Chapter 57: Beheading
Naturally, the executioner could sense this gaze as well. But the execution area had long since been surrounded on all sides by military officers and soldiers, and aside from Lian Zhigao, everyone else she could see kept their distance, and the bright glare of the sun stung her eyes so she couldn't open them fully.
Never mind, the executioner thought; she was acting for the Emperor, and the Emperor was acting for the heavens. Even if there truly was someone who held a grudge against her for this, the heavens would bless and protect her.
The angle of the shadow on the sundial slowly turned, and the surroundings of the execution area gradually went from a clamour to calm. Xie Qianbing, wearing official's attire, sat upright in a high position, and unexpectedly was somewhat distracted as she watched this scene. In a moment, when the stick in her hand fell to the ground, the blade in the executioner's hand would fall heavily as well. With merely a wave of her hand, she could strip another's life, and at the end of things, her mind was somewhat on edge—even though that person was guilty of terrible crimes.
The sun hung high in the skies, and sweat began to drip on the people from how it shone.
"Pa-da," the sweat on Xie Qianbing's forehead rolled down her cheek, and struck against the brocade, falling in in a flash. Xie Qianbing knew the time had come. From within the container, she drew out a stick, and as the wood fell to ground with a sharp, ringing sound, she called out, "It is wushi—"
With an affirmative sound, the executioner moved. She didn't have any habits of spilling spittle or yellow wine on the blade before moving towards it; she merely raised her hand, then brought it down, the same as the countless times she'd slaughtered pigs in the past. But this time, this blade, which had accompanied for who knew how many years wasn't as sharp as it had been before, and the blood splashed, the blade's body sinking into Lian Zhigao's neck.
Lian Zhigao's throat let out a low cry of complaint, and along with it, the the sudden rise of noise amongst the crowd of people. It wasn't clear who had called out "unjust!", but the commoners all about began to call out in the wake. Voice after voice rose, as if someone were organising it. The executioner, with some hastiness, pulled the blade from Lian Zhigao's neck, and only then discovered that, at some point, an extra cut had appeared on the fellow's body. The cut was neat and even, not like something that could be produced by someone's bone breaking through. But though she was suspicious, the executioner, at this moment, didn't have much time to think about it carefully. She could only calm her breath, and bring the blade down once more.
There wasn't a three cun high splash of blood, nor flurry of snow falling on a summer's day;[1] there was only a wide-eyed head with an uneven severance, tumbling about as it rolled forward.
The clamouring crowd fell silent along with the head in a few moments—but only for a few moments. That voice which had called out "injustice!" at the very start rose once more, and very quickly, the cries amongst the crowd returned once more.
Wei Xiren's brows were deeply furrowed. She'd been born among impoverished commoners, and naturally wasn't willing for the sisters beneath her to be scarred by this crowd of onlooking commoners. After all, dao and jian lacked eyes—if they were to injure someone, it wouldn't be good. But before the crowd before her had finished calling out, fearing that Song Juguang would blame her, she commanded, "Make them shut up."
Only once the military officials and soldiers had raised the changqiang in their hands did the commotion amongst the crowd finally stop. A courageous young girl suddenly came out from the midst of the crowd, and, treating it like a ball, kicked the head which had rolled to the edge of the area back. Lian Zhigao had raised soldiers and called himself King like it was a trifling matter, and at the end, his round, wide eyes became a game for a young child as well.
The executioner's heart was still suspended. It wasn't because a life had disappeared, but because of the twists and turns from just then. She didn't know how she would deal with it if the officials above her, having seen this scene, blamed her. As for killing someone? To her, it was no different from butchering a pig.
That furious, ruthless gaze once more fell upon the executioner; from within her breast, she pulled out a cloth to carefully wipe her blade, and looked in the direction of that gaze without the slightest bit of fear.
"What were you thinking!" Wu Dongmu was so furious he was almost bubbling, and threw the teacup in his hand to the ground. "My brother just died like that!"
