Condolence Money.

"Second Brother!" 

From the crowd, a small, thin boy ran over and clung tightly to Zhong Lin's leg, tears streaming down his face. 

"I knew Second Brother wouldn't die! Waaah, they all said you were dead and that they were going to hold a funeral for you and eat a feast!" 

Zhong Lin looked down and patted the head of the boy, whose large head atop a tiny body made him look like a little radish. This was Zhong Shi. He dumped all the game he'd hunted onto the ground with a thud and smiled, saying, "How could Second Brother die? Look, I'm back, and I even brought a bunch of game. Later, I'll roast some meat for you." 

Raising his head, he scanned the villagers in the courtyard. The smile on his face faded, replaced by an icy coldness. 

A funeral? A feast? 

More like eating the last scraps of a dead man's family. 

His predecessor's parents had long since passed, leaving only a younger brother, Zhong Shi. The moment his predecessor had gotten into trouble, these people had swarmed in like hyenas sniffing blood. Did they not realize that if he had truly died, the meager grain left in the house would be Zhong Shi's only chance at survival? 

Under Zhong Lin's piercing gaze, every villager's face flushed with embarrassment. Their eyes darted away, and they instinctively hid the bowls and chopsticks they held behind their backs. 

"Uh… Dalinzi, we meant well. Everyone thought you were dead, so… so we came to hold a funeral for you, just to give you a proper send-off." 

The one speaking was Lin San, an uncle figure to Zhong Lin's predecessor, someone who had practically watched him grow up. 

"Yeah! Yeah! We were just trying to help, out of kindness!" 

Once someone took the lead, the other villagers chimed in with excuses. 

*The law doesn't punish the masses, right? Besides, we didn't know you weren't dead—it's just a misunderstanding.* 

"A misunderstanding, a misunderstanding. Dalinzi, it's great that you're back alive. Lin san, hurry up and take down that white banner at the gate. Everyone, if there's nothing else, head home—don't disturb the reunion of the two brothers!" 

The village elder with the highest seniority, Liu Erye, spoke up, settling the matter with authority. 

Lin san quickly nodded. "Right! I'll go do it now." 

But Zhong Lin shifted his stance, blocking the courtyard gate—and Lin san's path. 

"Dalinzi, what are you doing?" 

The icy smile vanished from Zhong Lin's face, replaced by a warm, genial expression. "Oh, a misunderstanding, huh? Well, the banner's already up, the food's been eaten—shouldn't you all pay the condolence money now?" 

"Condolence money" was the customary gift of cash given at a funeral. 

If they were here for his funeral, then they damn well ought to pay up. 

Lin san's smile froze, and even Liu Erye, who had just spoken, gasped sharply, staring at Zhong Lin in disbelief. 

The old Zhong Lin wasn't like this—honest, simple, the type who'd swallow a loss without complaint. But now he was demanding condolence money? 

You're not even dead—why should we pay? 

"Get out of the way! What are you standing there for? You're blocking my path!" 

A drunken voice bellowed from the main room. A tall, burly man with a face full of coarse flesh shoved aside a few villagers in his way. 

Even these shameless villagers hurriedly stepped aside, their faces showing a mix of fear and disgust toward the man. 

"Well, well! Dalinzi's back! Truly blessed by the mountain gods. I thought you'd died in Heishan. Good thing you didn't—would've lost a playmate otherwise!" 

Memories from his predecessor flashed in Zhong Lin's mind. This man was Zhang Kun, the son of the village's Zhang Erye. Despite his high seniority—old enough to be a grandfather to some kids—he didn't act the part. 

Calling him a tyrant who preyed on the village might be an exaggeration; there wasn't enough "meat" around for him to feast on. But beating people while drunk, kicking widows' doors, and harassing the disabled? That was routine for him. 

The villagers of Xiahe Village were furious but powerless against him. They couldn't beat him in a fight, and he was a reckless thug who fought dirty—breaking arms or legs was par for the course. In an era with primitive medicine, a broken limb could mean a lifetime of disability. 

Zhang Kun stumbled drunkenly toward Zhong Lin. Towering a full head taller, he looked down with a sneer, yawned, and assaulted Zhong Lin with a wave of alcohol-soaked breath. 

"Good you're not dead. Now, good dogs don't block the road—I'm heading home to sleep," Zhang Kun grumbled coarsely. 

He reached out to shove Zhong Lin aside, but this time, he couldn't budge him. 

Zhong Lin looked up, locking eyes with him. "Condolence money." 

Zhang Kun's face twisted with rage. His already flushed, drunken complexion turned an even deeper red as Zhong Lin's defiance stripped him of face. Without a word, he swung a fist straight at Zhong Lin's face. 

"Damn it, I'll teach you—" 

Zhong Lin grabbed the firewood axe from his waist and, without a moment's hesitation, swung it toward Zhang Kun's neck. 

The instant the axe appeared, Zhang Kun reacted, instinctively dodging. But between his punch and his drunken state, his body couldn't keep up. He managed only a slight shift—enough to avoid a severed neck—but the axe sliced from his left shoulder blade down to his chest. 

"Aaagh!" 

A scream tore through the air as bright red blood gushed out. Zhang Kun collapsed to the ground. 

The villagers in the courtyard gasped and shrieked. The timid ones stumbled back, staring at Zhong Lin in terror. 

None of them had expected Zhong Lin to actually strike—and with a blow aimed to kill. Had Zhang Kun not dodged at the last second, half his neck would've been gone. 

Zhong Lin stepped forward expressionlessly, crouched down, and tapped Zhang Kun's face with the axe. "Condolence money." 

The bold fear the reckless, and the reckless fear the fearless. Zhang Kun, who had always been the bully, cowered under Zhong Lin's strike. His face was pale with fear. 

"D-Dalinzi, don't… don't do anything rash. We're from the same village—we grew up together! Don't kill me, don't kill me!" 

Zhang Kun trembled, a pungent stench of urine rising from his soaked pants. 

"I won't say it a third time." 

Zhong Lin's voice was low and steady. 

"I've got it, I've got it—I'll pay!" 

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Zhang Kun fumbled a money pouch from his chest, trying to pull out a few copper coins. But Zhong Lin snatched the entire pouch from him. 

"Get lost!" 

Zhang Kun opened his mouth as if to protest but didn't dare. Clutching his wound, he scrambled to his feet and fled as fast as he could. 

Zhong Lin's gaze swept over the rest of the villagers. Wherever his eyes landed, they shrank back in fear. 

"Condolence money." 

He spat the words again, but this time they carried an almost magical weight. No one dared refuse—not with that pool of blood still glaringly fresh on the ground. 

Some left two coins, some one. Bit by bit, they reluctantly handed over copper coins. It stung, but it beat getting slashed. 

By the time the last person left, over eighty copper coins sat on the table. 

"Tch, a bunch of cowards who only pick on the weak." 

Zhong Lin spat disdainfully, his face full of scorn.