Chapter Twenty-Three: The Sound of Weeping

Leaving the He family fortress, Liu Chen retraced his steps, intent on settling accounts with Lu Qingzong. Earlier, when Liu Chen had interrogated him, Lu Qingzong had withheld no small amount of information, hiding much behind his words. Had Liu Chen not possessed some skill himself, he might have been utterly deceived.

But when Liu Chen returned to the spot where he had knocked Lu Qingzong unconscious, he found the man gone.

“Could it be he woke up and fled on his own?” Liu Chen wondered. It seemed odd; although he’d faced some trouble coming and going, not much time had passed. He had struck with enough force that Lu Qingzong ought to have remained unconscious for quite a while.

Examining the traces on the ground, Liu Chen quickly realized Lu Qingzong hadn't escaped by himself, but was taken away by others. Fortunately, those who took him made no effort to conceal their tracks—perhaps they weren’t even aware of the need—making it easy for Liu Chen to follow.

Before long, following the trail, Liu Chen sensed a gathering of living energy in the distance; as he drew closer, a cacophony of voices reached his ears.

Even on Earth, Liu Chen had never cared for crowded places. Now, as a zombie, he felt an even stronger urge to avoid such lively environments, so he paused, considering leaving. As for Lu Qingzong, falling into these people's hands likely spelled a grim fate, so there was little need to worry about him.

Yet, as Liu Chen listened more carefully, he realized the voices belonged to the villagers who had fled during his earlier confrontation with Lu Qingzong. Amidst their clamor, low sobs and scolding echoed, stirring Liu Chen’s curiosity.

“They managed to escape, so why are they crying? And out here in the wilderness, no less!” After a moment’s thought, Liu Chen decided to investigate, approaching at a leisurely pace.

“Who’s there! Uncle Luo, someone’s here!” he was spotted before he could reach the crowd, and it was a child who noticed him.

The child was frail and small, hidden in the shadows of the woods where Liu Chen’s eyesight failed to discern him. The boy seemed physically weak, his life energy faint, and Liu Chen hadn’t noticed him until he spoke up.

Liu Chen, discovered, paid no mind; after all, he had no sinister intentions. He raised his head and studied the child, standing still.

The child was about to flee, but upon catching Liu Chen’s gaze, he paused, first astonished, then visibly pleased.

“Who’s there!” At that moment, the middle-aged man Liu Chen had seen during the day rushed over with a group, spurred by the child’s shout. Seeing Liu Chen facing the boy, the man barked a warning.

“Uncle Luo, it’s the martial master from earlier!” the child called out, twisting his neck to shout at the approaching man. The middle-aged man, about to act, halted, recognized Liu Chen, and restrained those behind him, bowing deeply in respect.

“It is you, sir. We never had the chance to thank you for what happened earlier; I thought we’d never meet again, yet here you are.” His body tensed, and Liu Chen found himself at a loss for how to respond to such a formal salute. In his mind, his intervention had been half out of goodwill, but mostly to test the strength of the Lu family.

Nevertheless, Liu Chen saw no reason to explain; it would only waste words and embarrass the man further. His silence, however, left the middle-aged man awkwardly uncertain. Was Liu Chen dissatisfied with mere words of thanks, or had he not heard?

Luckily, the child spoke up, breaking the silence: “Sir, Uncle Luo says you’re a great martial artist. Can you teach me martial arts?”

Before Liu Chen could react, the middle-aged man grew anxious, marching over to glare sternly at the child. “Quan’er, don’t be ridiculous. You’re too frail for martial arts. Haven’t I told you before?”

He then turned, bowing respectfully to Liu Chen, offering an explanation for the child named Quan’er.

“The little one is ignorant, unaware of the rules of inheritance. Please forgive him, sir.”

Seeing his nervous demeanor, Liu Chen understood. In this world, martial arts inheritance represented true power, and reverence for such traditions was hardly surprising.

Yet Liu Chen disliked such solemnity and had no need to pretend, so he ignored the middle-aged man, addressing Quan’er instead.

“Why do you want to learn martial arts? Has someone bullied you?”

It wasn’t a random question; upon closer inspection, Liu Chen noticed the child’s eyes were red and tear-stained, clear evidence of crying.

“I haven’t been bullied. I want revenge!” Quan’er replied, his eyes reddening further, on the verge of tears. Yet, perhaps to appear stronger before Liu Chen, he forced his eyes wide and held back his tears, speaking with earnest determination.

Liu Chen hadn’t expected such an answer. Even though the boy’s voice trembled with emotion, Liu Chen sensed the truth in Quan’er’s words, especially the genuine hatred when he spoke of revenge.

That hatred, Liu Chen himself had felt not long ago—when he suddenly crossed into another world, met an untimely end, and awoke as a zombie. The helplessness and fear he experienced in that mountain valley, waiting for sunset, had bred the same bitter hatred.

But Quan’er was only a child, six or seven years old at most. How could he harbor such experiences, such deep resentment?

With this question, Liu Chen turned to the middle-aged man called Uncle Luo, hoping to learn what had happened to the boy.

Yet at that moment, Liu Chen noticed that the faces of Uncle Luo and the others were tinged with sadness. They were adults, able to control their emotions before Liu Chen, unlike the child, which is why Liu Chen hadn’t noticed at first.

Reflecting on the sobs and scolding he’d heard, Liu Chen realized the truth: something tragic had befallen these people after the events of the day.