"Won't you cool your temper, Lao Wu," Liu Zihe, sitting across from him, said; though his expression was consoling, his words were needling. "Perhaps the Princess still has some other plans."
"What bullshit plans? If there were even more plans, could they be traded for my brother's life?!" Wu Dongmu was still yelling. The two senior ministers who had, once, during the Tai Emperor's time, dominated the court and government, now merely sat face to face in a tiny parlour, and the head seat between them, facing the door, was now empty as anything. Only having finished howling, wanting to drink some tea to whet his throat, did Wu Dongmu realise that he'd already thrown the teacup onto the ground. His hand hung, embarrassed, in midair for a bit, and then he turned to heavily clap the table. "Where's the staff, how come they haven't come out yet!"
"What's Wu-daren agitated for? Even if you were to be more agitated, your brother couldn't come back to life."
The voice came before the person. Yang Zhuofei pushed the door open and walked in unhurriedly; she'd already changed into another outfit, and there wasn't the slightest trace of the wretchedness of having just come in from being beaten down on by the sun outside.
"You—" Wu Dongmu, hearing her say this, grew even more furious, and suddenly stood up, pointing at Yang Zhuofei's nose.
Yet Yang Zhuofei wasn't frightened of him; she went around Wu Dongmu and the shattered porcelain pieces on the ground to the head seat, smiling broadly. "Now you're upset—but back then, it was you who drew up the plan, and it was you who wrote the letters as well. Yet now, you're blaming me?"
Wu Dongmu choked and fell silent at Yang Zhuofei's words; only after staying silent for a long while did he swing his sleeves and sit down. "I don't care—today, you must give me an explanation."
"What is it that Wu-daren wishes me to explain?" Yang Zhuofei asked quite quickly, not giving him the slightest bit of face.
Liu Zihe sipped some tea, his eyes flickering about. "Won't you both calm down? I'm quite unhappy that Lian-daren has died as well, but it's not entirely without meaning. The activity around the execution scene today was enough to make a great deal of trouble for that Emperor."
"Who said it wasn't?" Yang Zhuofei said, still wearing a smiling expression. "It's all thanks to Liu-daren."
Though she said so aloud, in her mind, Yang Zhuofei had long since berated the two before her in her mind. In the past, seeing the two of them control the court and government, everyone in the court fearing them, Yang Zhuofei had assumed that they were quite impressive characters. But the interactions of these past few days had, more and more, made her feel they were, to a one, obscenely stupid.
"How is Shizi-dianxia's[2] health? Can we see him?" Wu Dongmu glared at Liu Zihe, and in the end, suppressed his temper. If it were the past, he absolutely wouldn't have stood on the same front with Liu Zihe. It was just a pity that the current situation forced—
Not only did he have to feign civility with Liu Zihe, he had to run errands for Yang Zhuofei.
Yang Zhuofei shook her head. "The Shizi is still recuperating. The physician said that he has to lay in bed and convalesce; he can't take visitors now."
Liu Zihe was somewhat impatient as well. "Just seeing him from a distance would be fine too—"
"It wouldn't be alright even from a further distance," Yang Zhuofei refused quite quickly. "Feng-daozhang said, aside from his blood relations and personal servants, he can't see anyone."
Prince Yu's heir had died and come back to life; now, he hid in the depths of Prince Yu's manor to recuperate. The two of Wu Dongmu and Liu Zihe, from the time Jiang Changbai had ascended, had suffered humiliation at every turn, their subordinates either raided or censured, and the two of them feared greatly that the next one to be exposed and criticised would be himself. In a time of terror, receiving the olive branch Yang Zhuofei had held out, naturally they were more than happy to listen to her orders; in order to assist Prince Yu's heir to ascend the throne, they'd acted meritoriously in order to make sure they would have no worries in the future.
It was just that Prince Yu's heir seemed to have been injured too heavily; the famous Feng-daozhang, Feng Puzhi, Yang Zhuofei had invited to work her magic, had worked for so many days, and he'd barely been able to hang onto a single breath, and couldn't entertain outsiders. Though the two had their doubts, they felt that Yang Zhuofei couldn't lie about something like this, and didn't nag any further.
