Chapter 32: Tang San's Sword

Shi Weigong, unable to refute Song Qi’s retort, gritted his teeth and said, “When can this matter be resolved, Magistrate Song? You must provide me with a plan.”

Song Qi was clearly displeased by Shi Weigong’s attitude. “You had better arrange for someone to collect Ye Yinian’s corpse.”

“Magistrate Song…” Shi Weigong exclaimed in anger.

“Magistrate Shi, I do not require your instruction on how to conduct my affairs. Please, see yourself out.”

Shi Weigong stormed off, fuming. Song Qi narrowed his eyes and summoned his steward. “Deploy everyone we have available, sparing no cost! Xiao Zhi must not reach the border city alive.”

At the East Market entrance, Xiao Zhi hid in the shade of a tree, squinting as he checked the position of the sun. The sun was slanting westward; it was roughly two in the afternoon. If no one had come to stop the executions by now, no one was coming.

Xiao Zhi approached Ye Yinian. “Magistrate Ye, your popularity really leaves something to be desired.”

Ye Yinian’s face was ashen. He hung his head, silent. Did he feel hatred? Regret? No one knew, and no one cared.

Xiao Zhi waved his hand languidly and turned to the crowd of onlookers from the capital. They had long since grown impatient, their clamor for the execution constant. The executioner, equally weary of the delay, saw Xiao Zhi’s signal and brought his blade down. Ye Yinian’s head rolled a considerable distance.

Amidst the wailing, one head after another fell. Ye Yinian’s family members, all under sixteen, were brought forward to witness the entire process. One young boy caught Xiao Zhi’s eye. He looked to be about eleven or twelve, dressed in fine silk, his expression calm as he stared unblinkingly at Xiao Zhi.

“Who is that?”

A battalion commander replied, “Ye Yinian had three sons. This is the third, Ye Shuo, twelve years old this year.”

“‘Shuo’—the moon begins to wax, the beginning of growth, the start of all things. This is a seed that will sprout across the mountains and plains,” Xiao Zhi murmured. “Ye Yinian gave him a good name. This child is extraordinary; he is worthy of it.”

The commander blinked, not quite following, but immediately flattered him. “Your Excellency’s erudition is vast; I am in awe.”

Xiao Zhi walked over to Ye Shuo. “Why do you keep looking at me?”

“You led men to slaughter my entire family; I must remember you. A gentleman’s revenge is never too late, even after ten years.”

Xiao Zhi nodded. “A good child. As it should be. Have you remembered me?”

“I have.”

“Good. If you’ve remembered me, just make sure you learn how to pretend in your next life.” Xiao Zhi signaled the commander. “Kill him too.”

“Ah?” The commander thought he had misheard. According to the Great Chu legal code, male descendants under sixteen were to be enslaved or sent to the military.

“Is your hearing failing, or are you questioning my orders?” Xiao Zhi’s voice was icy. The story of the Orphan of Zhao taught us that when you pull weeds, you must dig up the roots. If he didn't kill Ye Shuo today, Ye Shuo would kill him tomorrow. You can guard against a thief for a thousand days, but you cannot be a thief for a thousand days. And this child’s psyche was far from ordinary—his intelligence bordered on the demonic. His own father had been decapitated, yet he didn't even glance at the body, keeping his eyes locked on his enemy instead. There was no grief, no anger—no emotion at all. He was as calm as a stagnant lake. This was a heart harder than iron. Once such a person set their mind to something, they would pursue it to the death.

People called Xiao Zhi a madman, but he only acted the part to show them. If he gave this child a chance for revenge, it would truly be his own nightmare.

The commander started, then hurriedly said, “It was my mistake, sir.”

“Men! This boy is already over sixteen; he lied about his age to escape punishment. Behead him immediately!”

Another head rolled across the ground, coming to rest beside Ye Yinian’s. With the killing done, only corpses remained. Only then did the bailiffs and coroners from the Capital Prefecture dare to show their faces.

