Kind-Hearted Slaughterhouse​

Chapter 3: The Fangs Beneath the Contract – Crushed Beneath the Ten-Thousand-Yuan Bond​

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Li Entai's broad, implacable hand seemed welded to Chen Mo’s shoulder. With inexorable, falsely convivial force, he maneuvered him through the faculty office area. Stark ceiling lights rendered the cavernous space as silent and sterile as a morgue. Every strike of polished leather soles on the cold, glistening terrazzo rang out with a chillingly precise echo, like nails hammered into coffin wood in that profound stillness. Behind, Li Enci’s stiletto heels tracked them: Tap. Tap. Tap. Precise as a metronome measuring off heartbeats. The thick, cloying air—reeking of cheap industrial cleaners and something unidentifiably rancid—seeped deep into Chen Mo's lungs with each breath, inducing waves of asphyxiating dizziness.

The horrific images glimpsed during the lights' violent stutter earlier still scorched his retinas: the surveillance monitor embedded within the doorframe; the square-jawed groundskeeper looming like a temple guardian outside Xiaoyu’s rest room; the grey, huddled form writhing deep in the adjacent chamber. Had they been hallucinations? Why had they vanished utterly when light returned? Yet the shock and the deep, gnawing dread for Xiaoyu remained—bone-deep splinters reminding him nothing here was sane.

"Here, Teacher Chen! Sit! Make yourself at home!" Li Entai’s office lay in the office area’s deepest recess, secured by a heavy, solid wood door. He pushed the partially open door wide with one hand, while the other maintained its proprietorial grip on Chen Mo. An overwhelming wave of odor—like stale cigars melded with expensive leather—blasted out, momentarily diluting the hallway stench only to replace it with a deeper, more predatory oppression.

The space was vast, ostentatiously opulent and deliberately oppressive. A massive ebony walnut desk dominated the center, its surface a pool of liquid light holding only a thin new MacBook and a stack of folders anchored by a weighty brass paperweight. Behind it sat a high-backed executive leather chair—pure power throne. Dark wood paneling covered the walls, hung with obscurely abstract, somber prints in expensive frames. To the left, a full wall of floor-to-ceiling windows lay partially obscured by heavy, deep violet velvet curtains. Outside, Yun Jin’s signature fog—thick, grey-white, and churning like spilled ink—sealed off the world. Through the parted curtains, the indistinct outline of a distant classroom building crouched like a shadow-beast.

Opposite the desk, a set of equally expensive, dark brown leather sofas gleamed coldly. A dark marble coffee table spanned between them. Beside the sofa, a severe, sharp-lined vintage floor lamp cast a focused, sickly yellow beam onto the table surface.

"Enci! Brew some Biluochun! My best tin!" Li Entai commanded, his voice booming with practiced hospitality. Simultaneously, he unyieldingly pressed Chen Mo down onto the sofa’s cold leather. He then circled the monolith of a desk and settled into his throne. The chair groaned under his weight.

The instant Chen Mo touched the sofa, an almost imperceptible yet unnerving hum—like faint static—filled the air. His gaze snapped upwards, scanning the seam where wall met window. Deep in the shadowed upper corner of the room, a black hemispherical dome sat, sleek and sinister. Upon its surface, a single minute, needle-tip point of crimson light winked into existence—fixed directly on him.

His breath hitched; his heart seized as if crushed by an invisible fist.

That point of light! It felt alive—cold, relentless, watching.

"Teacher Chen? You look pale. Didn’t spook you, I hope? Just a little glitch. Old wiring." Li Entai leaned back, supremely comfortable. His smile was an immaculate mask. His body relaxed, hands folded atop the files. His eyes, behind glasses, projected concern, yet their pupils were like polished coins—utterly devoid of warmth. "Historic building, these circuits... hiccup now and then. You get used to it."

"N-no... Thank you for your concern, Director Li." Chen Mo forced his eyes away, struggling to steady his voice, his tight throat betraying the tension that pulled at his head wound and the ice in his veins. His gaze fell on the files beneath Li Entai’s hands, a sense of profound dread choking him.

