likely already sprouted his baby teeth, and he seemed to understand the old man intentions, holding the bone plate with both hands and instinctively stuffing it into his mouth the next moment.
Such a intelligent child, the old man thought, gaze flickering slightly. If only….he could survive and grow up,
then that’ll be great.
He forced himself to look away before suddenly bursting into bitter laughter, tears streaking his face.
His voice was old and hoarse as he exercised them to an old tune, singing foolishly just like some drunkard swaggering down the streets.
Two bestial claws revealed themselves and then the old man’s cold tone came to a sudden halt.
His head bad been severed from his body.
The head, which refused to close its eyes, finally fell onto the muddy dirt of the forest.
The final note of his song seemed to suspend in thin air, like a remnant soul unwilling to leave.
The tall man wiped away the remaining blood on his hands and retracted his claws, bits and pieces of human flesh sticking to the hairs on his talons. Without looking at the old man’s dead body, he said coldly to the beast, “what are you still rubbing against, Mu He?”
The beast whimpered and withdrew from the woman’s cold body, bones rattling lightly from the movement. He slowly cowered into a little ball and the thick hairs covering his body began to retreat, soon revealing his human face which was that of a small, slanted-eye man with a large scab right down the middle of his face.
Swiveling his vision about, the red had yet to fully disperse from his eyes when he suddenly curled his lips into a sinister smile and said, “what’s the point of winning the war if even indulging in such trivial pleasures is prohibited?”
The tall man’s bleak eyes swept through the corpse of the woman, which was ravaged to the point where it no longer resembled a human, and gave the other a look of unconcealed loathing,
“you are truly disgusting.
The chief is tallying the survivors so you better head back. This is not our final destination, remember that.”
After he finished speaking, he turned around and let out a thunderous roar, landing on all fours having transformed into his bestial form. The earth quavered with every step he took, footprints forming in his wake.
After the other faded into the distance, the man named Mu He revealed a heavy expression and snarled his fangs, his eyes coated with a thick murderous intent,
“Pu Ya’s dog.”
Then, turning around a bit regretfully, as if pitying, he blew a coy little kiss towards the woman’s cold body and said;
“I guess it’s farewell now, my darling.”
*The phrase used in chinese for farewell was 永别, which means to part eternally (for example, in death). Similarly, the word used for darling “心肝” actually has a negative connotation, and has another meaning, ‘humanity.’
Then they were gone.
The night sky, which just before seemed boundlessly clear, suddenly turned gray, shrouded by thick layers of clouds from far away.
Stars disappeared one after another, pulled inside the swirling orbit of mists and fog.
Suddenly from the sky fell large raindrops, and soon the heavy rain formed a murky admixture of water and blood besides the torn corpses on the ground.
It gradually became a pouring (rain) scenic.
It is unknown how much time has passed but then from the pile of dead corpses, a thin and weak looking teenager crawled his out.
He too had no animal markings on his hands.
In fact he was a sub-beast in the tribe who did heavy manual work for living.
One of his arms was missing and pitted against the torrential rain and bloody scene of slaughter, panic snuck its way up his features and he could only shiver at the sight in front of him.
Nervously, he got up from the ground and madly shook everyone around him, frenzied.
He tried calling their names yet still there was no response.
The wound on the sub-beast’s shoulder was so deep that it showed the white bone beneath the slashed layers of flesh.
He staggered forward a few steps only to slip and land right in front of the old man’s decapitated head. Greeted with such a deathly pale face, he could no longer endure anymore and broke down into tears.
He felt that he was dying and that the heavy rain would bury him with his former neighbors and relatives.
He was only a sub-beast and a cowardly one at that, thus at the beginning of the enemy’s attack, he hid himself and only managed to save a poor dog.
But the cold rain on him felt like the accusatory gazes of his clansmen, contemptuous and encapsulating all around.
The man vomited violently.
As he lay dying on the ground, suddenly he heard a faint baby’s cry from one of the bushes. The sound was so small, like the cry of a newly awakened kitten, but in the man’s ears, it reverberated like a thunderbolt.
He was stunned for a moment. Then frantically scrambled up. Not even he knew where such strength came from but with his remaining hand, he pushed aside the bodies near the bushes, spread apart the bloody branches and leaves, and then there, in the forest behind the shrubberies, he found the infant.
This little fellow was hardly the size of his forearm, weighing lighter than even a puppy in his hand.
He had none of the other children’s baby fat and even his small face, no bigger than the size of an adult palm, is dented because of malnutrition. His facial features haven’t grown up yet and only one pair of eyes, big and abrupt, stared up at him.
The child seemed to have gathered all of his strength to make the cry, for his face was riddled with abnormal blue and purple marks. His breathing, even, was so faint and weak that it was hardly audible.
Surprised, the man clumsily tucked the child into his arms, blocking the pouring rain with his not-so-broad shoulders, trying to protect the fragile life with the heat of his chest.
At this time-
– from the baby’s body fell a small bone plate, and engraved on it were the two words, “Chang An.”
The corners of it were slightly rounded, the indentations faded as if treasured immensely by a predecessor.
The man squatted down painstakingly to picked up the plate.
Then carrying the baby, he rushed towards a big tree seeking haven from the rain.
There, using his teeth, he bit apart the string strung around the plate and wound it over the baby’s neck, then warming the bone plate, he carefully inserted it through the string and tied it behind the baby’s chest.
Feeling like he’d just accomplished a feat of extraordinary stature, he revealed an expression of both misery and relief — naively believing the little piece of bone plate was responsible for the infant’s survival. Perhaps it has some sort of magical property, making even the god of death show mercy.
The man staggered to his feet, as if his desire to survive has only just awakened.
Holding the baby, he dashed quickly into the jungle, disappearing without a trace in the dense and murky forest.