Record of a Demon's Cultivation Chapter 1: Fighting with the Beggar
Translator: Cinder Translations
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Qian Guo (Qian Country).
Yancheng (Salt City).
Song Wen lifted two stale steamed buns he had fished from a slop bucket, his face beaming with joy.
Likely owing to their density or the scant soup in the slop bucket, the buns hadn’t fully absorbed liquid, staying mostly clean with minimal stains.
He brushed off the two vegetable leaves clinging to the buns, utterly disregarding the stench wafting from the slop bucket nearby, and crammed the buns into his mouth with huge bites.
Without water to help, the cold, parched buns were incredibly tough to swallow. Song Wen paid it no mind; after several chews, he forced one bun down his throat.
The dry bun lodged in his throat, nearly choking him.
Once he finally gulped it down, a faint ease filled his empty stomach, yet he remained nowhere near sated.
He had transmigrated to this world two days earlier, and this was his first food since arriving.
Snapping back to awareness, he spotted a ten-year-old beggar boy standing before him. The boy stared wistfully at the leftover bun in Song Wen’s hand, eyes brimming with desire and expectation.
Song Wen glanced at the scrawny beggar boy ahead of him, then at the bun he held.
After a quick inner struggle and hesitation, he raised the bun toward his own lips, with no plan to share it.
Thrust into this ancient-seeming world, he discovered his modern skills and knowledge were worthless here, turning survival into a brutal ordeal. He felt no sympathy for unknown strangers.
Moments before the bun reached Song Wen’s mouth, the beggar boy’s face twisted into savagery.
The beggar boy dashed forward several steps, then vaulted high—over two meters—and lunged straight for the bun in Song Wen’s grasp.
Simultaneously, he gaped his filthy mouth, revealing yellowed teeth, and chomped down on Song Wen’s forearm.
Stunned by the beggar boy’s abrupt assault, a flash of panic appeared in Song Wen’s eyes at first, quickly turning to blazing fury.
In modern society, he had lived comfortably—not a huge success, but never short on food or shelter. Now hurled into this unfamiliar realm lacking survival expertise, frustration gnawed at him, and even this undersized beggar dared to challenge him!
At last, his rage had a target.
Song Wen’s face hardened with ferocity.
“Scram!”
He swung his arm, smashing toward the beggar boy.
Upon entering this world, Song Wen’s original thirty-year-old body had transformed into that of a fourteen- or fifteen-year-old—not especially tall, but far sturdier and stronger than the long-starved beggar boy.
Song Wen’s forearm crashed right into the beggar boy’s face, sending blood spurting from his nose instantly.
Yet Song Wen had gravely misjudged the beggar boy’s wild tenacity. Far from being flung away, the boy clamped onto Song Wen’s arm and bit deeper.
Through the whole clash, the beggar boy’s savage glare never wavered; his eyes stayed glued to the bun in Song Wen’s hand.
Pain surged, making Song Wen’s expression even more vicious.
“You little beast, how dare you bite me? I’ll kill you!”
Song Wen drove his knee upward with every ounce of power, slamming it brutally into the beggar boy’s chest.
The beggar boy absorbed the devastating strike, his frame going slack as he lost his grip on Song Wen’s forearm, then hurtled backward to smash into the filthy ground half a zhang distant.
TL Note: 1 Zhang is equivalent to 3.333meters or 10.9ft
Fury still burning hot, Song Wen refused to spare the beggar boy. He strode forward and stomped twice on the boy’s chest, launching him airborne again, forcing blood from his mouth in clear sign of grave internal wounds, until he finally skidded to a stop.
Right as Song Wen prepared to turn away, he caught the beggar boy shooting him a venomous glare of hatred.
That stare sent icy shivers racing down his back, a dark foreboding stirring in his heart.
Freshly arrived without power or connections, offending even society’s lowest beggar seemed unwise.
Who knew if this beggar boy had backing from local thugs?
