Chapter Three: The Butcher

The Butcher

“Hey kid, come with me! My name is Niu Dali, I’m your superior. You can call me Ox-Head or Brother Niu,” the burly man introduced himself briefly, then strode out.

Wu Hong suppressed his excitement and followed the big man out of the woodshed. They emerged into a sprawling estate—by Huangyun Town’s standards, one of the largest and most impressive. Every building in the compound was constructed from precious timber, and at the center of the courtyard bubbled a natural hot spring. Yet, even this grandeur paled in comparison to the imposing Prince Wu’s Mansion.

The burly man secretly watched Wu Hong’s expression, surprised to see him unmoved by the estate’s vastness. Perhaps this youth was once a scion of a fallen noble house.

Niu Dali led Wu Hong to a cattle yard. Wu Hong wondered, Am I here to tend cattle? But after passing through several yards, they finally arrived at a spacious slaughterhouse, thick with the smell of blood and the stench of offal that hung heavily in the air.

“Urgh—” The foul stench, likely from the cattle’s innards, made Wu Hong gag.

“Kid, from now on you’ll be with me slaughtering cattle. Judging by your skinny frame, you’re probably only fit for bleeding them,” Niu Dali joked, seeing Wu Hong retch, his face full of amusement.

The slaughterhouse was enormous—nearly a hundred meters wide and over ten meters high. Along the walls, iron hooks held halves of skinned, headless carcasses. The floor was slick with a mixture of blood and mud, treacherous to walk on.

Niu Dali, Wu Hong, and several underlings approached a group preparing to slaughter cattle.

“Good day, Brother Niu!” The butchers greeted him in unison, clearly recognizing his authority.

“Brother Niu, who’s this kid? He looks so frail—what can he do?” asked a young assistant preparing to bleed a cow.

“He’s someone the young miss brought back. Just find something for him to do,” Niu Dali instructed offhandedly.

“Hey—come with me, little brother. I’ll teach you how to bleed the cattle,” a tall, robust man came over.

“Kid, you’ll learn from Master Hou Shun. Don’t underestimate bleeding the cattle—it’s a skilled trade,” Niu Dali said, noticing Wu Hong looking a bit lost.

The ground was slippery, so Wu Hong stumbled as he followed Hou Shun to a cow bound tightly in place.

Slap! Slap! Several men stood around the animal, striking it with wooden boards. The cow, tied down, let out pitiful cries. Wu Hong couldn’t help but ask, “What are they doing?”

Hou Shun smiled. “There’s much for you to learn. If you kill a cow outright and bleed it, the meat becomes tough and unpalatable. This cow is for Master Huang’s table. Repeatedly striking the cow before death forces the fat to penetrate the muscle. When the animal is killed and bled, the meat is marbled with fat—not only removing coarseness, but making it smooth and tender.”

Wu Hong was startled. He suddenly recalled that back at the Prince Wu’s Mansion in the capital, the beef he ate was always smooth and perfectly marbled. So, it was this process that made the difference!

Next was the hammer blow. A strong man timed his swing, and with a heavy thud, the cow—secured tightly—shuddered but soon ceased struggling.

With a swift motion, Hou Shun took a sharp knife and stabbed it into the cow’s carotid artery. Blood spurted, flowing into a massive basin prepared below. The entire process was fast as lightning—the cow was dead in moments.

“Your turn, kid!” The cow prepared for the Huang family was taken away for further processing. Hou Shun, smiling, handed Wu Hong a half-meter-long knife.

Wu Hong took the knife. Soon another bound cow was brought over.

“Here, aim for the artery—steady, precise, firm. Stab hard,” Hou Shun demonstrated at the cow’s neck.

Wu Hong’s hands trembled. He had never killed anything before. But thinking of his bitter vendetta, his resolve solidified. He walked to the cow lying in the apparatus.

The cow stared at Wu Hong, its eyes full of suffering, yet it did not struggle.

With determination, Wu Hong drove the knife into the cow’s neck. The blade met resistance halfway in, so he added force.

“Ah!” With a shout, he thrust further. Blood spurted, splattering over him. The blade, driven with such force, emerged from the other side of the cow’s neck.

“Well now! For someone so thin, you sure have some strength!” Hou Shun exclaimed in surprise.

