Grace Foster was silent for a long time before returning to the house.

The next day, before dawn, Grace Foster was already up. He carefully stepped out the door.

Carrying a brand-new fishing spear, he quickly walked out of the yard.

It seemed to have rained last night; the ground was mostly muddy, and the peach trees outside the house shook off raindrops from their branches.

Grace Foster walked quickly, striding forward with determination.

He passed through the peach grove, followed the path along the creek, and then plunged straight into the wild boar forest.

Soon, he returned to the vicinity of the trap.

Grace Foster lowered his head.

The trap was empty; in the pitch-black soil, there was no trace of blood or the smell of blood.

All the bodies were gone, as were the heavy armor, the stinking bloodstains, and the broken branches along the way—everything had vanished without a trace.

The insects and sinister birds in the forest had also fallen silent; the stillness was eerie.

Grace Foster stood for a while, then strode out and walked all the way to the road.

The gravel road where yesterday’s battle took place was just as clean, as if nothing had ever happened.

In this deathly silence, Grace Foster suddenly felt a chill.

And for some reason, he actually wanted to laugh.

……

When he returned home again, The Foster-Bolton Family was making a fire to cook.

Grace sat down beside his mother.

He frowned, his face stern.

“Bang!!!”

A man crashed open the courtyard gate and barged in roughly, carrying a roe deer on his shoulder. His short jacket was stained with blood, and a large bow hung at his waist.

He strode into the yard and threw the roe deer onto the pit beside the withered tree.

His eye sockets were sunken, his whole person like a cold, thin block of iron. He looked at Grace Foster and tossed a rusty dagger in front of him.

The Foster-Bolton Family hurriedly got up. “You’re back so early this time?”

The man ignored her, waved his hand wearily, and went into the house.

Grace Foster picked up the dagger and went to the roe deer. He squatted down and, with a blank expression and practiced hands, skinned, gutted, and boned the animal.

The roe deer’s blood flowed into the pit, turning it instantly bright red, the color especially vivid and thick.

At some point, John Foster was sitting at the main house doorway, stretching out his legs and basking in the sun.

The Foster-Bolton Family finished cooking, and the three of them gathered in the yard.

The stench of blood did nothing to affect John Foster’s appetite. He ate roughly, as if he wanted to chew the bones to pieces and swallow them.

The Foster-Bolton Family was much more refined, eating in small bites.

Grace Foster sat beside John Foster, staring at the left side of his face.

“What are you looking at?”

“Did you come from the wild boar forest?”

“What can you even hunt in the wild boar forest this season?”

The atmosphere was unusually silent and oppressive.

After finishing the meal, The Foster-Bolton Family put away the empty bowls and busily left.

“I killed someone.”

“Three Xianbei knights, men and horses both.”

John Foster’s face was stiff, his iron-like features unchanged. He almost spat out the words through gritted teeth.

“If you don’t want the whole family buried with you, shut your filthy mouth! Forget this ever happened—forever!”

“Who are you, really?”

“I’m your grandpa!!”

John Foster stood up, his whole body starting to flush red, like pig iron in the furnace. He furiously tore open his collar, revealing scars all over his chest.

“Trouble! Rotten business! Damn mess!!”

“Not a moment’s peace!”

“Bastard! Bastard!!”

He was like a volcano about to erupt, enormous anger building in his chest. As he roared, his hands waved as if punching at someone.

He clawed at his own chest, as if trying to dig out all that rage.

The Foster-Bolton Family came running.

“What? What’s wrong?”

She anxiously shielded Grace, who was a head taller than herself, behind her, stuffing the bundle in her hands into Grace’s arms. “Take this for me, go on, hurry, hurry.”

She pushed him with effort a few times, and Grace turned and left.

As he walked out the door, the roaring in the yard gradually faded.

Grace Foster carried the bundle and strode down the path toward the village.

On both sides of the road stood graves, overgrown with weeds.

A hole had sunken into one of the mounds, and faint traces of rats could be seen.

Ahead was the lonely village.

The first two courtyards at the front now had only broken eaves and crumbling walls, the whole structure charred black. The burned door panels leaned against the walls. As he walked between the two courtyards, rats inside screamed and scattered.

A small path wound forward, with courtyards on either side.

Most were ruins, but a few remained, with smoke rising from their chimneys.

The village was so quiet; looking ahead, not a single person could be seen on the path.

Grace Foster stopped in front of the fourth courtyard.

Chapter 4: Pigs, Dogs, and Officials

“Bang, bang.”

Grace knocked on the wooden door, which groaned in response.

An old woman came out.

She wore tattered clothes whose original color was hard to discern, her gray-white hair messily plastered to her forehead. Her waist was bent at a frightening angle, and Grace Foster could clearly see the part of her scalp not covered by hair.

“It’s Grace, isn’t it!”