After a tense, prolonged stare-down, thoughts of erasing the threat forever raced through Song Wen’s mind.
The dim, narrow alley saw little foot traffic. With only the two of them present, Song Wen was certain that a cold-blooded killing would go undetected for some time.
In the ruthless, lawless Yancheng of this parallel world, endless ordinary folks suffer wrongful deaths daily. Local authorities turn a blind eye, powerless or unwilling to act.
From the side of his vision, Song Wen spotted a massive cobblestone in the alleyway—sleek on top, rock-hard inside, doubtless tougher than the beggar kid's skull.
At that instant, the torments of the last two days flooded his mind. A colossal grudge exploded in his chest, fogging Song Wen's senses and crumbling the moral walls from his thirty-plus years in modern society. His face twisted into a dark, horrifying mask.
Having seen heaps of looting and brutality these past two days, Song Wen now roused the fiend lurking deep in his soul.
With others running wild, in a realm where predators devoured the helpless, why cling to his old world's righteousness?
Song Wen swung toward the cobblestone. Terror slowly filled the beggar boy's eyes.
All at once, two servants from rich estates emerged at the alley's end, lugging a slop pail, and advanced inside.
Spotting strangers, Song Wen's hazy reasoning cleared. The inner fiend pulled back, leashing his mad urges.
Some deeds lay beyond the pale—Song Wen felt relief mixed with strange satisfaction. He shook his head, turned, and quitted the alley.
Right as Song Wen emerged from the alley, a huge mob charging down the street grabbed his attention.
They hollered, "Hurry up, Tian Sha Gang is recruiting. If you're late, there won't be another chance."
Over the past two days, Tian Sha Gang's name had pounded into Song Wen's ears like an endless loop.
In Yancheng, Tian Sha Gang stood as the supreme gang powerhouse, outmatching officials in key ways.
Still, Tian Sha Gang's fame carried heavy stains from their myriad crimes.
Song Wen trailed the surge, bolting toward the street.
Recruitment spelled income, income meant decent grub—no more scrapping with beggars over slop bucket scraps.
He shoved fiercely through the jammed masses, at last eyeing the billboard stuck on the corner wall.
The notice's script echoed traditional characters from his prior life. Song Wen, no scholar of them, still caught the main idea.
Tian Sha Gang sought kids seven to fourteen for martial arts lessons, grooming them as future gang pillars.
Families of picks would snag fat payouts, kids promised glittering paths ahead, and such.
Scanning the notice done, disappointment settled on Song Wen.
Tian Sha Gang hunted newbie ganglings, not plain hires.
They took only seven-to-fourteen-year-olds, mismatched to Song Wen's current body's years.
Song Wen wriggled free of the throng, aiming to slip away.
Yet amid the raucous horde, a booming call erupted.
"Hey, you there, hold on."
Song Wen caught the yell but assumed it skipped him. He pressed on, elbowing through without pause.
"Hey, kid, I'm talking to you. Are my words no longer valid in Yancheng?"
Anger sharpened the trailing voice.
As a fresh arrival, Song Wen trod carefully, loath to rile anyone. He braked, pivoted, and scanned back to verify the target.
His gaze landed on a shaggy-bearded thug in scoundrel rags, eyes burning fierce, backed by two beefy bruisers all decked in Tian Sha Gang gear.
Song Wen's forehead creased right away. No idea how he'd crossed this "sir."
Once a plain peddler on Blue Star, Song Wen's sales gigs never piled up fortunes. But they sharpened his ear for audiences and knack for spotting veiled aims.
A toadying smirk bloomed on his mug. Quick strides carried him near, bowing deep to the "sir."
Grinning slavishly, he uttered, "Sir, you called for me. What can I do for you?"
Song Wen chafed at his own kowtow, yet knew in this wild land, living meant bending low at the start.
Riling local overlords fresh off the boat? That was dragon-prodding folly or suicide rush.
(End of the Chapter)