The office door whispered open. Li Enci entered, ghostly silent, bearing an exquisite porcelain tray with a costly Yixing teapot and two cups, steam curling from the spout. Her face wore the same carefully calibrated, professionally pleasant smile. Without a word or glance at Chen Mo, she set the tray soundlessly on the marble table. She retreated several steps to stand, hands clasped, in the shadows opposite the sofa—a wraith directly in the line of sight of the watching red dot.

Li Entai lifted the topmost document—a thick, neatly bound contract. His smile broadened, radiating the relaxed ease of one settling minor business. "Here, Teacher Chen, tea! Genuine Dongting Mountain Biluochun! We’ll talk over it!" He gestured magnanimously at Chen Mo's cup but left his own untouched. "You see, while our school serves the less fortunate, our ambition demands the highest standards—internationally recognized facilities, world-class faculty." He leaned forward again, adopting a sage’s tone. "This requires... substantial development capital. Hence, our Board established an unwritten custom." He paused, oozing faux regret. "New key hires, especially exceptional talents like you... are asked to demonstrate shared dedication and... shared risk. A small 'Professional Development Bond'. Modest sum, really..." His voice lifted dismissively on the last word. A thick finger tapped a printed number on the contract's cover. "There. This figure. Ten thousand. Whole yuan."

"Ten thousand yuan?!"

The number was a poisoned ice spike rammed into Chen Mo’s ear. Li Entai’s absurdly casual delivery chilled him deeper than any crude threat. Blood surged to his head, tearing at his wound. He almost vaulted from the sofa.

"Director Li!" Chen Mo’s voice cracked, raw with shock and burgeoning fury. "You never... mentioned this on the phone! The interview notice said nothing! This money... this..." Visions flooded him—the icy figures on the hospital bill; the contempt in the pawnbroker’s eyes; his mother’s tear-rasped voice on the phone; Xiaoyu’s pale face in the hospital bed. Ten thousand? It was blood money! "I cannot produce such an amount! My situation—" He choked on impotent rage and despair.

"Ai-ya!" Li Entai sighed dramatically, spreading his hands in an exaggerated display of wounded magnanimity. "Teacher Chen! You mistake our noble intentions!" His face shifted seamlessly, performance flawless. "This isn't a fee! It's an investment! A joint investment in your own future and the school's prestige!" He slammed his palm on the desk—a sharp crack! that jolted the brass paperweight. Ripples skittered across the tea surface. "Think!" His voice rose, laden with poisonous honey. "The school prospers? Your compensation follows! Mutual benefit! All teachers contribute! Even Director Li Enci here..." He jerked his chin towards his sister in the shadows.

Li Enci, the silent backdrop, stirred as if summoned. Her eternal smile didn't flicker. She gave the minutest nod—barely perceptible. Her eyes seemed vacant, focused on a dark painting across the room, but her lips parted fractionally. No sound emerged. Yet Chen Mo, his sign-language teacher instincts firing, instantly read the shape her mouth made—an impeccable articulation of "VOLUNTARY".

That perfectly timed, soundless "proof" exerted more crushing force than any shout.

"Moreover," Li Entai settled back, fingers laced over his stomach, mastery restored. His tone turned leisurely, lethal. "We understand your situation, Teacher Chen. Raising a child alone? Her illness? Crossing provinces to get here... it’s been arduous." He paused, his gaze a cold probe drilling into Chen Mo. "Our school offers unmatched welfare. Your daughter rests next door, yes? I’ve alerted our school doctor. Full examination immediately. Long-term medication? Easily arranged."

Each word drained the color from Chen Mo’s face. His heart sank deeper into an icy abyss. This wasn't an offer; it was extortion using Xiaoyu’s health and safety as leverage. Entrusting them with her care? It was delivering a lamb to slaughter! The driver’s cold fury flashed back; the thin, hauled child; the fog-shadowed eyes pleading "don't come."

"But this money..." Chen Mo’s voice scraped like sandpaper, ragged with hopelessness. "...truly... I haven’t it... Could I... pay in installments? Deduct from salary—?"

