Chapter 441 Cleanse the Filth

Chapter 441: Purging the Filth

"Chen Zhengqi!" Wu Zhongzi jumped up from the ground and rushed toward him, stopping three steps away as guards blocked his path.

He paid it no mind. He just craned his neck and pointed right in Chen Zhengqi's face, cursing.

"You dare show your face?! You traitor! You son of a pig, raised by dogs!"

Chen Zhengqi had just been rebuffed by Lin Zhufeng and those other old bastards, and now these censors were tearing into him too. Blood rushed straight to his head—he was fit to be tied!

His hand clamped down on his sword hilt, knuckles bone-white. Wu Zhongzi saw it.

He wasn't afraid. If anything, he grew more excited. "What? Want to kill me? Go ahead!"

He lunged forward a step, guards straining to hold him back, and he craned his neck forward, baring his throat.

"Chop here! Right here!" His eyes blazed with a terrifying light, his voice sharp and piercing, like a blade scraping across porcelain.

"Chen Zhengqi, chop me!"

"Do you know what the punishment is for killing a censor?!"

"Kill me, and you'll be cursed for ten thousand generations!"

"A thousand years from now, how will the history books remember you?—'The rebel Chen Zhengqi, slaughtering the loyal, cutting down Censor Wu Zhongzi with his own hand in Wenhua Hall'!"

He laughed, every wrinkle on his face shaking.

"Chop me! Kill me, and I'll go down in history! You? You're nothing but a traitor, stinking up the history books for all eternity!"

"Come on! Do it!"

The other censors rose to their feet too, surging forward one by one. Blocked by the guards, they cursed from behind the human wall.

"Chen Zhengqi! If you've got the balls, kill us all!"

"Kill us, and see how you shut the world up!"

"You think killing us will get you what you want? Dream on!"

"Just you wait! Wait till you're skinned alive!"

The curses rose wave after wave, echoing through the side hall, pounding in their ears.

Chen Zhengqi stood there, face livid, chest heaving with fury.

*Shing—!* Chen Zhengqi suddenly drew his sword, the blade mirroring his livid face.

"This official will cut you down right here, right now!"

He stepped forward, sword raised high, chopping straight down at Wu Zhongzi's skull.

Wu Zhongzi didn't dodge.

He didn't just refuse to dodge—he stretched his neck out even further, eyes bulging, face lit up with excitement.

The blade came whistling down—

In the nick of time, Chen Zhengqi felt something clamp around his waist.

His entire body was yanked backward with tremendous force.

The sword stopped a mere three inches from Wu Zhongzi's forehead, the tip still quivering.

"My Lord, don't!!"

A shrill voice shrieked in his ear, frantic and desperate.

"Impulse will be your ruin! Impulse will be your ruin!!!"

Chen Zhengqi looked down. It was the attendant eunuch, hugging his waist with both arms locked tight like iron bands.

"Let go!" He struggled.

He couldn't break free.

The eunuch held on even tighter, practically dangling from him.

"My Lord! My Lord, listen to your servant! You can't chop him! You can't!!"

Wu Zhongzi froze for a moment, then laughed even harder. He pointed at the eunuch, doubled over, unable to straighten up.

"Hahaha—Chen Zhengqi! Is that all you're good for? Even a eunuch can stop you!"

The other censors joined in. "Chen, you dog! Weren't you going to chop? Chop then!"

"What? Can't move with some ball-less freak clinging to you?"

"Break free then! Shake him off and come chop us!"

"Not chopping makes you a coward! Not chopping makes you a spineless weakling! Not chopping makes you a turtle-born bastard!"

The curses rose higher and higher, filthy and vile. Chen Zhengqi's face flushed a deep, mottled purple.

He struggled hard, trying to shake off the eunuch.

But the eunuch, though small and thin, had astonishing strength—his arms like iron bands, pinning him in place.

"My Lord! My Lord, please calm down!" The eunuch's voice was on the verge of tears.

"If you kill him, what will the world say about you? What will the history books write? It's not worth it, my Lord!!"

Chen Zhengqi tried to break free twice, couldn't. The grip and the cries forced his fury back down his throat.

He took a deep breath, then another, his breathing gradually steadying.

He knew the eunuch was right. If that blade fell, Chen Zhengqi would be cursed for ten thousand years.

He closed his eyes, swallowed his anger, and tossed his sword aside.

*Clatter*—the sword hit the ground and spun twice.

"Let go." His voice went cold.

