Chapter Seventeen: The Tattooed Arm

“Out, out, everyone line up, waiting for execution…”

At dawn, as the first ray of sunlight pierced through the skylight, shouts from the prison guards echoed outside the corridor. With the clinking of iron chains, the tightly closed cell door swung open, and the guards entered wielding whips to drive the prisoners out.

Within the cell, cries of sorrow erupted. Under the threat of the whip’s lash and recalling the recent scenes of bloodshed they had witnessed, no one dared to hesitate. They all rose hurriedly, following the guards’ urging toward the outside.

Zhaozhao, ever quick-witted, tucked Huahua safely into her arms and carefully dodged the whipping sounds. Relying on her not being hungry and having some energy, she nimbly blended into the crowd moving outward.

Passing by the staggering Old Mrs. Luo, who was being supported by Little Mrs. Luo, Zhaozhao even heard the elderly woman ask, “May I trouble you, officer? To where are we being taken now?”

The guards driving them out were not the same group as the ones with the big black mole. Seeing that the people from the Wending Bo Mansion had not caused trouble during their imprisonment and were generally well-behaved, one guard casually replied, “Where else can it be? By imperial decree, you from the Wending Bo Mansion are sentenced to tattooing and exile a thousand miles away. The departure is imminent. You must get the tattoo before setting off. Don’t worry, madam. As long as you cooperate, we brothers aren’t cruel; there’s no need to quarrel with womenfolk.”

With that, the whip cracked again, urging, “Move, move, hurry up! The executioner is busy. It’s not just your Li family who needs tattooing. There are many prisoners. Don’t waste time.”

Everyone suddenly realized—they were being sent for tattooing!

Although tattooing was better than facial branding, being raided, exiled, or conscripted into servitude, those who were willing to risk their lives and seize opportunities still had chances of turning their fate around.

But once this mark was tattooed—no matter where on the body—it forever branded them with stigma. For at least three generations, until the great-grandchildren grew up, the Li family would find it difficult to rise again.

Tears streamed down Old Mrs. Luo’s face. Had she not been supported, she might have collapsed completely.

Watching from within the line, Zhaozhao marveled at how even Old Luo, who had remained steady through imprisonment and hardship, was now forced to change expression by such a pauper.

But Zhaozhao was not afraid of paupers.

Not only did she have the bracelet left by her mother, which ensured her needs were met, but even without it, the valuable items she had secretly collected during the raid filled her backpack. Even with her foolish father as a burden, she would never sink to being a pauper.

Full of confidence, while the women cried, Zhaozhao slipped forward on her tiny feet, quickly moving to the front of the line, hoping to get it over with sooner.

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