CHAPTER 121: CHAPTER 119: LITTLE SPIRITS FLOW WITHIN THEIR BODIES

"When you see this letter, I think I should already be dead.

Because if I’m not dead, I would definitely come back to destroy this shameful letter.

You might want to know who I am, but I won’t tell you my name. People in our trade don’t have names.

Well, since you already know I’m a dead man, I’ll talk to you like this.

What should I tell you then, just say, let me put it this way, I can immodestly say I’ve been detestable since I was a child.

When I was young, I loved watching people suffer. When I saw someone cry, I laughed gleefully.

When I grew up, I loved hanging out with thugs and goons until my father kicked me out of the family.

Who cares, I just loved wandering around, walking from east to west, from south to north, stealing and deceiving.

Don’t be indignant, there’s nothing I couldn’t deceive or steal!

One day, I thought, stealing other things is too stingy, let’s steal the formula for Blue Blood Wine.

That’s a big deal, with the market price being 22 gold pounds per bottle. If I could find the formula for Blue Blood Wine, I’d be rich.

So I gathered a few accomplices, and through various means, we incredibly luckily found a way in.

After killing a few innocent people, with the help of a Wizard, I impersonated a blind middle-aged monk and entered this Jim’s Monastery where Blue Blood Wine is brewed.

This monastery is an orphan monastery; once outsiders come in, they’re not allowed to leave.

I thought at the time, not allowed to leave? How naive, nothing has ever been able to hold your old man here.

Too young at the time, thinking back now, you often walk by the river, how can your shoes not get wet? I have been through every town’s prison for over a decade, and this is the first time I fell.

I stayed in this wretched place for thirteen years, can you believe that? I was a carefree wanderer, stuck here for thirteen years.

I should have left, yet I am still trapped here.

When I first came, a rotund abbot welcomed me.

He told me that the orphans in this orphan monastery are not true orphans; they are children rescued from the Green-clothed Flute Player.

To eliminate spies of the Secret Faction and cleanse them of the Secret Faction’s infection, it requires one to two years to purify. Once the time comes, they are sent away.

Although I didn’t understand what Blue Blood Wine brewing has to do with these little brats, I quietly stayed undercover.

Perhaps because I behaved too honestly, I was assigned as a caretaker for these little brats.

They were really annoying, making a racket every day, but I couldn’t hit them, because in the records, I was a gentle monk.

No way out, I had to tell them stories; I recounted my past experiences of deception and thievery.

I called myself Robinzo the Heroic Thief, describing those victims as Lord Knights.

Every time I told a story, they would sit down obediently, and I could have a moment of peace.

At night, some of them were afraid of the dark, crying as soon as night fell. One cried, and everyone followed suit.

I had to move my bed into their quarters, and later, every winter, my bed was crowded with children.

To stop them from making noise, I suggested to the abbot that they write letters to their parents.

Every year, they have a chance to write to their parents. Illiteracy is no issue, I would ghostwrite for them.

But most of these letters were often thrown into the fire.

They always asked me, when can we go home?

I said, soon, soon, then I’ll drive a carriage, through streets, over mountains, and send each of you home.

They never got to go home, I learned this in my second year in the monastery.

Everyone thought I was blind. I disguised too well, but I wished I truly was blind.

You know? Thousand River Valley People are unique, their ancestors were the direct Blood Slaves of the Prince of the Blood Cup, one of the twelve princes of the Blood Race.

Their bodies contain a special bloodline, untouched for centuries.

It’s only during their developmental phase that there’s a possibility of producing unclean blood.

When unclean blood is brewed with wine, a special kind of wine is produced.

It not only has aphrodisiac and hallucinogenic effects but also smoothens wrinkles and enhances the Knight’s breathing techniques.

And this wine has a resounding name, Blue Blood Wine.

Unclean blood can only be produced shortly before death in a state of extreme fear. It’s bluish, permeating the flesh and blood throughout the body.

These children under fourteen need to be ground with millstones, filtered over and over, distilled repeatedly, to obtain one portion of blue blood.

One portion of blue blood requires one child, and one portion of blue blood can brew one bottle of Blue Blood Wine.

The monastery’s annual output is about 70 bottles, with a selling price of 20 gold pounds per bottle.

gold pounds, that’s the income of a small monastery, equivalent to the tax revenue of a small county in the Thousand River Valley Region.