The eunuch released him immediately, backed away two steps, and knelt, forehead touching the floor, body still trembling.

"This servant deserves death! This servant offended my Lord! But this servant truly—"

"Enough." Chen Zhengqi cut him off, smoothing his disheveled robes. He raised his head and looked at the censors.

Wu Zhongzi was still laughing, his face crinkling into a web of wrinkles, "What? Not gonna swing that blade anymore? Chen Zhengqi, is that really all you've got?!"

Chen Zhengqi ignored him. He turned, took a step toward the door, and halted.

Without looking back, he said just one thing to them.

"This official can see you gentlemen are full of beans, so you can't be hungry. No need to send tonight's meal."

With that, he turned and walked out. Behind him, Wu Zhongzi's curses followed.

"Chen Zhengqi! You spineless coward!"

"You think cutting off our food'll stop us from cussing?"

"Dream on! We'll curse with empty bellies! We'll curse till your ancestors claw their way out of their graves!"

The curses faded into the distance as Chen Zhengqi's silhouette melted into the night.

The side hall door slammed shut with a bang, but Wu Zhongzi was still cursing.

"Chen Zhengqi! You maggot that crawled out of a shit pit! If I weren't trapped here, I'd show you my six arts aren't just for show!"

He cursed, spit flying, face red, neck veins bulging. The other censors joined in, their curses swelling like waves.

The eunuch scrambled up from the floor, brushing dust off his knees.

He lowered his head, walked to the door, as though checking the latch.

Then he turned slowly. The guttering candlelight played across his face.

It was an ordinary face—brows low, eyes downcast, the kind you'd pass in the palace and never look twice at.

But those eyes—he raised his head and shot a glance at Wu Zhongzi. It was fast, so fast it felt like a trick of the light.

But his right eye blinked—just once.

Wu Zhongzi's cursing cut off mid-word. His mouth hung open, frozen mid-insult, like he'd been hit with a paralysis charm.

The other censors, still ranting, didn't notice anything off.

"Lord Wu? Lord Wu, why'd you stop?"

Wu Zhongzi slowly shut his mouth.

His gaze locked onto the eunuch—that plain face, those eyes already back to their meek, downcast look.

The eunuch had ducked his head again, eyes lowered, once more the forgettable little attendant.

He shuffled to the door, melting into the shadows, then turned, opened it, and slipped out.

The door clicked shut, the candle flame dancing.

Wu Zhongzi stood frozen. One of the censors gave him a nudge.

"Lord Wu?"

Wu Zhongzi slowly snapped back to reality. He stared at the shut door, at the thin line of light bleeding through the crack.

Then he lowered himself back to the floor. "Nothing. Just tired. Resting a bit."

The door clicked softly shut behind him.

...

Cheng Ge kept his head down, moving along the corridor at a steady pace, no different from any eunuch on night watch.

The night wind snuck into his sleeves, sending a chill through him. He tucked his hands into his sleeves, hugged them tight, and kept walking.

The lanterns swung in the wind, stretching and shrinking his shadow by turns.

At a turn in the corridor, he stopped.

Nobody ahead, nobody behind.

He slid into the shadows, leaned against a pillar, shut his eyes, and breathed deep.

The night pressed down, only the faint thump of a distant watch drum breaking the silence.

Cheng Ge opened his eyes, checked around, and moved on down a long passage. Ahead, the lights of Wenhua Palace's main hall glowed.

He stood in the dark, eyeing the sealed hall doors and the guards posted in front.

The guards stood rigid, hands on their hilts, staring straight ahead without blinking.

Cheng Ge dropped his eyes, reached down, and grabbed the chamber pot from the corner.

The pot was empty. He gave it a little shake—it made a dull thunk.

He evened out his breathing.

Then he straightened, head low, chamber pot in hand, and stepped out of the dark.

He walked slow and steady until he stood in front of the guards.

"Gentlemen."

His voice came out shrill, with that eunuch lilt, head bowed, back hunched, eyes on his own feet.

"This servant's here to take the chamber pot."

The head guard looked down at him, then at the pot, disgust flickering across his face.

"Alright, alright, get in there. Make it quick."

Cheng Ge gave a little bow, picked up the pot, pushed the door open, and slid through.

The door shut behind him. The hall blazed with candlelight but was so still it felt deserted.

Cheng Ge raised his eyes. The four old ministers were still seated, exactly as they'd been when Chen Zhengqi left.

Like four statues, set in stone in the candle's glow.

