Blood was flowing—let’s make blood tofu out of it.

Chapter 008: Blood Has Been Shed, Let’s Make Blood Tofu

Night had fallen. Fang Rulai, who had to crawl through a doghole to leave the city and return to the temple, had already prepared herself for the worst—if Lotus Sutra Temple had been reduced to ruins, or if her little monks had all perished, she knew exactly how she would set her revenge in motion.

But what she never expected was that, along with the joy of finding both the temple and her little monks safe and sound, came the utter shock of discovering the kitchen storeroom overflowing with baskets upon baskets of large, fresh radishes, each piled high, neatly stacked, and draped with red silk embroidered with the character for “happiness”—so many that the storeroom itself had all but exploded from the bounty.

“Is the land deed still here?” Fang Rulai stared straight ahead, wishing her gaze could pierce through the thick wall of radishes like a beam of light.

“I’m not sure,” Jie Tang answered honestly. “When we heard strange noises outside, I gathered everyone and hid us in the secret passage. By the time we came out, the whole place was filled with radishes.” Judging by the quantity, it was enough to last them until year’s end and still have leftovers—assuming, of course, that the radishes didn’t rot away first.

“If you wanted to make these radishes rot as fast as possible, how would you do it?” Fang Rulai asked with a simmering resentment.

Jie Tang was caught off guard. “Eh?” Wasn’t wastefulness considered a grave sin? And hadn’t their abbot always insisted that wasting food was absolutely forbidden? Why was she asking this now?

Luckily, Fang Rulai quickly changed her mind. “Forget it. Pretend I never asked.” Even if these radishes vanished into steam this instant, and she recovered the land deed that very moment, there were some things—like ducks pressed onto a rack—once set in motion, they would never fly back.

The old lady was dead. The murderer was dead. Dozens of officials were dead as well. Even if she trusted that twisted landlord to erase every trace of their involvement, so that the authorities would see only a tragic, heroic scene of failed justice, she knew full well the true mastermind would see through it all.

So, this was the landlord’s way of reminding her—with all these radishes—that only by marrying him as agreed could she earn his aid and eliminate any future threats.

But marry him? That troublemaker who looked like he sought out punishment for fun? She’d rather marry the widowed sister who offered unlimited free braised pork!

Ah, the widow! Only then did Fang Rulai remember Zhu Xishi, who had left midway to pursue the murderer. “Jie Tang, has Sister Xishi come by?”

Jie Tang shook his head. “No. Ever since she left with you, we haven’t seen her. Why? Did something happen?”

Fang Rulai frowned, then recounted everything that had just happened. She wasn’t trying to burden anyone with her troubles, but if things came to a head, everyone needed to understand the situation.

When she finished, she asked for Jie Tang’s opinion. “What do you think?”

Jie Tang was the oldest among the little monks—even though he was only twelve. He handled matters more prudently than she did, despite her being eighteen. Outwardly, she was the leader, but behind the scenes, Jie Tang managed the daily affairs. Whenever a decision was needed, she always consulted him, and he always gave sound advice.

But this time, Jie Tang didn’t answer straightaway; instead, he quickly turned Fang Rulai towards him and examined her from head to toe. “And you? Are you hurt anywhere? Do you feel unwell?”

Fang Rulai’s ability to sense the past wasn’t without cost. If the event was recent, it left her weak and dizzy; if distant, it could damage her organs and make her cough blood. Today, only those from Lotus Sutra Temple knew that the blood she had coughed up at the matchmaking contest was real—a result of trying to earn money by chanting for souls and sensing something from so long ago.

So, even with this money-making tool, their lives remained as frugal as ever—the earnings went to supporting the little monks, and to nourishing Fang Rulai’s strength. After all, no one could afford to cough up blood every few days.

And today, when she should have been home resting and eating braised pork, she used her powers again that night. What would happen to her body?

Jie Tang’s worry was written all over his face. Yet Fang Rulai suddenly felt all the day’s discomfort in her stomach vanish in an instant.

