Chapter 18: The Studious Little Turtle

Li Chaosheng obtained a treasure and was extremely pleased. He exchanged Pockmark Chen for the Paper-Man Technique, and a beam of golden light directly poured the knowledge into his mind. In a moment Li Chaosheng understood how to use the Paper-Man Technique, though to actually use it he still had to buy some materials, but he wasn’t in a hurry to experiment.

He then exchanged the corpse-driver for the Demon Core Cultivation Method, but this time it wasn’t an enlightening epiphany. Instead he literally exchanged for a shabby rag. Li Chaosheng looked it over and found the characters on it truly unreadable, and that script was not part of the human writing system at all, so it was impossible to guess. He shook his head and casually left the rag by his pillow.

With all that done, Li Chaosheng yawned and decided to take a nap. He believed that sleep was the greatest gift heaven gave to humans, so he was firmly against neglecting rest. After all, only with good sleep and full energy can one be efficient. If you don’t sleep well and your head is foggy, your efficiency plummets and that’s undesirable.

Having stayed up the previous night, Li Chaosheng fell asleep quickly and slept until the sun was well up. Midday sunlight streamed through the paper window, and Li Chaosheng slowly woke, feeling rejuvenated and far better than before. Upon waking he found the rag he had left by his pillow was gone.

Looking down, he saw it had slipped to the floor while he slept. But he noticed something odd: the rag on the floor was smoothed out, and the little turtle was lying on it, its pea-sized eyes fixed on the tadpole script and motionless, as if in meditation.

“Well, well, what do we have here? My little Turtle Son’s so promising, it’s even studying now?”

Saying so, Li Chaosheng reached out to pick up the turtle, but its head immediately tilted toward the rag as if craning its neck to peer at it. Li Chaosheng was stunned and said, “You little turtle, you can’t actually understand the writing on this rag, can you?”

But Li Chaosheng thought it impossible: he’d raised the turtle since it was small and never taught it to read. Even if the rag’s script was the writing used by demons, the turtle had never learned it, so how could it possibly recognize it?

It would be like giving a completely illiterate person a newspaper. Would they be able to read it? Without pictures?

The turtle was an illiterate creature in the world of demons. Or rather, it was nothing but a small animal that wasn’t even remotely a demon. By Li Chaosheng’s estimation, the chance it could understand the script was lower than randomly winning $5 million on a lottery ticket.

Still, he reconsidered: he couldn’t rule out that his turtle was some destined child of the demon clan who could read their script. Otherwise, how could he explain this peculiar behavior?

Li Chaosheng thought it over: he couldn’t use the rag anyway and couldn’t read it, so he might as well leave it at home for the turtle to look at. If the turtle learned to read and cultivated into a demon, he’d still be its master, so there was no harm to him.

He decided to place the turtle on his bed and spread the rag there.

“See? Turtle Son, if you can cultivate into a demon it’d be pretty entertaining, haha~”

Saying this, Li Chaosheng stood, went out to fetch the copper basin left outside, washed his face, and brushed his teeth with salt and a bristle toothbrush he had made: he took a pig leg bone, bored a hole to anchor pig bristles, trimmed them neatly, and it was ready.

Actually, in this era well-off families and those who were a bit particular all brushed their teeth, and the kinds of toothbrushes varied. But some simply used their fingers, dipped in a bit of salt and rubbed hard, which worked.

Those who were more particular would use willow twigs: chew off the bark to expose internal fibers, chew the fibers to fray them, dip in green salt, scrub the teeth up and down, then rinse with clear water. This practice even had an idiom to describe it: morning-chew, wooden-teeth.

But most common folk who could barely afford food weren’t so particular. After meals or upon waking, they’d drink a sip of well water and rinse their mouths, and that was considered hygienic.

After washing, Li Chaosheng opened the courtyard gate, and stepped onto the main street. Dead Street remained desolate as ever. Every household tightly shut, people seldom moving about, lacking the neighborly bustle of ordinary residence areas. It’s understandable: those who worked in this trade were mostly reclusive types, otherwise they wouldn’t engage in the business of dealing with the dead.

Leaving the lane, Li Chaosheng headed straight for the county magistrate’s office. Upon arrival he told the gatekeeper to inform the magistrate, saying he had come to seek the magistrate.

Li Chaosheng felt he should report to the magistrate: he planned to continue serving as an executioner for two reasons: first to conceal his identity as part of the Nightwardens, and second to milk the bounty from executions. What profession could be more legitimately tied to killing and claiming rewards than an executioner?

The gatekeeper reported it, and the magistrate immediately received him. Inside, Li Chaosheng bowed slightly and said, “Greetings, Your Excellency.”

The magistrate scrutinized Li Chaosheng up and down and said, “You didn’t go with them?”

The magistrate’s words clearly referred to the Nighwardens. Li Chaosheng smiled and pulled a token from his inner garment. It was the Nightwardens’ Nightwatcher token.

When the magistrate saw the token, he looked at Li Chaosheng with a complicated expression, and after a long moment bowed deeply: “Greetings, Lord Li.”

The magistrate didn’t know many details of the Nightwardens’ special status, but at the start of his appointment the Ministry of Personnel had briefed him on certain official protocols. One rule was: when presented with the Nightwardens token, one must unconditionally comply, for they are the emperor’s personal troops.

This was why, when the Nightwarden’s Chief Warden had come here previously to have the magistrate get Li Chaosheng to execute a prisoner, the magistrate preferred to shoulder the reproach of breaking his word rather than refuse to force Li Chaosheng to carry out the executions.

“Sir, don’t do this, you flatter me,” Li Chaosheng said, hurrying to help the magistrate up.

Li Chaosheng quickly helped the magistrate up but the magistrate protested, “I dare not—officers of the Nightwardens outrank magistrates. Lord Li is worthy of my bow.”

Supporting the magistrate, Li Chaosheng said, “Sir, must we remain so formal? From now on, when it’s just the two of us we’ll be friends. In public you remain my superior and I will still be the executioner.”

“Ah, Lord Li…”
“Hmm?”

“Oh, uh, I mean, Brother Li, with your current status you still intend to be an executioner?” the magistrate asked, puzzled.

Li Chaosheng smiled and said, “A Nightwardens Nightwatcher must conceal his identity in daily life, so being an executioner is my cover. From now on, just keep assigning me as the executioner, do not let the secret slip.”

“Well…”

The magistrate felt awkward, afraid of offending Li Chaosheng. Times had changed. Just yesterday he thought giving Li Chaosheng a latrine-keeper post was a great favor, but today Li Chaosheng’s status required him to show deference.

So much for that phrase about how the river switches directions every 30 years! That was too long! Just one day was enough!