"Step right up and take a look! Smoke Pot Peculiar Slaves Exhibition Troupe! Come on over, folks—if it's not new or strange, you don't pay a dime!"
As the sun dipped westward, the midday heat faded, and street urchins roamed every alley of Jiyang City, shouting at the top of their lungs. Their voices were so loud and piercing, you could hear them clear as day even in the busiest market. No one really knew who this Smoke Pot boss was, but he clearly understood the art of advertising. Still, most folks thought all the shouting was pointless—after all, the moment the Smoke Pot Peculiar Slaves Troupe rolled into town, word had already spread like wildfire.
By evening, before the show even started, crowds of locals had already swarmed in, lining up outside for a good seat to the spectacle. The troupe moved fast—every worker was well-trained. In just one afternoon, they'd set up a whole tent village on the open ground north of town. As the sun set, the show began, and the crowds poured in.
Following the staff's directions, grown-ups led kids, boys held girls' hands, and everyone walked in with wide, curious eyes. Inside the entrance, instead of a grand hall, there was a long corridor made of tents. It twisted and turned—though the place wasn't that big, you could wander forever.
And the corridor wasn’t empty, either. Every so often, some rare and peculiar people were put on display.
"Mama, mama, look! That rat is huge!" a little girl tugged her mother's sleeve in amazement.
Inside a cage not much bigger than a birdcage, a 'rat' about the size of a three-year-old child lay curled up. At first glance, it looked just like a regular rat—beady eyes, long face, pointy nose, and when it grinned, it showed off a pair of giant front teeth. People crowded around, marveling—rats this big were a rare sight indeed.
"That's a Ratskin Man. Looks like a giant rat, but it's actually a man," explained a neatly dressed attendant. "He was found in the ruins of the Southern Wasteland. If you're interested, come take a closer look."
"A person?" The little girl gasped. "Can it talk?"
"Of course I can talk." This time, it wasn’t the attendant who spoke—it was the giant rat itself. Or rather, him. His voice was sharp and thin, just like a squeaking rat: "I can talk, read, and even do arithmetic!"
Everyone gave it a try—and sure enough, it was true! The crowd was amazed.
"One Ratskin Man, five thousand taels. If you're interested in buying, please take one of these wooden tags." The attendant smiled, handing out tags labeled "Southern Wasteland Ratskin Man."
The visitors all shook their heads and walked on. Five thousand taels? That’s like listing your dignity for ten million on Taobao, then shipping it by brainwave—only a fool would buy it, they thought.
They kept walking, and the sights along the way blew their minds.
"One Softbone Man—bones as soft as clay, you can squish and mold him however you like. Discovered at the Southern Wasteland oasis. Price: five thousand taels."
"One Blackskin Man—skin as dark as ink, you can’t see your hand in front of your face at night. Discovered at the Southern Wasteland market. Price: five thousand taels."
"One Barkskin Man—skin tough as old tree bark, makes a drum sound when you hit him. Discovered at the Southern Wasteland desert. Price: five thousand taels."
One after another, strange humans were put on display like animals, set out as exhibits. The crowd gawked and gasped; some kids were so scared they couldn’t bear to look, covering their eyes as they hurried past. Among the peculiar slaves, some bowed and scraped like the Ratskin Man. Others glared with hatred, struggling desperately to escape, but the iron locks and bars were impossible to break.
So-called peculiar slaves are people born strange and bizarre. Some have only four fingers, some have double pupils, some have backwards knees—but without exception, they're just ordinary folks. No martial arts, no cultivation. Even if they have special abilities, they can't break out of their custom-made restraints.
Most visitors took a lap and left; the whole tour didn’t cost much—five copper coins per person, on average. But besides the regular crowd, there was a special VIP section. That was a huge tent with seats for a hundred people, and it cost ten silver taels to get in. The things shown there were truly magical and bizarre.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I am the deputy leader of the Smoke Pot Peculiar Slaves Troupe." A young man in a long robe stepped out. Despite the summer heat, not a drop of sweat could be seen on his brow—clearly, he had some inner strength. "What you’re about to see are the true rarities we found on our Southern Wasteland journey—genuine oddities that defy all logic. Bring them up!"
He clapped his hands, and a group of people came in. The audience gasped—a giant of a man was brought in, or at least a giant head. Twelve men carried in a huge water tank, with the giant soaking inside. Only his head was visible, but it was three times bigger than a normal person's.
But when he stood up with a splash, it turned out his head was actually small compared to his body. With two drum-like thuds, the giant stepped out. Standing tall at least three meters, water cascaded down his skin like a waterfall. And he wasn’t skinny—he was solid as a rock. His body was wide, his legs thick as pillars, and his muscles looked forged from iron, leaving everyone dumbstruck.
