121 Disappointment

The Young Toughs of Aicli Village

Ahem, Wu Qingchen and his two elder brothers in the medieval world had, in fact, already been exempted from summer labor duty long ago, back when Wu Qingchen treated the village’s plow oxen. The entire family had been exempted.

However, since he had been appointed as the cowherd by the Baron, Wu Qingchen could hardly be absent during the critical juncture of summer labor, when the village’s oxen were collectively put to work.

As for his elder brothers, Idra and Grace, they would surely face such significant events in the future. With two experienced cowherd assistants nearby to offer guidance, this was a perfect opportunity to gain experience. Even without the cowherd’s stipend that the steward had sent over via the bailiffs two nights ago, the two would have shown up to observe regardless.

Following the path cleared by the villagers, Wu Qingchen walked over to Tor. The villagers who had been standing there to be counted had long since tactfully stepped aside, leaving the best spot for him.

"Good day, Uncle Tor."

"Good day, Los."

Offering a warm smile to the villagers he passed and a friendly one to Tor, Wu Qingchen gestured behind him: "Uncle Tor, the plow oxen are all here. Please count them."

In the direction Wu Qingchen pointed, Idra, Grace, and the two cowherd assistants were driving a large herd of oxen into the common land.

"Good. You rest for a moment; it won't take long," Tor said, standing up promptly. He narrowed his eyes, peering at the herd while cross-referencing his parchment scroll.

"Los, good day."

The other village administrator, the headman, walked over.

"Good day, Uncle O'Connor. My apologies for delaying your work."

"It's nothing. You lot finish your counting first."

With Tor no longer counting the people, the headman naturally couldn't distribute the tools yet, but O'Connor didn't mind. Pointing toward the area where the serfs were gathered, O'Connor smiled and said, "Take your time, no rush. I'll go over there first; it’s all the same if I distribute their tools first."

Nodding again at Wu Qingchen, O'Connor gestured, and several assistants carried large baskets filled with wooden tools prepared for the serfs toward the area where they were waiting.

Stopping about ten paces from the serfs, O'Connor covered his nose with one hand and pointed forward with the other.

The assistants understood, walking over to the serfs, setting down the baskets, and then, accompanied by the bailiffs, vigilantly shoved the wooden tools into the hands of the serfs.

The serfs accepted the tools with expressionless faces.

These poor souls were, for the most part, ragged, filthy, thin, and haggard.

Within the remarkably uniform crowd of serfs, two individuals who were relatively sturdy, wore decent clothing, but had bruised and swollen faces stood out conspicuously.

As the assistants reached these two in the process of handing out tools, O'Connor, who had been pacing nearby, suddenly stopped.

At this moment, taking advantage of the lack of attention, Kent had already been pulled away by Sanchez, retreating quietly with his entire family, trying his best to stay out of Wu Qingchen's line of sight.

This is bad!

For some reason, after witnessing Wu Qingchen’s entrance, seeing Headman O'Connor move toward the serfs made Kent feel incredibly uneasy.

Oh, heavens!

Seeing Headman O'Connor suddenly freeze, Kent felt as if he, too, had been paralyzed.

"Hey! Espier! Espier!"

From afar, the voice of Headman O'Connor calling the head of the bailiffs drifted over: "Come here, take a look!"

"What is it, O'Connor?"

Espier hurried over.

"Here, here," O'Connor pointed ahead, "Why are these two still here?"

"These two? Are you talking about Baker and Green?" Espier looked puzzled. "Of course they're still here! The agricultural official said so himself! Why? Do you want to let them go?"

"Let them go? How could that be!" O'Connor shouted. "Didn't the steward tell you anything yesterday?"

"No," Espier asked, confused. "Master Ifrit didn't say anything!"

"Ah! Espier!"

Hearing this, a bailiff who had walked over behind the head of the bailiffs suddenly slapped his forehead hard. "It’s my fault! Yesterday, the steward told me to tell you that these two can't stay here!"

