"The Undying Fool, from the Nineteen Death Desert, asking price: sixty thousand taels. Alright, and now for the last one—this one will really open your eyes. Bring it up!" The Deputy Captain clapped his hands, and for the third time, the curtain was lifted. Four burly men carried in a platform, on which sat a sizable object covered by a red silk cloth. The cloth quivered ever so slightly—there was definitely something alive underneath.
The burly men set the platform down and withdrew with hands at their sides. The Deputy Captain called out, "I wonder if any of you have ever heard of a peculiar exhibit called the Bottle Woman?"
"Bottle Woman?" The crowd looked at each other, puzzled. Someone with a bit more experience piped up, "I know it! I saw one in the capital of the Great Zhou once. Honestly, it’s not that special—a theater troupe takes a baby girl, chops off her arms and legs, stuffs her torso into a vase so only her head sticks out, and raises her like that. That’s how you get a Bottle Woman!"
Hearing this explanation, the audience began whispering among themselves, some unable to hold back cries of shock. The method for making a Bottle Woman was truly horrifying and hard to stomach.
"That’s right, ordinary Bottle Women are made like that. But there’s one thing you got wrong—those babies’ limbs aren’t just hacked off. If you do that, they rarely survive. From what I know, they use cotton thread to tightly bind the base of each limb, cinching it tighter every week. As the child grows, her arms and legs just fall off naturally. Then they soak the girl in a special potion for a month, until her bones turn soft as noodles. Only then can they squeeze her into a vase and make a Bottle Woman."
The man shared this gruesome tale with a smile, as if these appalling things didn’t faze him one bit. Sensing the mood was just right, the Deputy Captain raised his hand and said, "But folks, the next one is also a Bottle Woman, but she’s no cheap knockoff. Her case is so strange, so marvelous, so utterly incredible that you’ll never see another like her in your life!"
Swish! He whipped off the red silk, and sure enough—there was a human head underneath. It belonged to a young woman, with big eyes, delicate features, and pale skin—a true beauty. Her hair was styled with flowers, and she was meticulously groomed, but her expression was as lifeless as a corpse. No amount of powder could hide the despair and helplessness radiating from her bones.
"Help... me..." She parted her lips, letting out a faint whisper that barely anyone could hear.
"Take a look, folks! This vase is much bigger than your average Bottle Woman’s—so big, it’s hard to even call it a vase. It’s a special style from an ancient dynasty in the Southern Wasteland. We found it in some ruins. It’s been centuries, but it’s still sturdy as ever." The Deputy Captain knocked on the big ceramic vase—judging by the sound, it was thick and solid indeed.
"Come up and take a look! This Bottle Woman’s name is Sissi. What makes her unique is that her arms and legs are all perfectly intact. Anyone with cultivation can check—her bones and meridians are totally normal, not raised in a vase. But here’s the kicker: she’s been stuffed into a vase she absolutely shouldn’t fit into!"
Before he could even invite them, everyone was already on their feet in amazement, crowding forward. Some reached out to touch the woman's head, others felt the vase, and after a long inspection, they realized it was no trick.
She sat curled up, hugging her knees inside the vase, her body packed so tightly there was barely room to turn or breathe. We guarantee—she’s got no cultivation whatsoever, not bone-shrinking arts, and she’s not a natural contortionist. She’s just a regular woman. And yet, this perfectly normal woman mysteriously appeared in the Southern Wasteland ruins, inside this vase—and she knows nothing! No matter how we ask, she insists she just took a nap, and when she woke up, she was in the ruins, stuck in this vase. I’m telling you, there’s gotta be a huge secret here.
"Whoa!" The crowd gasped in awe, everyone thinking it was unbelievable.
The same kid spoke up again: "So why is this lady still stuck in the vase? Why not just smash it and let her out?"
The crowd fell silent for a moment. Some nodded, others just kept quiet. The Bottle Woman looked utterly exhausted. She opened her eyes to glance at the kid, tried to force a smile that didn’t quite make it, then let her head droop helplessly.
"Kiddo, you wanna save her?" The Deputy Captain grinned. "Then cough up a hundred thousand taels. Southern Wasteland’s mysterious Bottle Woman, starting price: one hundred thousand. Whoever’s got the cash gets her, and you can do whatever you want—free her or keep her, it’s all up to you. Alright, Peculiar Slaves Exhibition ends here, take her away!"
The four burly men reappeared and carried off the base of the vase. The Bottle Woman’s faint cries for help went unheard by most, except for one cloaked figure whose eyes flashed with anger.
Night fell.
On the largest carriage, the Deputy Captain stood respectfully outside the window, reporting, "Sir, lots of people came to today’s exhibition, but not a single item was sold. The guests all said the prices were too high. What do you think...?"
"These Peculiar Slaves were never meant for regular folks. To the common people, they’re worth less than a steamed bun. But to certain others, Peculiar Slaves are treasures. The martial world may look calm, but there’s always an undercurrent. Many are watching the hardships of the Southern Wasteland—those are the real buyers. As for the regular folk, let them see, let them talk, and they’ll spread the word for us for free."
"I see, I understand now." The Deputy Captain nodded and bowed, his attitude unusually respectful.