I obtained the Blue Blood Wine formula, but I couldn’t escape.

I was knocked out and brought here; all I know is that this is the Thousand River Valley, but I don’t know where.

It takes at least two days to get out, but giant spiders start hunting everything alive outside the monastery at night.

Every year or two, on a full moon night, I am locked in the basement.

The basement is so quiet, yet I can still hear them wailing and calling my name.

Under normal circumstances, I should laugh, but I can’t do it.

I’m just a rogue, a deceiver, a wastrel. You say, how could I have the ability to save these children?

They died, so what does it have to do with me?

I can’t escape, I can only stay here, year after year, telling the Robinzo stories I’m sick of, sending away one batch of children after another.

In their eyes, those are new and exciting stories.

The only thing I can do is keep their letters.

I can’t remember which year it was when I met Tess.

She was the most adorable little girl in this world, different from the others.

Every time I told the story of the heroic thief, she would ask me—why doesn’t the heroic thief go home? Where is the thief’s home?

Once I got sick, and the abbot, afraid of contagion, locked me in a room.

She led the other children, climbing up the window ledge, to sing to me at the window in turns, and I quickly recovered.

One night before the full moon, she sneaked into my room and told me she had a little person in her belly.

She was only fourteen, and in this monastery, besides me, the only man with bright eyes was the abbot.

She said she wanted to go home to see her parents, and wondered if Mr. Heroic Thief could take her.

I said it was too late, Mr. Heroic Thief was too tired, we’d talk in a couple of days.

When Tess’s body was found, it was already the morning of the third day.

She was only 14, with such a big belly, and on both sides of the road were countless blood-red spider eyes, and she was afraid of the dark.

She walked 25 miles in two days, didn’t cry, wasn’t bitten by spiders, she bled to death.

I carried her body back and laid it in a blooming flowerbed, butterflies would stop on her nose.

She looked as if she was asleep.

The abbot and the matron said, being pregnant was a good thing.

I stood at the door, from that night till the next evening.

I didn’t see her body, I only saw barrels of purplish-red wine.

Tess was a good child, I am a bad person.

I’ve ruined countless lives, stolen countless treasured things.

That’s why my family is ruined, that’s why I’ve lost precious things.

I can’t atone for my sins.

I’ve deceived everyone in my life, never done a good deed, I’m a complete scoundrel.

But I beg you, truly, I beg you, whoever finds this letter, I don’t know who you are.

I beg you, I have never begged anyone in my life, but I beg you, save them, save the children.

Don’t be a bastard like me.

Buried with this letter is evidence I’ve collected, I’ve been in this damn place for thirteen years, I’ve recorded the names of 792 children, their parents, hometowns, physical features, birthmarks, etc.

Their letters, I’ve kept them all, a total of 914, each of which I can recite backwards.

For all the dead children, I’ve tried to find belongings to prove their identity, a total of 93 items, I’ve listed them clearly.

I’m waiting, waiting for the day I can escape, the day I can make this public.

I want to send every one of them home safely!

But I must ask you to help me, because I can’t do it, I’m going to break my vow again.

You know? A week ago, I heard some news.

This monastery has stood for fifty-five years, it should be relocated, I can finally leave here.

But I can’t take anything, because they’re going to destroy everything here, even the clothes on my back.

So I can only leave these things, leave them to you, my friend.

If you are capable enough, please save these children, there isn’t just one such monastery.

If you, like me, are powerless, at least return these letters and relics to their parents, send them home.

I should have gone, but I thought, what if something unexpected happens?

What if these pieces of evidence are discovered by the church and destroyed?

What if my accomplices figure out my intent and take these pieces of evidence to the church to claim rewards and have the Inquisition hunt them down?

Don’t laugh, they really would do something like that.

You know, I’m a professional con artist, a legendary thief, I always have a backup plan, nothing goes wrong.

I want to protect these children in my own way, to protect this evidence.

This is not something I should do, foolish and unwise.

But it is the right choice in my life.

I have filthy blood in me, I just want to bleed it dry, in exchange for justice.

If one day, you succeed in what I ask of you, please erect a tombstone for me here.

Do not carve my name, please write—

’I have completed the journey to send you home.’

If not, please do not do so, my lonely soul will linger in this world forever, without me, they would be afraid."