Chapter 67

Chapter 67

Years ago, the Slaughterhouse was a lawless place. Might made right.

The meat pigs a Butcher worked hard to find were often stolen and devoured by rivals in the dead of night.

The Pig-Head Butcher had assumed this chaos would continue until the day it ended up as braised pork. That was, until the woman named Lu Zhi arrived.

Before becoming a pollutant, she’d apparently been some kind of corporate elite—a champion of the new era’s grind culture, wildly successful.

After her evolution, she didn’t miss a beat. First, she formed alliances, consolidating City X’s entire meat pig market. Later, she opened a new-era meat processing plant in the Southern Mountain Province, abandoning the outdated manual slaughter methods. Now her business spanned the globe.

The original Slaughterhouse Butchers, unable to defeat her, were forced to become her employees.

It just went to show: opportunity favors the prepared pollutant.

Without knowledge, a pollutant was doomed to the bottom rung.

Back in the day, Butchers were free. Now they clocked in at the factory from nine to six, no days off.

At least the pay was decent, with occasional overtime.

The old method of placing orders through mailboxes? Hopelessly outdated.

A while back, Boss Lu Zhi went to City K. Said she’d found a promising seedling.

Everyone thought she’d bring back a new Butcher. Instead, she returned with a seaweed man.

The seaweed man had been a programmer in life. After arriving in City X, he worked overtime to develop the Slaughterhouse app. Now clients could order fresh meat pigs with a single tap on their phones.

Short on Butchers, Lu Zhi even contacted the Floating Island’s master, hiring some bird-men as the Slaughterhouse’s delivery personnel.

Times had changed, but some old clients—especially the animal-evolved batch—were stubborn. Many pollutants still hadn’t learned to use a phone.

So, the mailbox order system was kept. After a mailbox scan, orders were routed to Butchers of the appropriate skill level.

Mailbox orders had one advantage: under the Rules, you never had to worry about a client defaulting on payment.

Since becoming corporate drones, the Butchers went from living by chance to collecting a salary.

If a Butcher wanted extra income, they had to scramble for orders on the Slaughterhouse employee app.

The Pig-Head Butcher was an honest pig.

His lack of education meant he always lost the scramble to other Butchers.

Before Lu Yan’s order arrived, he hadn’t had a single job in three months.

At this point, the Butcher’s fury boiled over. “Of all the shop-owning Butchers, I’m the only one evolved from a feed pig! The others were either human or mountain leopards and tigers! They laugh behind my back. Say my shop always runs at a loss. Say pigs are stupid. If not for the boss covering for me, I’d have been finished long ago!”

His cleaver thudded deep into the chopping block. “So what if I’m a pig? Do I deserve workplace discrimination just for that? Besides the boss, which Butcher here is stronger than me? Are kings and nobles born of special seed?!”

Lu Yan felt a surge of respect.

System: If a pig can quote classical texts, what excuse do humans have not to strive?

“I believe you,” Lu Yan said, his tone utterly sincere. “You will execute this order flawlessly.”

The Pig-Head Butcher grunted. “Good. You smell a bit odd, but you’re straightforward. Speak. What pig do you want to buy?”

“The pig I want is currently held at the City X Pollution Disease Prevention and Control Center. His name is Zong Yan. I want him alive. Fresh meat is best.” Lu Yan pulled out his phone, showing the Butcher Zong Yan’s ID photo.

A handsome young man with white hair, red pupils, and a stylishly half-ruined face.

The pig’s face turned toward Lu Yan.

Its eyes held undisguised greed.

A predatory glint so intense it raised the hairs on the back of the neck.

Lu Yan never forgot the pollutant across from him had a pollution value of 7700, but his expression remained placid.

He was still a client. Besides him, there were other customers. Surely, for the Slaughterhouse’s reputation, the Pig-Head Butcher wouldn’t dare act rashly.

“The Prevention Center…” The Butcher let out a low, chilling laugh. “Even though no human in City X can survive one blow from me, buying a pig from the Prevention Center won’t come cheap.”

As it spoke, a rancid odor hit Lu Yan’s face—like a sewer left uncleaned for twenty years.

“But since you’ve become a Slaughterhouse client, you must possess something valuable enough to cover the high price.”

The Butcher narrowed its eyes slightly, lifted a teapot, poured itself a cup of bloody water, and drained it.

System, suddenly urgent: The human-skin parchment. Now. Immediately. Find a place and apply it.

After leaving Mermaid Island, the parchment had lost its dream-invasion ability. The tattoo was still visible, but unless he needed to reach the Divine Kingdom, the skin was essentially useless.

Lu Yan had considered destroying it, but the parchment was impervious to blade, fire, and water.