But at this moment, in the rear courtyard of Prince Yu's manor.
A man gripped two crutches, learning how to walk with great difficulty. At the side, two women who looked like maids were crowded together, twittering as they whispered to each other. The unfamiliar person, seeing this tableaux, would truly be unable to tell who was the master and who were the sevants.
Seeing Yang Zhuofei come over, the two maids hurriedly stood up, making a reverential obeisance.
"How is Mingyou's progress?" Yang Zhuofei asked Jiang Mingyou, not faulting the maids for their slight of Jiang Mingyou. But whether in her tone or on her face, there wasn't the slightest bit of a mother's dear love for her child.
Jiang Mingyou, leaning on the crutches, struggled to bend his waist towards Yang Zhuofei. "Replying to the Prin—Consort Mother, it's a bit better than yesterday."
Yang Zhuofei nodded. "As long as there's improvement. But your improvement is far too slow; at the very latest, by next New Year, you must be no different from the average person."
"Understood."
"And you all," Yang Zhuofei said, turning her head to look at those two maids. "Regardless of who he was before, now he's Prince Yu's heir, Jiang Mingyou. Once he inherits the throne, at the very worst, you can manage the position of a concubine—don't neglect him anymore."
"Understood."
Though the maids had agreed, in their minds, they utterly disagreed. What good was there being an imperial wife or concubine? Being stuck in the four walls of the Imperial Palace without even the slightest freedoms—how could that be as comfortable as the freedom outside the Palace? It was just a pity neither of them were intelligent, or they would absolutely have studied painstakingly, tying their hair to the rafters and pricking their thighs to stay awake, and fought to go participate in the keju—who knew, they might even be able to manage an official position. The announcement atop the city gates had written clearly—if the women who managed to make it to the imperial examination were slaves, then the court would pay out their bonds.
Which of the two was better? Even a fool could tell. But their mothers and fathers had been servants in Prince Yu's manor as well; no matter what they thought, on the surface, they were loyal and devoted to Yang Zhuofei.
Yang Zhuofei looked about, and picked up the book on the stone table that had just been closed. "While there are no stirrings of pleasure, anger, sorrow, or joy, the mind may be said to be in the state of equilibrium.[3] What follows?"
Jiang Mingyou stood up straight, yet his expression was one of loss, and he stammered for a long while but couldn't complete the next phrase. Yang Zhuofei, seeing this, let out a long sigh, and the next moment, beat the book against Jiang Mingyou's face. "Prince Yu's Shizi was familiar with the Four Books and Five Classics from childhood, and he knew the passages from within by heart. I don't care what sort of life you lived before—now you're Jiang Mingyou, and you must remember it. If you only have this current extent, it would be better to toss you back to the place you came from."
"It's as Consort Mother says; this son will study industriously," Jiang Mingyou said softly, and disheartened, lowered his head.
Yang Zhuofei didn't pay him any mind, turning around to head to her own courtyard. The light of the setting sun spilt across her figure, looking quite lonely. She sighed to herself in her mind; how were each of those around her racing each other to be fools? If there was someone like Song Juguang who could come help her, how wonderful that would be.
Thinking of this, she told the maid by her side, "Have you found the nanny who served the Shizi in the past? As soon as she's found, send her back to the Shizi's side—we don't have much more time."
No one could have guessed that Prince Yu's heir, who was now in Prince Yu's manor, was a fake.
Translator's notes:
[1]: A reference to the story "The Injustice to Dou E" (竇娥冤, Dou E Yuan), where the unjust execution of the titular Dou E is proven after the fact when snow falls in the middle of summer.
[2]: 世子, the title of an heir of a noble house.
[3]: From the Doctrine of the Mean (中庸, Zhongyong), originally a chapter in the Classic of Rites (礼记, Liji), a Confucian classic.
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