Chapter Twenty-Six: The Butcher of Heaven

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“Whew.”

It took Liu Zheng a full half-minute to swim out of the oily mist.

“I was starting to think you were going to drown in there,” Niu Ma said gleefully.

“Drown? Unlikely. Die of grease, perhaps.”

As he replied, Liu Zheng surveyed his surroundings.

There was none of the bustling traffic he had imagined. The interior of the black market remained deathly quiet.

Only faint glimmers of light seeped through the cracks beneath the doors lining either side of the road.

“Which door do we take?” Liu Zheng asked.

“That depends on how you plan to raise your start-up capital,” Niu Ma replied.

“You don’t have any money?”

“I spent every last bit of it on that bottle of red wine. What, you really thought I stole it?”

Niu Ma shouted the words indignantly.

“You spent money and still got beaten that badly?”

“Of course they had to beat me first if they were selling it at a discount,” Niu Ma said, as though it were self-evident.

“Oh. Then what do you suggest?” he asked.

“Two options. One: pawn the vest you’re wearing and redeem it once you’ve made enough money.”

“No.”

Liu Zheng rejected the idea without hesitation.

Without the bonus granted by the legendary deliveryman’s vest, his strength would drop by at least two-thirds.

“Then there’s only the second option. You sell your flesh.”

Niu Ma shrugged.

“Sell my flesh?”

Liu Zheng’s expression shifted.

Life was precious, but dignity was worth even more.

“Let me make one thing clear first: I’ll only work as a male escort.”

He gritted his teeth.

“Dream on. I’d like to do that myself. The lowest-grade escorts in the black market are male incubi. What makes a tentacled freak like you think you qualify?”

Niu Ma sneered.

“Then what did you mean? Oh. You meant actually selling flesh.”

Liu Zheng suddenly understood.

He remembered the security guards asking him for “meat.”

“Exactly,” Niu Ma said.

“You’re too fat anyway. This will help you lose some weight.”

Amid Niu Ma’s mockery, the two of them walked toward the third door on the right.

The moment they entered, a wave of heat struck them in the face.

Liu Zheng narrowed his eyes. The blazing firelight inside stabbed at them.

A dozen or so furnaces stood in a row, each with a large iron pot resting atop it.

Countless pieces of flesh hung from iron hooks suspended from the rafters, dangling above the pots.

There were thighs, arms, spinal columns—and half of a human head, its eyes still open.

Behind the pots stood a massive figure with its back to them, wholly absorbed in turning iron skewers over the flames.

He was so enormous that he almost completely blocked the light from the furnace.

Pink muscles bulged high across his body, covered in a crisscrossing web of scars.

It was difficult to imagine how one person could bear so many wounds, as though he had endured every form of torture in the world.

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“Oink.”

Niu Ma greeted him.

Its voice was unusually polite, prompting Liu Zheng to glance sideways.

Hearing someone call his name, Oink turned around.

He had the head of a pig, apparently a Yorkshire Large White.

Yet his eyes were unmistakably human—deeper and more resolute than those of most people.

“Long time no see, Niu Ma. I thought you’d already been made into a takeaway meal.”

Oink’s voice was deep and powerful. If one ignored his face, it was easy to imagine a mature man with a magnetic charm.

“No one but you could turn me into a dish.”

Niu Ma puffed out his chest proudly.

“So you’re here to sell meat again? Where will I cut this time—your hooves, your horse intestines, or your ox tongue?”

A faint smile touched Oink’s face.

“I don’t have anywhere left for you to cut. He’s the one selling meat.”

Niu Ma shoved Liu Zheng forward protectively.

“Oh. He looks like a fine piece of meat.”

Oink propped up his chin and examined him.

“A little humanity, a little deformity, and the rank scent of a black goat.”

He spoke leisurely, as though savoring the qualities of an exquisite dish.

“You’ve heard the Gospel too?”

Oink suddenly asked.

“Probably.”

Liu Zheng answered.

That part of his memory was somewhat hazy, as if something had washed over it.

“Excellent. I haven’t seen ingredients of this quality in a long time.”

Oink nodded, looking somewhat excited.

“So, how much will you sell?”

He fixed his gaze on Liu Zheng.

“What’s the price?”

Liu Zheng asked.

“For meat of your quality, I can give you two thousand per pound.”

Oink thought for a moment before answering.

“How many pounds do I have?”

Liu Zheng had no idea how much he weighed.

“Fifteen.”

Oink replied.

Thirty thousand. That was equivalent to two and a half years of his salary.

“Is that a fair price?” Liu Zheng asked Niu Ma.

“You should be dancing for joy. I can only get fifteen hundred per pound.”

Niu Ma sounded slightly envious.

“Turning into an empty shell for two and a half years’ wages doesn’t sound like a good deal.”

Liu Zheng shook his head.

“You can eat the meat back afterward. Employees of your restaurant should have plenty of opportunities to do that.”

Oink said this as though it were obvious.

Liu Zheng knew he was referring to the food that could restore physical defects.

“If I remember correctly, if someone sells all their meat at once, the purchase price doubles, right?”

The Ox-Head suddenly spoke.

“That’s right.”

Oink nodded.

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“Madness born of despair makes the meat firmer and gives it a more distinctive flavor.”

He extended his gray-white tongue and licked his snout.

“Then he’ll sell all of it.”

Niu Ma hurriedly cut in.

“When did I—”

Liu Zheng had just begun to object when he saw Niu Ma frantically winking at him.

He froze for a moment, then remembered the item the French sycamore had advanced him.

So that was it. This really was a reckless gamble.

Still, he could accept it.

“And the reason?”

Oink looked at Liu Zheng with keen interest.

“He—”

“Shut up.”

Niu Ma had barely begun to speak when Oink interrupted him.

The pig-headed man slowly rose and faced the two of them.

An entire foreleg, its skin roasted golden brown, was threaded onto the iron skewer in his hand.

Fat dripped steadily from it, sizzling as it struck the coals.

“I’m asking him.”

Oink’s voice was deep and stern.

Standing upright, the pig-headed man seemed even taller, his head nearly touching the rafters.

Liu Zheng noticed an old ligature mark around his neck.

Niu Ma shrugged and fell silent.

It was clear that he had no desire to provoke Oink.

“What’s the reason?”

The pig-headed man asked again.

“Obviously, I need the money.”

Liu Zheng looked at him in puzzlement.

Who would sell their flesh if they weren’t short of money?

“What will you do with it once you have it?”

Oink did not get angry. He continued questioning him.

“I’ll buy the Bloody Restaurant and make him work for me.”

He pointed at Niu Ma.

“Why, you little—”

Niu Ma glared and was about to hit him, but Oink stopped him with a look.

“You’ve been exploited so badly that you’ve had to come here to sell your flesh. Yet once you make money, you plan to use it to exploit someone else?”

There seemed to be a trace of chill in Oink’s voice.

“I’m just bragging. Staying alive is already hard enough for me. I need some practical ambition to hold on to.”

Liu Zheng smiled.

“Interesting. I’ll take your meat.”

Oink threw back his head and laughed three times, then casually tossed the iron skewer into the furnace.

The orange flames suddenly surged, reducing the foreleg to ash.

“What a waste.”

Liu Zheng swallowed audibly.

He could tell that it had not been a foreleg.

“Hungry? Pick one.”

Oink pointed toward the iron pots.

“For every customer who sells all their flesh, I give them a bowl of soup.”

“Now let’s see how lucky you are.”

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