He feared if it fell into the wrong hands, it might become another Bliss Cult scripture.

The First District was densely populated. If the Bliss Cult started spreading person-to-person, things would get extremely troublesome.

So, Lu Yan always carried the parchment with him.

Without waiting for the Butcher’s next words, Lu Yan asked, “Do you have a restroom?”

The Butcher frowned. “Why?”

“I’m marine-life. Prone to dehydration. Thirsty,” Lu Yan stated frankly.

The Butcher grumbled, “You ocean creatures are nothing but trouble. Who besides humans even needs to shit nowadays?” It lifted the curtain of the pork shop. “Workbench inside. Has a faucet.”

This workbench was undoubtedly for cleaning up the blood and grime left by meat pigs.

Slaughterhouse owner Ms. Lu was a pollutant with slight cleanliness OCD. Once, during an incognito inspection, she’d docked the Pig-Head Butcher half a month’s wages for his shop being too filthy.

The room had no light, shrouded in gloom.

The Butcher’s workbench was a large sink. The drain was clogged with hair. The bottom of the sink was wet and sticky, making a thick, sucking sound underfoot.

Lu Yan tried not to look at the various human heads mounted on the wall behind the workbench.

System: When humans hunt, they like to mount the heads of fierce beasts as trophies. Clearly, pollutants are no different.

System: These heads… all belonged to your Special Operations Department seniors over the past few decades.

The Department’s Apostles, of course, knew City X housed this ticking time bomb. They’d considered eradicating the pollution.

They’d tried. And failed. The result—total annihilation, not a single survivor—was too devastating. Headquarters had no choice but to halt such meaningless sacrifice, maintaining this fragile balance.

Lu Yan silently turned on the faucet. Behind him, a few meters away, the Pig-Head Butcher leaned against the doorway, cleaver in hand, watching like a tiger eyeing its prey.

A mouth split open on his palm. Wang Yu drank from the tap in great gulps.

Wang Yu didn’t need water. It ate plenty of pollutants.

But the good son clearly understood the precarious situation, drinking tap water without complaint.

Half a minute later, Lu Yan turned off the faucet. He took the human-skin parchment from his inner pocket and used it to wipe his hands.

Every movement was perfectly natural.

He crumpled the parchment into Wang Yu’s mouth. When it was spat out a moment later, it had become much more obedient, docilely adhering to the back of Lu Yan’s hand, merging seamlessly with his skin.

That dark, voyeuristic sensation washed over him once more.

Seeing Lu Yan emerge, the Pig-Head Butcher rubbed its snout. “I’m almost off shift. Hurry up and sign the order.”

Lu Yan naturally had no objections.

The order was a standard contract. The customer could choose delivery location and time.

System: Time: one week from now.

System: Location: Luo River Botanical Garden.

Lu Yan complied.

When not writing medical reports, his handwriting was actually quite elegant.

The Pig-Head Butcher stuffed the order into its apron pocket.

“Payment on delivery. The Slaughterhouse does honest business. But, to prevent customers from skipping out, we sometimes have to use… minor measures.” It chuckled, pulling a red-hot branding iron from the gas stove. “I need to stamp the pork seal. Pick a spot.”

System: In simple terms, this pork seal acts as a contract. It can forcibly collect payment from the signatory.

Lu Yan’s eyebrow twitched involuntarily. “What will it take from me?”

System: Barring accidents… your good son. The system chuckled too. But, who said you’re the one signing the contract? That skin on your hand isn’t yours.

Lu Yan understood instantly. He removed his glove, exposing the back of his left hand. “Stamp it here.”

Perhaps it was his imagination, but the parchment on his hand began writhing frantically.

In contrast, golden fish scales erupted across Lu Yan’s original skin. Fine white threads shot out, gripping the human skin fiercely, pinning it mercilessly to his hand.

Outnumbered, the human-skin parchment felt immense agony.

It had originally borne the mission of spreading the faith, peeled from the Holy One’s own hand.

But fate was unpredictable.

Its chosen missionary had been eliminated by Lu Yan.

Later, when the parchment tried to convert Lu Yan into a believer, it was pummeled into a tattoo by Wang Yu.

Even now, it was being forced by circumstances beyond its control to betray its master, sleeping soundly thousands of miles away…

The human-skin parchment wept bitter tears.

System: [I’m crying. I’m pretending. Let’s get our good son some extra rations when we get back.]

The Pig-Head Butcher gave it a glance.

On the back of Lu Yan’s hand was an elegant black tattoo. For some reason, though, the skin there seemed oddly uneven.

Not that a Butcher cared about such things. It wasn’t a doctor.

With a vicious grin, the Pig-Head Butcher pressed the searing-hot branding iron down.