Seeing no trace of sympathy in those eyes, Chen Youzai’s cries weakened into soft sobs.
Crying was the only outlet left to him.
No one understood his words. He knew nothing of this land. What fate awaited prisoners here, he dared not imagine.
The thought alone drove him to the brink of collapse.
His tearful murmurs were like pear blossoms bathed in rain—so plaintive that even the resting brute found his gaze softening.
Who would have thought such an ugly face could produce such soul-stirring sounds?
Just then, a troop of soldiers approached in the distance.
At once, everyone present knelt obediently. Those who had been causing trouble lowered their heads in haste, waiting silently for orders.
Chen Youzai noticed the sudden hush and scrambled up awkwardly, kneeling in an ungainly posture.
Listening to the officials’ discussion, he pieced together the general meaning.
Most here would be sent to garrison the frontier—clearing wasteland, farming fields, building bridges and roads.
The newly arrived and strong of build would be selected for military service.
As for the young men of proper appearance and nimble bearing—they might become household servants to local officials.
Of these fates, the last seemed the least grueling.
Swallowing his despair, Chen Youzai realized survival required choosing the easiest path.
At the words “proper appearance,” hope flared within him.
If even the most handsome man in the world did not count as proper-looking, then surely everyone here must be crooked-mouthed and cross-eyed.
Originally kneeling near the rear, he straightened his back at once and shuffled forward on his knees to a more conspicuous spot, hoping to catch the soldiers’ attention.
One soldier indeed approached him, scrutinizing him from head to toe. Chen Youzai lifted his chin confidently.
After a long moment, the soldier turned away. Others came to examine him in turn. Several minutes passed before the group withdrew.
That should be about right… he thought smugly. A fine face truly is a revolutionary weapon.
Soon after, the very brute who had whipped him strode back, roaring for everyone to move and carry stones.
At once, even the sickly prisoners struggled to their feet and staggered away. In a blink, the ground was empty—save for Chen Youzai still kneeling there, conspicuously unmoving.
The brute approached.
Fear prickled in his chest, but he clenched his fists.
Life offers only so many chances to gamble!
“If I’ve been selected,” he ventured, “then I needn’t carry stones now, correct?”
The brute regarded him strangely, offering no reply.
Chen Youzai guessed the man might not understand him.
His mind raced at lightning speed.
Switching awkwardly into archaic phrasing, he declared:
“This humble commoner seeks clarification. The officials just now selected candidates—when shall the results be announced? Should I be fortunate enough to be chosen, must I still labor in the mountains and fields?”
Seeing the brute’s expression unchanged, he hastily added:
“You may simply append ‘too’ at the end of your answer… No—sorry! Merely conclude with the character ‘too’…”
He flashed an ingratiating grin.
The next instant, a scream tore from his throat.
The whip lashed mercilessly across his tender flesh, leaving savage brown welts. As the brute struck, he roared:
“Move those stones! No food for you today!”
Futile Devices Scans 
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