"I saw one of those brats at the market with a pile of coins," the stranger rasped. "Since daddy ditched 'em, we gotta look after 'em."

  "Right," his buddy agreed. "Can't have kids fretting over money. Heh-heh-heh."

  "We can't let 'em grow up without supervision. That's the main thing. As adults, we're duty-bound to care for their future. We'll find 'em a prime spot, and take our cut for the trouble."

  "Yep! Heh-heh."

  "I know a fat cat who's hunting for slaves for his kids. I'll offer the girls to him," the raspy voice planned. "If he passes, we sell 'em to a brothel."

  "Aren't they too small for a brothel? Heh-heh."

  "They'll start as maidservants, earn real cash in three years. If you get my drift..."

  "Heh-heh-heh. Yeah, yeah. Maybe I'll visit 'em later as a customer. Heh-heh."

  "Enough yakking. Check the house."

  "Um... you sure their daddy won't come back?"

  "What a wuss. So he does, what then? He's alone, we're two."

  "Oh! Yeah."

  "Tsk. Step aside. I'll go first and..." The man didn't finish his sentence when the door suddenly burst open, and a foot slammed straight into his gut.

  "What?" the second guy only managed to exclaim.

  Watching his buddy double over, he turned and unwittingly offered his jaw to a punch. Teeth clacked from the impact, he staggered back, searching for the attacker, but another blow landed, then another. He hit the dirt already out cold.

  By then, the first stranger had recovered from the stomach kick and, cursing hoarsely, tried to get up, but didn't make it—he caught a boot to the face. The strike was so fierce his body arched back before crumpling to the dusty road. Gasping hard, he clawed at the air like seeking support.

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  "You bastards!" Raging Zhang Min loomed over him, grabbed his collar, and punched his face twice.

  The man's arms went limp, head lolling back; blood from his busted nose dripped thick drops onto the road. Zhang Min glared at him with fury-red eyes for a few breaths, but then shoved him away like a sack of manure. He didn't intend to kill anyone, especially on his own doorstep.

  "Scum!" he spat. "Who the hell are you creeps?"

  For a moment, Zhang Min studied their faces but didn't recognize either. Searching them turned up nothing worth squat, so he grabbed their arms and dragged them down the street. After the long journey, his strength didn't last long, and he dumped the strangers in a random ditch by the roadside.

  Back home, he couldn't calm down for a long time after finding those two scoundrels on his own doorstep. All drowsiness evaporated, and Zhang Min had no idea what to do with himself. After minutes of staring at the walls, he hit on cooking something to eat—but no food in the house. The kids had eaten it all, and he'd been too frantic hauling his paycheck to buy supplies. Pacing from corner to corner, Zhang Min started cleaning the house of dust and grime.

  Better find out who those guys were. Might they want revenge? he thought while sweeping. If they come back, next time I'll use the sword... Will I have trouble with the authorities for beating their faces in? Damn. I don't know the local laws at all... He felt no remorse for pounding the two thugs, but the thought of the local guards' reaction worried him a bit.

  Slowly sweeping, Zhang Min looked at his house as an owner for the first time, not just a lodger seeking a night. The door wouldn't close properly, shutters were crooked, cobwebs dotted the ceiling here and there, and filth piled in the corners. The previous body's owner had long sold off anything valuable, so the room was nearly empty with three sleeping spots. Furniture amounted to a couple baskets and old dishes—nothing obstructed cleaning.

  By the time dusk fell on the city, he'd scrubbed the whole place to shining, but sleep still didn't appeal. Not sure what else to occupy himself, Zhang Min lit a fire in the hearth and by its faint glow proceeded to clean his sword, though he hadn't used it yet. He meticulously wiped the blade with soft cloth, greased it, even rinsed the scabbard in clean water and hung it under the eaves to dry.

  This cursed world's got jack shit to do. A real hell for a modern man. I can't even read. No books, and crappy light too.

  On the bed—a woven straw mat—he lay down, staring at the ceiling, and didn't notice himself drifting off. Embers in the extinguished hearth crackled softly, releasing thin trails of smoke; a breeze swayed the window shutters. The night was surprisingly calm. From all the pent-up fatigue, Zhang Min slept straight until noon. He woke to an insanely itchy head.