"What? You!" Espier turned his head abruptly, glaring fiercely at his subordinate. "Why are you only saying this now?"

"It’s my fault... I was rushing to finish my last bit of work and accidentally forgot..."

*Smack!*

"Enough! Stop mumbling!" Espier slapped the bailiff’s head hard as well. "What did the steward order? Tell me quickly!"

"Steward Ifrit said these two are trying to stir up trouble in the village again, planning to cause chaos with the oxen..."

Cause chaos with the oxen!

O'Connor, who had already suspected as much, looked even gloomier, and Espier’s expression turned stern in an instant.

Across from them, hearing the bailiff’s words and staring at the finger he was pointing, Baker and Green felt as if the language had turned into a sharp scythe and the finger into a pointed spear. Their faces shifted dramatically, and their entire bodies trembled like buckwheat stalks blown by the wind.

The bailiff continued: "The steward said these two cannot stay here. He wants you to take them to the sludge pits immediately and keep a close watch so they don't escape."

The sludge pits!

That was the most grueling labor of the entire summer duty; very few could survive a month of such misery.

Hearing this, even the expressionless crowd of serfs erupted into a slight commotion. Baker and Green, the two brothers, seemed as if their bones had been suddenly pulled out; their bodies went limp, and their mouths opened and closed, unable to even utter a plea for mercy or a word of defense.

Glaring coldly at the two, then coldly at the bailiff who had nearly caused a disaster, Espier spat out a series of syllables through gritted teeth: "Well? What are you waiting for? Drag them away immediately!!"

Espier’s roar was effective. After a shudder, the errant bailiff quickly signaled four or five familiar companions to grab Baker and Green by their arms, ankles, robes, and hair, quickly dragging the two men—who no longer had the strength to struggle—out of the common land.

Dozens of paces away, watching this scene, Kent also trembled.

The bailiffs dragging these would-be offenders became smaller and smaller on the road.

Watching them leave, Kent suddenly noticed that Wu Qingchen/Los had leaned over to whisper a few words into Tor's ear. After the latter nodded, he suddenly shouted toward the direction of the serfs: "Uncle O'Connor, Uncle O'Connor, please come here for a moment. There is something I would like to ask your help with."

Heavens! What does Los know? What did Los say?

Kent clearly felt his father’s grip on his arm tighten with all his strength. Despite this force, Kent felt as if he were completely numb; he felt no pain, nor any other sensation.

The headman walked to Wu Qingchen’s side quickly. Wu Qingchen leaned in to whisper to him again, and the latter nodded repeatedly as he listened. After the conversation ended, Headman O'Connor straightened up and walked toward the direction of the Sanchez family.

*Hoo, hoo, hoo.*

This was Kent’s rapid, ragged breathing.

*Thump, thump, thump.*

This was the violent beating of Kent’s heart.

*Chatter, chatter, chatter.*

This was the involuntary clashing of Kent’s teeth.

*Tap, tap, tap.*

This was Kent’s foot hitting a nearby branch for no reason.

It felt as long as a lifetime, but O'Connor walked past Tor, past the stool, past the large tree, and his eyes eventually turned toward Kent—

Oh heavens! Oh heavens! Oh heavens!

In an instant, Kent’s eyes widened, his head felt heavy, and the blood rushed to his head; he was on the verge of fainting.

O'Connor’s gaze passed over Kent, and he walked past the Sanchez family, continuing forward, past several large boulders, before suddenly calling out loudly: "Hey, Richard, Freeman, Old Holt, and Torld, come here! All of you, come here!"

So he wasn't looking for us!

So, Los didn't mention us!

Those Headman O'Connor was calling now were all families close to Old William’s household. Anything involving these people certainly wouldn't implicate the wretched Baker and Green!

*Hoo...*

Kent gasped for air.

"Ouch!" As Kent’s nerves relaxed, he suddenly felt a burning pain in his right wrist.

"What is it?" Hearing his son’s cry, Sanchez turned his head abruptly and realized that his son’s wrist had been bruised by his own grip.