The knife clattered to the floor as Wu Hong, unnerved by the blood and violence, loosened his grip.

Hou Shun’s exclamation drew Niu Dali over.

“What’s wrong? Is the kid not cut out for bleeding cattle?” Niu Dali asked.

“No, Brother Niu! The kid’s aim needs work, but he’s got power—look!” Hou Shun pointed.

Niu Dali looked and was shocked. The wound cut clean through the cow’s neck, right through the vertebrae—a feat requiring immense strength.

“Well, my friend, I underestimated you! A real master in disguise!” Niu Dali’s attitude changed instantly, from calling him ‘kid’ to addressing him as ‘brother.’

Wu Hong was embarrassed by the praise, and inwardly astonished. What was happening? Not only had his strength returned, it seemed to have increased, and his wounds were gone—all in a single day! It felt like a dream.

After slaughtering the cow, his body felt warm and comfortable, as if basking in the afterglow of intimacy.

His display caught the attention of the other butchers, who began to whisper among themselves.

“Looks like the young miss has brought back an extraordinary man. If he’s properly trained, he’ll be a real talent.”

As the crowd murmured, Wu Hong’s heart surged with emotion.

Perhaps now, there was hope for vengeance. Father, wait for me—your son will grow strong and someday avenge you with his own hands. That wretched Zhao woman will pay.

“Brother Niu, this kid has the strength for better things than just stabbing. Why not let him swing the hammer?” Hou Shun suggested.

“Here, brother—try this. See if you can handle it,” Niu Dali snatched a hammer from someone nearby and tossed it to Wu Hong.

Wu Hong caught it clumsily, nearly losing his balance from the unexpected weight. He hefted it; the short-handled hammer weighed at least twenty catties. He looked up and asked, “Brother Niu, how many cattle are slaughtered here each day?”

“Not too many. Five or six thousand,” Niu Dali replied.

Wu Hong was astonished by the sheer number. Clearly, the Huang estate couldn’t consume so much meat. This slaughterhouse was undoubtedly one of the Huang family’s businesses.

Niu Dali clapped Wu Hong on the shoulder. “Work hard, brother. You’re a lower servant now, but if you do well, you’ll rise step by step.”

Wu Hong didn’t need an explanation; he knew well the hierarchy among servants in an official household: lower, middle, upper servants, then stewards, chief stewards, and the general manager—each with their own privileges and authority. In major households, the general manager could oversee thousands.

Niu Dali’s status here came from years of hard work and mastery of butchery, rising from servant to steward, now able to report directly to the master.

These butchers, for all their camaraderie, were still his subordinates—Niu Dali could determine their fortunes with a word, so they treated him with utmost respect.

“Brother, swinging the hammer is about steadiness, accuracy, and force—but you have to control your strength. Don’t kill the cow with one blow—just stun it,” Hou Shun explained, now using a more respectful tone.

He took a hammer, walked up to a cow, and struck. The animal’s eyes rolled back, blood trickled from its orifices, and though it still twitched, it was as good as dead—a clean kill followed with a knife, and another life ended.

“Let me try!” Wu Hong, growing enthusiastic, took a hammer, approached a cow, and with a shout, brought the hammer down.

Crack! Instead of a muffled thud, there was a chilling sound of bone shattering.

“Careful, brother! You nearly drove the hammer straight into its skull,” Hou Shun cried.

The cow’s forehead was caved in, its skull pulverized—any more force would have smashed its entire head.

Wu Hong ignored Hou Shun’s astonishment, staring blankly at the hammer in his hand. Was all this real? A single tear slid from the corner of his eye.

He quickly wiped it away, regaining his composure. That day, Wu Hong was overjoyed. He controlled his strength with each blow, slaughtering dozens of cattle without feeling the least bit tired—in fact, he was exhilarated. The workers around him no longer dared underestimate the slender young man.

That night, Wu Hong hurried back to the humble woodshed where lower servants lived and closed the door.

“Damn, not even a lock on the door,” he muttered, annoyed at the squalor.

After making sure no one was around, he carefully took a yellow-covered book from his clothes. On its cover were ancient, elegant characters: “The True Explanation of the Great Sun Tathagata.”

His hands trembled as he opened the first page. What he saw within filled Wu Hong with awe—his eyes shone with wild joy.