Chapter 21: Buying a Persian Beauty at the Western Market

Du Fu gazed intently at Li Zaixing, a faint smile on his lips though his expression was tinged with seriousness. “Brother, you may not be as brash as those rowdy street knights, but there’s a murderous air in your eyes—one glimpse is enough to set a man on edge.”

Li Zaixing stiffened, unconsciously touching his nose. If even Du Fu, who knew nothing of martial arts, could sense the killing aura he couldn’t conceal, then evidently his self-cultivation was still lacking. Those truly accomplished would never let such an aura be perceived.

“Shame on me, truly.” Li Zaixing stood, masking his discomfort, and glanced around. “Brother Du, you mentioned street knights—are there other kinds of wandering heroes?”

Seeing Li Zaixing looking about, Du Fu quickly cupped his hands in greeting to a middle-aged foreign merchant who stood nearby. The merchant, understanding, hurried forward to lead the way, calling out cheerfully, “Please follow me, sirs. Let me show you the goods.”

The word “goods” left Li Zaixing uneasy; he had never grown accustomed to the custom here of treating slaves as less than human. But he knew this was the reality in the Tang dynasty, something he alone could not change. He could only try to get used to it. He followed the merchant through a doorway into the rear courtyard, and at a single glance, found himself stunned.

The scene before him was even more shocking than the word “goods” suggested.

The backyard was not spacious. Around its perimeter stood a row of structures—not quite houses, for they had no outer walls, only rows of fencing dividing them into a dozen or so pens, not unlike sheepfolds. In each pen were anywhere from two or three to as many as seven or eight people, both men and women, some with pale skin, others dark. Even in the lingering chill of early spring, they wore little, huddled together, eyes wide with fear and unease.

But what startled Li Zaixing most was the sight in the center of the yard: a wooden scaffold from which hung iron chains, their dark, rusty surfaces faintly reeking of blood. Someone was suspended from one of the chains—only their toes touched the ground. Tangled, filthy hair hung down, matted with dried blood so thick the original color was lost. The figure did not move; it was impossible to tell if they were dead or alive.

Was this a prison, or hell itself? Li Zaixing could hardly believe what he saw. Compared to the bustling market outside, this place could only be described as infernal.

Du Fu, however, seemed inured to such si