"Installments?" Li Entai’s mouth twisted downward in derisive mockery, as if hearing a fairy tale. He shook his head slowly; his heavy jowls wobbled. "Impossible, Teacher Chen. Rules are rules. Board mandates ironclad. Contract signed, bond paid—then formal onboarding. Then full welfare benefits... medical subsidies included." He emphasized the terms like scalpels cutting tendons. "Your daughter’s treatment... the major expense! It cannot wait!" His gaze slid meaningfully over Chen Mo’s bandaged temple, then drifted toward the churning fog outside. "Sign, and there's hope. Refuse?" He shrugged, palms open wide, a mask of regretful finality tightening his face. "Then we must part ways. Find fortune elsewhere... with your child. But the fog chokes the mountains... night falls... those winding mountain roads..." He let the words hang.

THUNK! The threat struck like a final, fatal ice pick, shattering Chen Mo’s last shreds of hope. "Find fortune elsewhere"? With Xiaoyu vulnerable, penniless, carless, in a fog-bound city night? If she fell ill? It would be delivering her to Death!

Viscous, tar-black terror drowned all resistance. He gaped, soundless. His blood seemed frozen; his teeth chattered uncontrollably with cold and primal dread.

Absolute silence descended, broken only by the crisp tick-tick-tick of Li Entai’s massive gold watch—death’s encroaching footsteps. The floor lamp’s jaundiced glow cocooned the coffee table area, illuminating Chen Mo’s face, pale and rigid as wax. The red monitor eye in the corner watched, unmoving.

"Teacher Chen." Li Entai’s voice resumed, artificially soft now—the reasonable mediator. He stood, contract in hand, rounded the desk, and approached with unhurried ease. The sofa groaned deeply as he sank down beside Chen Mo, his ponderous weight creating a gravitational pull. Chen Mo inhaled the cloying mix of aftershave, cigar, and greasy flesh. "Your hardship... deeply felt." Li Entai slammed the thick contract down onto the cold marble coffee table right before Chen Mo’s eyes. The impact made the teapot shiver.

A thick, faintly nicotine-stained finger flipped open the stiff cover. Fine print swam before Chen Mo. Li Entai allowed no time to read. His index finger stabbed down onto a prominent bold clause: "See here. Clause Five, Subsection Two: 'Party B hereby voluntarily remits to Party A a Professional Development Bond amounting to RMB One Hundred Thousand Yuan (¥100,000.00), symbolizing the mutual dedication to pedagogical excellence and individual career advancement'..." His finger flew over pages, landing with precision. "...and here. Party B signature. Thumbprint. Simplicity itself!"

Chen Mo’s eyes were magnetized to the empty line. The school’s seal—"Yun Jin Hope Deaf-Mute Special Needs Academy"—sat in crimson authority above the "Party A" designation. The "Party B" signature space—vacant.

That blankness yawned like a devouring abyss.

"You see? Procedures followed impeccably." Li Entai’s tone dripped patronizing concession. "Payment? Can wait three days after signing. Reasonable accommodation." He produced a heavy, gold-capped fountain pen from his jacket pocket with a magician’s flourish, unscrewing it to reveal a gilt nib. He thrust the cold metal instrument into Chen Mo’s frozen, stiff, unresisting grasp. "Sign. Everything smooth sailing. Little Xiaoyu’s matters... in my hands!"

The pen's metallic chill pierced Chen Mo’s palm, radiating through his soul. His hand trembled violently. Contract clauses blurred into inky labyrinths. Li Entai’s “benevolent” facade warped in the jaundiced light. The red monitor eye sighted on his heart.

Sign?

Ten thousand! Three days! Astronomical! Signing would chain them both to this hellscape of strangulation and dread! Xiaoyu! Alone next door with that groundskeeper...

Refuse?

Li Entai’s final “find fortune elsewhere” glare, the animate fog, Xiaoyu’s pale agony... The terror of homelessness seized him.

A psychic tempest tore at Chen Mo. Every second burned like walking hot needles. His stomach heaved; cold sweat mingled with blood seeped from his temple wound, tracing his jawline. His knuckles blanched white around the pen, fingers locked by fear and fury.

"Teacher Chen." Li Enci’s voice cut through the silence—still, quiet, like water dropping into still water, yet possessing an uncanny penetration. "Execution activates contract terms. Your daughter... becomes the school’s 'Internal Dependent'." A micro-fraction of her smile deepened. Her gaze rested on a footnote printed in microscopic font: "Internal Welfare Annex". Her voice held the icy scrape of wind over frozen ground. "Per Annex Clause Seven... 'Internal Dependents receive highest tier healthcare monitoring—including exclusive, 24-hour comprehensive vital sign surveillance'."