“Thank you, Jie Tang. I’m fine.” She reached out to pat his head in gratitude, but before she could, Jie Tang stepped back two paces, making his refusal clear.

Fang Rulai was puzzled. “Jie Tang?”

He turned away, frustrated that the one who always discussed important matters with him had never really seen him as a man, but he only said, “Before he passed, the old abbot told us: the most important thing is us, not the temple.”

His opinion was clear: leave.

He wasn’t afraid, but given the current odds, if they wanted to keep all the little monks safe, leaving was their only option.

Of course, there was another method—find a protector. In other words, find the owner of these radishes.

Jie Tang glared at the pile of radishes; if those were the two choices, he’d rather leave in disgrace than rely on someone so detestable.

Mentioning the old abbot, Fang Rulai’s expression grew heavy. “The old abbot cared only for us. How could we betray his life’s work?”

The dilapidated temple, she remembered, had been passed down through generations—from her master’s master’s master. Now, in their generation, only seven monks remained—most of them children, and some not even real monks. Yet the large statue of the Buddha in the main hall, towering a story high, was a constant reminder that this place had once known glory. More than once, they had sworn before the old abbot’s memorial tablet that they would restore the temple to its former honor.

But now, were they to flee before they’d even begun to revive its greatness?

“I can’t do it,” Fang Rulai’s voice was low, nearly a sigh, but it was firm and unwavering.

Jie Tang said nothing, only bent to start moving radishes.

Fang Rulai twisted her fingers, trailing behind him. “Jie Tang, why don’t you take the others and find somewhere safe? I can order myself to protect the temple no matter the cost, but I can’t watch the others risk their lives with me—especially little Jierou, who’s only six.”

“Abbot, I’m not leaving. I want to stay with you!” Little Jierou, who had been listening in, jumped up immediately. He didn’t fully understand the gravity of the matter, but he knew he wanted to stand side by side with them.

“That’s right. If we go, we go together. If we stay, we stay together,” Jietang declared, leading the others forward.

Fang Rulai felt a sudden heat in her eyes. “Everyone…”

“Then hurry up and help with the radishes!” Jie Tang interrupted harshly, snatching the words from her mouth. “First, we have to make sure the land deed is still here.”

“Yes!” the little monks chorused, rolling up their sleeves and surging forward. “But, Senior Brother, where are we going to put all these radishes? We haven’t even finished the frozen ones in the ice cellar!”

Jie Tang froze. Radishes were the cheapest food, so the temple was never short of them. But this many, all at once—they couldn’t just throw them out, that would be sacrilege…

“It’s simple. Move all these fresh radishes into the ice cellar,” Fang Rulai said, wiping her face and joining the fray. “Then take out all the radishes that have been frozen all winter.”

Little Jierou protested, “The frozen ones don’t taste as good as these fresh ones.”

Jie Tang hesitated. “To save firewood and time, we’d sliced all those radishes thin before freezing them. If we take them out now, it’s easy to cut your fingers…”

Fang Rulai smiled with a hint of menace. “What’s a cut finger? A slit throat would be more exciting.”

Jie Tang’s eyes lit up. “In that case, we’d better prepare some ice ahead of time, or the radishes might thaw before they reach anyone’s throat…”

Little Jierou suddenly drooled. “If we bleed, can we make blood tofu?”

The whole group shuddered.

Then, glancing at each other, they burst into expectant, bloodthirsty grins: Whose blood would make the first batch of blood tofu?

Heartfelt thanks to the friends who supported me on November 28th: White Hair in Red Robes, Stinky Egg Haha, Ke LK, Murong Lingshan, Wind and Clouds 191, Ziyu Fei, Sunflowers Everywhere (in no particular order).

Dear friends, do you know my hands tremble as I type your names now? This is the pace of writing with my life on the line…

But my heart is so full and swollen with happiness—what am I to do?

I’m genuinely afraid it might burst!