The commander gathered his men and followed Xiao Zhi out of the city.

“Is it done?”

“Done.” The commander laughed. “The Prefect of the Capital didn't want to get involved, so I told him that you, sir, knew where he lived and all about his various assets. The old man was so scared he nearly wet himself.”

“Am I that terrifying?” Xiao Zhi stroked his chin.

“Enough to stop children from crying at night.” Xiao Zhi looked toward the several hundred-man commanders behind him; they all nodded in agreement.

Xiao Zhi smiled, satisfied. When a person passes, they leave a name; when a wild goose passes, it leaves a cry. Whether the name is good or bad, one must first become famous. A thousand years from now, if the history books recorded him, he believed posterity would render its own verdict.

Xiao Zhi left the mess for the Capital Prefecture to clean up. They would collect the Ye family’s corpses and turn their assets over to the national treasury. They only had to act as porters; Xiao Zhi had already categorized and registered everything, ensuring the Capital Prefecture couldn't skim a single cent.

At Shilipu, north of the city—which was much further than ten miles from the capital—there was a forest known as Chenglong Ridge. Mu Weihu led the rest of the Imperial City Guard into the woods, where the sound of explosions echoed from time to time.

It took a full hour before silence returned. By the time Xiao Zhi arrived at Chenglong Ridge, it was already dusk, but the guards remained on high alert. Two dozen corpses lay on the ground—some were assassins, others belonged to the Imperial City Guard.

As he looked them over one by one, Xiao Zhi’s expression turned grim. With prior deployment, intelligence in hand, numerical superiority, and the advantage of handheld grenades, the casualty ratio was a staggering 1:1. The Imperial City Guard had failed to achieve a clean victory; in this broken forest at Shilipu, fifty men against a dozen had fought for so long, only to lose a dozen lives.

Tang Sanjian was tied up tightly. He had sustained three knife wounds—none vital—and his back was stained with blood from the grenade blasts. Xiao Zhi approached with a dark face. Mu Weihu blocked him. “Sir, this man’s martial arts are truly formidable…”

“If you don’t make him sound formidable, are you suggesting you are all incompetent? If his martial arts weren't good, how could so many of you have died?”

Mu Weihu flushed and lowered his head, silent. A win was a win, and a loss was a loss; no excuse could conceal the truth.

“Name.” Standing before Tang Sanjian, Xiao Zhi scrutinized him. The man’s white robes were stained with blood, yet his face remained calm. He kept his eyes closed, his features sharp as if carved by a blade, his sword-like brows reaching into his hairline.

*He’s actually a bit more handsome than I am,* Xiao Zhi cursed inwardly.

“Since you have captured me, death is all that remains.”

“Oh? I have to say, you’ve impressed me with that act.” Xiao Zhi smiled. He saw Tang Sanjian’s weapon nearby—his first thought was that it was a Tang saber, though it was slightly more curved.

“Song Qi has a swordsman under his command named Tang Sanjian. Five years ago, Tang Sanjian, dissatisfied with the embezzlement of his military pay, rose up and killed a corrupt official. It was an unforgivable crime, yet Song Qi saved him and even buried his family. Tang Sanjian owes Song Qi a life and must repay it. Thus, he has been killing and burning for him; in five years, he has taken over twenty lives.”

“Am I correct?”

Tang Sanjian looked at Xiao Zhi in surprise, then relaxed and closed his eyes again. “It seems Jiang Zhu and the others were the ones who failed.”

Xiao Zhi didn't want to linger. Tang Sanjian’s indifferent attitude toward life was irritating. “Now that I’ve captured you, is the debt of the life you owe Song Qi repaid?”

Tang Sanjian remained silent.

Xiao Zhi continued, “I admire talent. I don’t wish to kill you.”

“Men! Untie him.”

“Sir!” Mu Weihu grew anxious. They had lost over a dozen men to capture him; releasing the tiger back to the mountains would invite endless trouble.