The "ban on killings" from the Casar Pri Minister's Mansion was issued in the form of telegrams and official announcents from xico City, spreading across this vast country's various states, cities, and towns.
However, this order, symbolizing "the reconstruction of law and order," was imdiately distorted or even ignored upon reaching certain entrenched soils.
In the Michoacán, surrounded by mountains in central xico, there lies a conservative town dominated by ancient ethnic groups and powerful surnas—a place like this.
Family and clan authority far surpass that of the distant governnt. Community affairs are accustod to being handled by elders of the clan or respected individuals following "rules" passed down through countless generations.
The law?
That's sothing for the city folk and the capital gentlen to worry about. Here, fists, machetes, and family power are the real principles.
Why do so people say xican society is quite like the one at East University?
Both have a strong sense of family and clan!
Even in the Millennium, along the coastal regions or in Guangdong and Guangxi, you can still hear of soone being subjected to family law.
When the internet wasn't widespread, if they killed you and threw you in the mountains, who the hell would know?
At the town's edge, a clear river runs through, with beautiful scenery that occasionally attracts bold backpackers.
This afternoon, three young backpackers from Europe, two n and one woman, blond and blue-eyed, dusty and weary, were hiking along the riverbank.
They were French, Pierre, Jeanne, and Thomas.
Several old motorcycles roared in, kicking up dust, stopping not far from them.
On the bikes sat a few local young n, wearing cheap vests, exposing their dark, lean arms, their eyes shalessly scanning the three foreigners, especially Jeanne.
The leader, Jesus, was a well-known thug in the town. He grinned, showing yellowed teeth from smoking, and shouted in heavily accented Spanish, "Hey! Friends! Where are you from?"
Pierre frowned slightly, and answered in halting Spanish, "France."
"France? Nice place!" Jesus and his companions burst into laughter, the motorcycles kept rumbling noisily.
He drove the bike, slowly following them, "Need any help? This place is unsafe, there are wolves, and bad people."
His gaze lingered on Jeanne's sweat-soaked golden hair plastered on her forehead.
"No, thank you, please let us walk by ourselves." Thomas stepped forward, attempting to block their view, his tone already tinged with displeasure.
"Don't be so cold, my friend." Another thug interrupted, "We know a good place, free lodging, and good drinks, co have so fun?" He whistled frivolously at Jeanne.
Jeanne nervously clutched Pierre's arm, whispering, "Let's go quickly."
Pierre stopped, turning to face these ill-intentioned locals, suppressing his anger. "Listen, we don't need help, we don't need lodging, and we definitely don't want to play with you. Please leave us alone and stop bothering us!" He emphasized his words.
These words seed to pierce through the pretense of politeness in an instant.
Jesus's face imdiately turned grim, the sly smile vanished without a trace, replaced by an offended hideousness.
"Leave?" Jesus squinted his eyes, sizing up Pierre, suddenly raising his voice, "You all act so sneaky, asking questions everywhere, and refuse our kindness! You don't seem like tourists! Admit it! Are you 'drug traffickers'?! Scoping the place out?"
This accusation landed like an illogical, yet vicious blow.
"What nonsense are you spouting!" Thomas was furious, face red with anger.
But before they could further argue, Jesus abruptly leapt off the motorcycle, waving for action, "Grab these drug traffickers, don't let them escape!"
The other thugs sneered, lunging at them.
Fists and sticks rained down on Pierre and Thomas like a torrential downpour.
The two French youths tried to resist, but they were no match for these local ruffians accustod to street fights and quickly collapsed to the ground, writhing in pain.
"Jeanne! Run!" Pierre roared during the beating.
But Jeanne couldn't escape, as a thug roughly grabbed her hair, dragging her towards a narrow, filthy alley by the river amidst her terrified screams.
"Let her go! You bastards!" Thomas's eyes were about to burst out, attempting to get up, but he was swiftly kicked in the stomach by Jesus, instantly collapsing back down.
Not far away, a local old man was just stepping out, his face changed upon witnessing the scene, hurried back inside to call for help.
Jesus caught this from the corner of his eye, spat on the ground, pulled a machete from the motorcycle's back seat, rushed over, and just as the old man picked up the phone's receiver, slashed down on his shoulder!
"Ah!" The old man scread, collapsing in a pool of blood, the phone receiver falling to the ground, emitting a busy tone.
"Old fool, mind your own business!" Jesus cursed.
The tragedy continued in broad daylight.
Pierre and Thomas were beaten to near unconsciousness, dragged like trash to the riverbank, and thrown into the seemingly calm but undercurrents-surging river.
The two struggled a few tis, then sank silently. anwhile, deeper in the alley, Jeanne's cries and screams persisted for a while before quieting down, leaving only the heavy breathing of several n and the sound of belts being fastened.
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