"For people of the martial world, secrets are way more tempting than oddities. A lump of meat that can't stand the heat but shows up in the Wasteland, a fool who appeared in the Nineteen Death Desert, and a woman stuffed in a vase for no reason—these mysteries will drive folks crazy. So keep a close eye on those three special items. If anything goes wrong—do you have any idea what happened to the last few Deputy Captains?"
"R-rest assured, sir!" The Deputy Captain's face was slick with cold sweat as he stammered, "I-I've already set up every precaution, and those three are easy to guard—there won’t be any problems!"
The Deputy Captain sounded confident, but you had to admit, it made sense—one obedient giant, one fool who never reacts, and the last one, well, say no more. None of the three could do much of anything, and it’s not like they had any family out there looking for them. Unless some busybody with nothing better to do showed up, what could possibly go wrong?
Late at night, fourth watch.
In one corner of the Peculiar Slaves Troupe’s camp, inside a big tent.
This was the warehouse for Peculiar Slaves. The ones exhibited during the day were now piled up like merchandise. Just like specimens in a biology lab, cages of all shapes and sizes were stacked and sorted, each with a tag outside. The concept of 'person,' the dignity of 'person,' had completely vanished.
Three of them got special treatment—the ones from the special exhibition. The Hercules just soaked in his tank, the cage meant nothing to him, and he wouldn’t escape anyway. He lay back like he was taking a bath, snoring away. The Undying Fool was still in his prison cart. He didn’t need a special cage, eyes half-open, half-closed—who knows if he was asleep or awake.
And the Bottle Woman—she was the most unique, because she was already in the sturdiest cage of all.
The distant sound of the fourth watch drum echoed through the night. Suddenly, the Bottle Woman’s eyes snapped open—not the lifeless gaze from the exhibition, but wide, burning with a hint of hysterical determination.
"How could I lose to something this ridiculous!" The Bottle Woman gritted her teeth and started rocking her head back and forth. Her little head couldn’t budge the heavy vase, but she kept at it, lips clenched tight, breathing hard. With so little space, her breaths were short and sharp—the most exhausting way to breathe.
"Didn’t dare run in the desert, and now I don’t dare run here either?" The Bottle Woman shook her head with all her might, sweat streaming into her eyes—she couldn’t wipe it away, but her bloodshot eyes stayed furious.
Back and forth, back and forth—after relentless effort, the big vase finally began to rock.
"Come on! Come on!" she cheered herself, rocking harder and harder. Life inside the vase was unimaginable—far worse than a prison cell. At least in a cell you could roll over, move, scratch an itch, go to the bathroom. But in the vase... this was the cruelest prison of all! Even the toughest nerves would snap after three days in here. And the Bottle Woman had been here for more than three days—she was on the edge of breaking.
The fact she hadn’t gone completely mad was proof her nerves were made of steel. But even that was only held together by one last hope: break the vase and escape!
It had been days—her limbs had gone from pain to numbness and back again, over and over, now feeling like they were rotting. Every movement was agony. But the Bottle Woman gritted her teeth and kept gasping for air, ignoring the pain, using it as fuel. Creak, creak—the wooden platform groaned as the vase rocked harder. If she could just break it—just smash this damn vase—she’d give anything!
She could feel her center of gravity tipping—just one more push! The Bottle Woman let out a muffled scream, veins bulging on her forehead as she slammed forward—bang! There was a weird noise, but the vase didn’t break; it didn’t even fall. The Bottle Woman froze, and as she slowly looked back, she spotted a rope at the edge of her vision.
That rope was tied around the neck of the vase. Because of her angle, she hadn’t noticed it until now.
"Huh?" The Bottle Woman was stunned. She couldn’t accept it. After all that effort, all that struggle, she realized there’d been a rope around her neck the whole time.
"Ssssss..." Someone among the Peculiar Slaves laughed, the sound sharp and shrill—it was the Rat-Skin Man. "Stupid woman, still trying to struggle..."
Thud—the vase settled back into place, and the Bottle Woman’s heart sank with it. Her expression was impossible to describe—a mix of blankness, despair, and disbelief, teetering on the edge of collapse. Then she started to scream—not loud, but anyone could see she was screaming with everything she had, because there just wasn’t much air in the vase.
"Let me out! Somebody help me smash this damned vase—I’ll do anything! Just let me out!" She screamed until she was out of breath, then grew dizzy and sobbed. Her arms strained, her legs kicked, but it was all for nothing. No one could imagine—a vase had become the cruelest torture device in the world.
Her crying soon faded, leaving only emptiness and despair. No one paid her any attention. In the Peculiar Slaves’ cages, few wore the same expression, but there were always one or two. For sheer emptiness, she couldn’t even compare to her neighbor—the Undying Fool.
But the Undying Fool seemed to take an interest in her, turning his head ever so slightly to look her way. There was a hint of curiosity, and maybe thought and confusion, in his eyes. Beneath all the blankness, he seemed to be thinking.
Two hollow gazes met—the Bottle Woman stared at the caged fool. Neither spoke. The Bottle Woman had nothing to say, and the caged fool never said a word. They didn’t communicate anything with their eyes; it was just instinct, searching for somewhere to rest their gaze in a mind gone blank.