"24-hour comprehensive vital sign surveillance!" The words hammered into Chen Mo’s brain like ice chisels, obliterating doubt. The hidden screen! The voyeurs! Xiaoyu was under their eye! Nowhere to hide! "Surveillance"? Here, the word transformed into a threat more naked, more venomous than any overt menace. A declaration: Sign, and your lives are ours.

Chen Mo’s bloodshot eyes snapped up, locking onto Li Enci’s face—half-shadowed, half-illuminated in the gloom. Her eyes met his—lifeless, scanning lenses reflecting back his burning despair, humiliation, and fury.

Just as he felt the crushing pressure grinding him to dust—

A grip of iron seized his forearm!

Li Entai! He had thrust out his thick, dark-haired arm. A vise of pure, unanswerable power clamped onto Chen Mo’s pen-clenching wrist, crushing any possibility of resistance. With brutal authority, Li Entai forced Chen Mo's violently trembling arm down.

SCRIITCH!

The hardened nib stabbed into the pristine signature line. An abrupt, vibrant blue inkblot erupted on the virginal whiteness—a raw, fresh wound.

Beneath the pinned contract edge, a minor annex document shifted with the pressure. Its header was minuscule, illegible in the dim light, but one inset diagram was starkly clear: a dim, blue-tinged, tiled room corner housing a stark, silver-metallic detection archway. Its lines were cold as surgical steel.

As Chen Mo stared in horror at the inkblot, felt the terrifying might crushing his arm, and glimpsed that terrible image—

CRACK!

Total, consuming blackness. Not just the overhead lights—even the floor lamp’s beam extinguished. Utter, heart-stopping void. Only the red monitor eye remained—an unwavering, toxic focal point in the abyss—fixed on Chen Mo.

"Goddamn it! f*****g blackout again!" Li Entai’s roar exploded in the dark, vibrating Chen Mo’s eardrums. The crushing grip on his wrist didn't relax—it tightened, threatening to shatter bone! The contract was pinned hard! "Enci! Circuit box! Now!"

"Understood." Her reply came from the door—calm, unhurried, utterly devoid of panic. Stiletto steps clicked in the darkness. The door opened and closed with a soft, final snick. In the suffocating dark, only Chen Mo’s pounding heart, the iron grip mangling his arm, his throbbing temple, and the remorseless red gaze remained.

Seconds stretched into eons.

Hmmmm—

A faint current sigh.

WHOOSH! The floor lamp’s jaundiced circle flared back into existence, a stage spotlight precisely isolating the coffee table tableau.

Li Entai’s thick arm still clamped Chen Mo’s. Frozen. Anger lingered on Li Entai’s face, but deep in his eyes flickered a sliver of icy satisfaction. The pressure on Chen Mo’s arm eased infinitesimally—but the guiding, coercive force remained, holding the pen tip suspended above the accusatory inkblot.

"Come, Teacher Chen," Li Entai pressed, his voice thick with impatient command. He leaned closer, his hot breath ghosting Chen Mo's frozen cheek. "Sign. Expedite matters. No more... interruptions." His smile, in the sickly light, was predatory. "Your signature? All burdens shift... to us."

Chen Mo was ice. Held fast. Even his trembling ceased. He looked down. The pen. The contract. The twisted blue circle staining his name-line. Outside, the fog raged—watching souls pressing at the glass. The red eye watched. Unblinking.

In those seconds of total darkness, all retreat had vanished.

Compelled by the arm that held him like industrial hardware, Chen Mo's right hand—knuckles white with despair, stained by humiliation—was forced downward. An unwilling puppet, guided by dread and brute force, inscribed his name in deep, seeping ink on the line demanding ten thousand yuan.

Chen Mo.

The characters sprawled, deformed, drowning the paper in dark blue.

As the final hooked stroke completed, a draft stirred the heavy contract. A corner flipped up, revealing the brass paperweight anchoring the stack beneath. And beneath that weight, on another page, hidden near the bottom corner, blazed a small, startling insignia:

A winged form—half-choked, half-strangled—by writhing, thorn-like vines. An avian shape fighting suffocation. Beside it, in needle-etched letters:

​​Silent Assets Conservation Foundation​​