Cheng Ge stood there, watching them, pot still in hand.

He set the pot down softly, straightened, and let out a quiet cough.

Nobody stirred. He coughed again, harder.

Lin Zhufeng's shoulder twitched. He lifted his head slowly and met Cheng Ge's eyes.

The gaze was murky—murky as a stagnant pool, as if there was nothing behind it.

But when he saw those eyes—

His pupils suddenly contracted.

Cheng Ge just looked at him, saying nothing.

He simply stood there, his right hand coming up to brush lightly over his left sleeve.

The motion was light and quick—so quick it looked like he was just flicking off dust.

But Lin Zhufeng's lashes fluttered hard. He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, then swallowed the words.

Cheng Ge took a step forward.

He walked slowly, each step steady, his boots landing on the golden bricks with barely a sound.

He stopped in front of Lin Zhufeng and bent down.

"Grand Tutor, this servant has come... to clean up the filth."

The word "filth" came out feather-light, yet it landed like a hammer.

The door creaked open and a figure slipped out of the hall.

He kept his head down, back hunched, carrying a chamber pot. The pot swayed in the night breeze, giving off a dull thud.

Candlelight spilled out from behind him, casting a dim yellow glow across his back, then cut off as the door shut.

The door shut behind him. He didn't look back.

He just carried the pot, step by step, toward the guards at the gate.

The night wind crept into his sleeves, pressing his robe against his legs.

The lanterns under the eaves swayed, stretching his shadow long and short, dragging it back and forth.

He reached the guards, stopped, and bowed slightly.

The lead guard glanced down at him, then at the pot, a look of disgust on his face.

He raised a hand and waved the figure off.

The figure said nothing, just bowed again, then turned and walked off into the night with the pot.

His footsteps were light.

One step.

Then another.

Slowly fading.

Until they disappeared into the shadows under the corridor.

Only the pot remained, swaying gently in the night, swaying, swaying, into the dark.

………

It was midnight.

Only one lamp was lit. The flame seemed tired, flickering slowly, pulling shadows long and short.

Lin Nanshu sat at the desk, listening to his shadow guard's report.

"...The men are assembled and spread out at various posts, waiting for your command..."

Lin Nanshu kept his eyes down, tapping a finger lightly on the desk—so soft it was almost inaudible.

Just then, a faint "click" came from the window.

It was so soft, like a leaf brushing the window frame, or a stray cat stepping on a cracked tile.

But Lin Nanshu's eyes sharpened instantly, his finger freezing mid-air.

The shadow guard's voice cut off abruptly, hand already on his blade, body leaning forward like a coiled leopard.

Lin Nanshu raised a hand and waved him off. "You can go."

The shadow guard hesitated, then let go of the blade, bowed with a quiet "Yes," and backed out the door.

The door closed softly.

Only Lin Nanshu was left in the room. He sat there, completely still.

He just watched the window, waiting a few breaths, then a few more.

Suddenly, the window slid open from outside, and a dark figure slipped in.

He paused on the windowsill, then tumbled in, rolling twice on the floor before catching himself.

Lin Nanshu stood up. The man got to his feet, brushing dust off his clothes.

He was in night gear, hood pulled low, face completely hidden.

Then he raised a hand and pushed the hood back, and the candlelight revealed his face.

"Muyu..." Lin Nanshu immediately stood and walked over to him, his steps quick.

Cheng Ge raised a hand, brushing more dust off his clothes. There was a smear of mud on his sleeve, from who knows where.

"Yuli, you got anything to eat? I'm starving..."

He'd been on the move all day without a drop of water, and he was about done.

The tension he'd held in Wenhua Hall had finally let go, and his whole body felt drained of strength. His legs were so weak he swayed just standing still.

Lin Nanshu hurriedly brought over the snacks and fruit from the table.

Cheng Ge didn't bother with formalities. He grabbed a piece of pastry and shoved the whole thing in his mouth.

He chewed fast, cheeks bulging, then reached for another piece.

Lin Nanshu poured a cup of tea and handed it over.

Cheng Ge took it, tipped his head back, and gulped it down. Tea ran down the corner of his mouth, but he didn't bother to wipe it—just swiped at it with his sleeve and grabbed a third piece.

He ate fast, urgently, like he hadn't eaten in days.

Lin Nanshu stood beside him, watching, and his heart suddenly clenched.

A faint clench, but it ached fiercely.

"Muyu." His voice was a little rough. "I'll have the kitchen make you something to eat."