“Spare me—!” These two words, along with the corresponding gesture, are universally understood throughout the north and south, across the land. Chris Brooks slammed on the brakes but couldn’t stop in time, nearly stepping right over Mr. Sullivan’s back. Fortunately, his body’s coordination tonight far surpassed his usual self. At the critical moment, he leapt into the air, gliding more than half a zhang, and landed steadily just a few inches above Mr. Sullivan’s head. He immediately spun around, pressed the tip of his knife downward, pointed it at Mr. Sullivan’s nose, and shouted, “Don’t move! Move again and I’ll really stab you!”

“Not moving, not moving!” Mr. Sullivan’s scalp tingled, and he raised both hands stiffly like a zombie. “Grandpa, spare me, Maitreya Sect’s grandpa, please spare me!”

“Maitreya Sect?” Chris Brooks was stunned, completely confused. His ears and tongue had gradually adapted to the new environment, and, almost miraculously, he could understand the local speech and even communicate in a similar accent. But his thoughts just couldn’t keep up.

“Little one, little one didn’t know you were a Maitreya Sect master before!” Mr. Sullivan, thinking his accent had caused a misunderstanding, quickly twisted his tongue and added in the accent of Dadu and Yongping, “If I’d known you were a Maitreya Sect master, even if you gave me three more guts…”

“Cut the crap! Where is this? And what are you people doing?” Chris Brooks grew impatient, nudging the knife tip forward as he pressed for answers.

“Master, spare me, I have an eighty-year-old mother at home and a baby still nursing!” Mr. Sullivan shuddered in fear, blurting out his plea for mercy. Only after speaking did he realize he hadn’t answered the question. He quickly kowtowed with a loud thud and hurriedly added, “I’m a bowman in the yamen, only bought this position three years ago, never did—no, haven’t even had the chance to do anything against my conscience! Maitreya master, spare me—!”

“Enough nonsense, where is this? Tell me quickly, where is this?” Albert Brooks’s eyes grew redder, staring hard at Mr. Sullivan, the knife tip pressing down relentlessly.

“This is Xuzhou City, Xuzhou City of the Guide Prefecture, Henan Jiangbei Province, Great Yuan Dynasty!” Suddenly realizing that Albert Brooks might be possessed by Maitreya Buddha and not know worldly affairs, Mr. Sullivan hurriedly rattled off the details. “Southwest Xie’er Lane, Luoma Alley, Xuzhou City! Maitreya master, what’s wrong with you? Your—your knife, oh my, spare me—!”

“Clang!” The butcher’s knife, which had been right under his nose, suddenly fell to the ground. Looking at Albert Brooks again, he seemed to have been drained of all strength in an instant and collapsed limply to the ground. His eyes stared blankly ahead, and he muttered, “Xuzhou, how did I end up in Xuzhou? I was still at home in Handan when I went to sleep yesterday. No, something must have gone wrong, something must have…”

‘Maitreya Buddha has left?!’ Mr. Sullivan was stunned, secretly muttering to himself. He’d seen others invite spirits before, and when the spirit left, the shaman’s state was almost exactly like Albert Brooks’s now.

‘Since the god is gone, don’t blame Someone Sullivan for being ruthless!’ Countless thoughts flashed through his mind, and Mr. Sullivan decided the best option was to take the chance to stab Albert Brooks to death and redeem himself. He glanced again at the absent-minded Albert Brooks, covered his right hand with his sleeve, and slowly reached for the knife handle—three inches, two inches, one inch…

Just as he was about to succeed, a miserable scream suddenly rang out by his ear. He looked up sharply to see his colleague Mr. Williams, who had fled earlier, being chased back like a wild dog by a burly man with a red scarf on his head, leading a crowd of commoners. With a brick, the man knocked Mr. Williams to the ground, and the crowd set upon him with sticks and clubs, silencing him in an instant.

“Fellow villagers, don’t be afraid! The Red Turban Army only kills Tatars and corrupt officials, not the common people!” The burly man with the red scarf proudly raised the iron ruler he’d just seized and shouted.

“Kill the Tatars, kill the corrupt officials, don’t kill the common people!” The commoners, who usually wouldn’t even dare breathe loudly in front of Mr. Williams, now seemed transformed, shouting at the top of their lungs. Then, following the burly man, they turned toward the next street corner.

“Kill the Tatars, kill the corrupt officials, don’t kill the common people!” In the dusk, who knew how many people were echoing the cry. Countless flames were lit throughout Xuzhou City, illuminating the whole city as bright as day.

“Kill the Tatars, don’t kill the common people!” In a flash of inspiration, Mr. Sullivan also shouted, flinging off his outer robe, tearing two strips from his half-worn red undershirt—one he wrapped around his own head, the other he handed with both hands to Albert Brooks.

“Kill the Tatars, don’t kill the common people!” Several white-clad clerks and junior jailers, who had been hiding in doorways to escape disaster, also took the hint, jumping out and shouting. Some tore strips from their own dark red underclothes, others ripped bloodstained cloth from the corpses of the dead, hurriedly tying them around their heads. Then, grabbing iron rulers, whips, and wooden sticks, they surrounded Albert Brooks in the center of their group like victorious soldiers escorting their general, continuing to shout loudly, “Kill the Tatars, don’t kill the common people!” “Kill the Tatars, don’t kill the common people!” “Kill the Tatars, don’t kill the common people!”

On August 16, 1351, Sesame Li, together with eight brothers and nine thousand righteous men, captured the important southern town of Xuzhou on the south bank of the Yellow River, shaking the world!

Chapter 005: Who Am I