Quickly releasing his arm, Sanchez wiped his own forehead, flicking off sheets of sweat.

At this moment, the sun had fully risen. Standing in the summer sunlight, Sanchez didn't feel the heat; instead, he felt his whole body chilled, and his back felt icy.

Looking around, Sanchez saw that it wasn't just his family that had been closely watching Headman O'Connor. Near several large boulders not far to the front left, and near a puddle not far to the rear right, Wright, Carter, and several other families who had once been close to the original cowherd all looked as if they had received a pardon—full of the relief of having survived a disaster.

Turning his gaze back to his family, Sanchez noticed that his wife, eldest son, and second son, who knew the gravity of the situation, were all letting out long sighs of relief. Even his youngest son, Kent, had a look of lingering fear on his face.

"Father..." Under Sanchez’s gaze, Kent’s lips trembled. "I really... really wish our family had never... never had anything to do with the cowherd."

"It's fine, it's fine." Sanchez understood his son’s feelings well and hugged him tightly. "Don't be afraid. When time passes, whenever people mention the cowherd, they will only think of Los."

"How long will that take?"

"How long..." Sanchez sighed. "If not this year, then next year. If not next year, then the year after. Life is long; there will always be such a day."

*The year after next.*

The last time Sanchez mentioned the same phrase, Kent had been grumbling and complaining in his heart.

This time, when Kent heard it again, he nodded heavily along with his family from the bottom of his heart.

"I really hope it's next year soon, and the year after next soon!"

Thirty minutes later, the United Kingdom, a certain virus research institute. Los Angeles, USA, Microbiology Research Institute, one of thousands of competitors.

"Bastards! A bunch of bastards! They’re all cowards!"

Staring at the real-time video of the medieval world just decoded on the screen, the Doctor threw the research direction adjustment document he had just received from various departments, letting them scatter chaotically across the office.

"Doctor..." the assistant cautiously avoided the flying papers. "Didn't the advisory team say that these people of interest still possess a certain level of danger?"

"Look! Look carefully!" Grabbing the screen in front of him, the enraged Doctor shoved the display toward the assistant’s position, his finger stabbing fiercely at the screen.

At the spot the Doctor pointed, according to the multi-disciplinary opinions of psychologists, sociologists, and micro-expression experts, the heads of family members like Sanchez, Wright, and Carter—circled in red—were marked with conspicuous three-line red text, indicating their subjective malice toward Wu Qingchen.

The bottom line was the data from the day these people arrived at the summer labor common land; it showed that their subjective malice toward Wu Qingchen ranged from 20% to 40%.

The middle line was the data after Wu Qingchen staged his "Young Tough: Covering the Fields with One Hand," which had dropped to 1% to 12%.

The top line was the data after Baker and Green were dragged away by the bailiffs and Wu Qingchen had spoken with the two village administrators; by this time, it had plummeted to 0% to 0%.

Having carefully studied the evaluation criteria, the Doctor knew very well in his heart:

0% to 0%

Such data, even at its highest point, was not enough to make one person spit behind another's back.

"This..." Looking at the data, the assistant, who also understood the evaluation method, clearly showed a hint of joy on his face: "No one dares to target Wu Qingchen anymore; isn't... isn't this a good thing?"

"What good thing!"

"No malice, no danger—who will still pay attention to our research!"

"Without attention, where will the funding come from? Without funding, what will we use for experiments? If we can't conduct experiments, what are we living for?"

A series of roars erupted from the Doctor’s mouth. At the peak of his intensity, the Doctor slapped the table, shouting in anger:

"Where is the jealousy? Where is the rage? Where is the family affection? The neighborly bonds? The empathy for the fallen? The chain reaction?"

"How can these damn idiots not know how to hold a grudge? How can they not act according to the script of 'those who go before, those who follow after'??!!

"Incompetent! Disgraceful! Trash! Cowards!"

"It is so disappointing!!!"