Chapter11

When he heard the question, Jiang Che was stunned for a moment. Then, unable to help himself, he frowned, "They said my family's in this dungeon. Aren't you my dad?"

The man in front of him reeked of blood and death, but Jiang Che was definitely not the type to be put off by a bad smell.

No matter what his family did for a living, no matter their work, he would always want to be with his family.

Hearing what he said, the butcher actually seemed to be amused by this sudden question; the gaping mouth painted on his mask twisted into a hideous grin.

"Yeah, I'm your old man. C'mon, be a good son and come eat." He let out a low, guttural laugh. He was inviting Jiang Che in to eat, but anyone could hear the mockery cutting through his words.

Jiang Che was disappointed at first; he'd asked, just like every other time, not really expecting much. But when the man admitted it, Jiang Che's eyes turned red and bitter helplessness welled up inside him.

After all these years, he'd finally found his family.

"Look at you, your clothes are all torn. I'll patch them up for you later," the nurse inside put down the skin and flesh she'd been stitching together and addressed Jiang Che with a half-smile, half-sneer.

She waved her fingers—still gripping a scalpel and needle and thread—in the air, while the bodies hanging upside-down beside her showcased their tragic endings.

Jiang Che looked down at the patient's gown he'd been wearing for years—no one had ever cared whether his clothes were good or bad, and it was impossible for the old stains and rips to ever come out.

Moved to tears, Jiang Che nodded heavily.

The butcher, grinning hideously, stepped into the kitchen and shoved his hand into the soup pot, scooping out a pile of strange meat mush to slap onto a plate.

With a sneer, he set the plate on the table, then turned to Jiang Che and waved his saw meat knife.

"Good boy, come eat."