"This is the Mighty Hercules, discovered in the depths of the Southern Wasteland at Moonlit Lake. As you all know, the peculiar slaves in our troupe have never practiced any martial arts—their abilities are purely natural. And Hercules’s gift is pure strength. Watch this!" The deputy leader waved, and Hercules grabbed the water tank’s base with his ape-like arms, let out a roar, and lifted the whole thing over his head.
"That tank weighs at least two thousand jin—enough to lift over twenty women at once! Our tests show Hercules can lift up to thirty-five hundred jin!"
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The crowd was amazed, bursting into applause. A kid asked, "If Hercules is so strong, why doesn’t he escape? Being a peculiar slave can’t be fun, right?" His parent quickly covered his mouth, but the deputy leader caught it anyway. Smiling kindly but with a cold glint in his eye, he said, "What’s strength good for? No matter how strong you are, you can’t match the mysteries of inner power. Besides, Hercules is very tame—he’s like a well-trained dog. Price: thirty thousand taels."
Hercules set down the tank. After all that effort, his whole body was flushed red. He quickly sat back in the tank to catch his breath, as if he couldn't stand to be out of the water for even a moment.
"Next one." The deputy leader clapped his hands. From outside came the creak of wheels. The curtain lifted, and in came a prison cart—nothing special, just a square cage like the ones used to haul criminals to execution. Inside sat a man in kung fu clothes, head bowed, messy hair covering his face, dust masking his features.
"What’s so special about this one?" The crowd looked him up and down, but he seemed completely ordinary compared to Hercules. No matter how they called or waved, the man didn’t respond—he just sat there like a block of wood. "Looks like just a regular fool to me."
"He really is a fool," the deputy leader admitted. "No matter what we say or do—yelling, scolding, even beating him—he doesn’t react at all. The Barkskin Man looks like wood on the outside, but this guy’s brain is wood on the inside. He’s a fool in every sense of the word."
The crowd erupted. Someone grumbled, "We paid ten silver taels, not to see some idiot. There's Wang the Fool from South City, and he's just as dumb—and free!"
"Don’t be hasty, folks. This man may be a fool, but that’s not his real talent—he’s... immortal."
"Immortal?" That was a big claim, and everyone stared in disbelief.
"Yes. First of all, he can’t die from hunger or thirst," the deputy leader explained. "It’s been ten days since we caught him. At first, we didn’t pay much attention—he was so dumb, he didn’t know to eat or drink, just sat there all day. We thought he’d starve soon, but he never showed the slightest sign of hunger or thirst. He’s a fool who simply can’t die of starvation."
"Can’t die of hunger?" Now the crowd was interested. Some leaned in for a closer look, and sure enough, the man in the cage didn’t look the least bit skinny. Someone challenged, "But how do we know you’re telling the truth? Maybe you fed him and made up this story to trick us!"
The deputy leader replied calmly, "Folks, the Smoke Pot Peculiar Slaves Troupe has never tricked anyone. We truly haven’t given him a single grain of rice or drop of water in ten days. If you don’t believe me, there’s nothing I can do. But do you know where this fool was found?"
"Where?"
"Southern Wasteland—the Nineteen-Deaths Desert." The deputy leader pronounced each word clearly. At the mention of the Nineteen-Deaths Desert, the whole crowd gasped. Legend had it that out of twenty who entered, nineteen would die, and the one who made it out would be half-dead. It was the most notorious deathtrap in the Southern Wasteland.
"Our boss found him in the Nineteen-Deaths Desert, sitting there just as he is now. Scorpions and venomous ants ignored him completely. No one knows how long he’d been there, or why. There might be a huge secret behind it. But whatever the reason, to sit unharmed in the Nineteen-Deaths Desert—he really is an immortal fool."
The crowd whispered among themselves, then nodded—this fool really was something special. All the while, the man in the cart sat as motionless as a block of wood, as if the cage, the people, the chatter—none of it was part of his world.
At that moment, a figure wrapped tightly in a cloak muttered softly in the crowd: "Ten days without food... that’s just cruel." The voice was so quiet, even the speaker might not have heard it—but the man in the cart seemed to catch it, and his eyes shifted ever so slightly, glancing at the figure with no emotion at all.
That voice was truly pleasant—just a single sentence, but as clear as a mountain spring.
But it was just a glance—after that, he went back to how he was before. Still, after that one look, there was a barely noticeable spark of life in him, as if he wasn’t quite as lost as before.