Chapter 486

"Listen up, everyone!" Ryan Wallace stood before the pigpen, his voice booming loud enough to shatter the icicles hanging from the eaves.

He nudged a stiff, bluish-purple carcass with his boot. "These pigs died of plague three days ago. And I swear on the Wallace name—"

With a sharp tug, he ripped open his quilted jacket, revealing a pristine wool sweater underneath. The gathered villagers gasped—that garment alone could buy two pigs.

"For three generations, the Wallaces have raised hogs, but never once sold tainted meat!" Ryan grabbed a shovel leaning against the wall and slammed it into the frozen ground. "I'd rather lose everything than let this ruin harm our neighbors!"

The crowd erupted. Several young men who worked at Ryan's diner pushed forward first. "Ryan, what's the plan?"

Wiping his face, Ryan pulled out a pack of Hongtashan cigarettes and passed them around. The cardboard box scraped against his numb fingers with a dry rustle.

"Pile them up. Burn them!"

Big Shuang was the first into the pen. The burly man hoisted a 200-pound carcass like it was a chicken, hurling it onto the open field. A dozen others joined in, and within half an hour, over forty dead pigs formed a grisly mound.

When Ryan's wife arrived with firewood, her legs trembled. These logs had been saved for New Year's rice cakes—now they would fuel the destruction of their livelihood.

"Douse it!" Ryan's veins bulged as he upended a vat of cooking oil. Golden streams arced through the air, splattering the pile with pungent droplets.

The moment the match struck, all of Six Paths Village seemed to hold its breath.

WHOOSH—

Flames roared three meters high, the heat forcing spectators back. The stench of burning bristle mixed with rendered fat made several women cover their noses. Sparks crackled skyward as if determined to punch holes through the leaden clouds.

At the crowd's rear, two pork buyers stood with faces paler than the three-day-old carcasses. The one in a fur cap suddenly rushed forward and seized Ryan's hand. "Wallace, you're a real man!"

Firelight carved Ryan's face into stark halves—one illuminated, the other shadowed. He shook off the man's grip and shoved a wad of bills at his wife. "Tomorrow, buy five pounds of good meat for every family that helped today."

The square exploded. In these times, who could afford meat outside holidays? Let alone receive it freely!

The blaze burned well past midnight. As someone sifted through the ashes, a cry rang out: "The—the inspection tags! They're still on the ears!" A silver metal ring gleamed under the moon, its embossed quarantine seal unmistakable.

Ryan kicked a charred skull, his laugh more bitter than the cold. "What's the point now?" He turned toward home, snow crunching under his boots. "At least my conscience is clear."

At dawn, a black sedan parked at the village entrance. The county livestock director in a wool overcoat pumped Ryan's hand vigorously. "Wallace, that fire of yours showed the backbone of every rancher in this county!"