Chapter 130: The New Official (I)

The execution grounds were crude, set up in a bustling thoroughfare where townsfolk came and went. A rope cordon fenced off a patch of ground, holding the gawking crowd at bay.

The ground was paved with blue bricks, and black bloodstains oozed from the cracks between them.

Clearly, this execution ground was a well-worn killing floor.

When Le Wuya and his crew reached the edge of the packed execution site, the sun was beating down at its worst.

Seven or eight flies buzzed around the leftover blood, their wings droning faintly.

The townsfolk murmured among themselves, their chatter blending with the flies' drone.

The condemned knelt in two rows, filthy grayish-black sacks over their heads, waiting for the axe to fall.

Yuan Zijin squinted and saw that the nearest prisoner had a placard stuck in the back of his neck, reading: "Japanese pirate Shinjima Ichiro, for harming the people, looting merchant ships, and conspiring in rebellion, is hereby sentenced to death by law. Presiding execution officer: Vice-Prefect Mu Jiazhi of Tongzhou Prefecture."

Yuan Zijin gave Zhong Piaoping a careless nudge: "Look!"

Zhong Piaoping stared off blankly, distracted: "What?"

Yuan Zijin snapped open his fan, hiding half of both their faces, and muttered: "I've heard my old man say these Japanese pirates along the remote coast are a real pain in the ass to deal with. And now a dozen of them pop up at once—what do you reckon, could this be a case of killing innocents to pad their records?"

Zhong Piaoping: "Huh?"

Yuan Zijin figured he didn't get it: "You never heard of it? It's when they go after regular folks, kill 'em, and then—"

Zhong Piaoping shook his head: "I'm asking, did your old man ever get into the specifics of how troublesome it was?"

Yuan Zijin: "..."

Nope, not really.

He'd wanted to ask back then, but his father had shut him up with a sharp "What do you know?"

Yuan Zijin went red with embarrassment and annoyance, snapped his fan shut, snorted, and blew off Zhong Piaoping.

After getting shot down by Zhong Piaoping, he wasn't about to give up, so he zeroed in on the prisoners again.

And this time, he actually spotted something.

These men knelt there, shut off from the sun, waiting to die. Yuan Zijin couldn't see their faces, just their general build, and the longer he looked, the more his heart sank.

They looked way too much like the farmers back in Nanting.

Their skin was tanned a shiny black, lean and shriveled, their arms nothing but sticks of bone, hands tied with hemp rope, palms and fingers caked with thick calluses.

Back in the day, Yuan Zijin wouldn't have given "calluses" a second thought.

But Le Wuya had dragged him through the streets and alleys, where all he saw was the poor. After seeing so much, what he didn't get before, he finally got.

Whether it was the fear of death or the heat getting to them, their small, frail bodies trembled in waves, enough to break your heart.

Especially the one called "Shinjima Ichiro"—he looked like he'd just caught a beating, his exposed skin a mess of purple and blue, old bruises stacked on new, turning him into a walking patchwork quilt.

Yuan Zijin couldn't stop his imagination from running wild.

The whole killing-innocents-to-claim-merit story suddenly played out in his head, getting his blood boiling.

He sidled up to Le Wuya: "Hey. Don't you think these prisoners are off?"

Le Wuya fanned himself lightly with his little fan, not saying a word.

At exactly quarter past noon, three executioners showed up together, hauling out chipped and battered execution blades, and barked gruffly: "Verify the condemned—"

The twelve sacks were yanked off one by one, revealing faces that were either terrified or dead inside.

The second he saw their faces, Yuan Zijin's heart jumped.

Why were all these guys' mouths gagged with cloth strips?

Over at Caishikou execution ground in the capital, plenty of criminals had been put to death.

When executions went down, he'd once worked up the nerve to sneak a peek, but he'd never seen any rule about gagging mouths!

But at the verification stage, keeping their mouths gagged was just wrong.

When they untied the cloth strip from "Shinjima Ichiro's" mouth, all hell broke loose!

He screamed hoarsely: "I'm not a Japanese pirate, I'm a Dayu man!! These crooked officials grabbed me without a lick of justice—ugh!!!"

The executioner slammed a vicious kick into his chest, sending him sliding across the ground like a sack of flour, skidding to a stop right at Le Wuya's feet.

The executioner spat: "Bullshit!"

Le Wuya looked down at him.

His face was dark and bruised. He spat out a mouthful of blood, then looked up at Le Wuya, blood pouring from his mouth and nose.

He looked at Le Wuya and rasped: "I've been wronged..."

Before he could finish his cry, the executioner roughly yanked him up, trying to shove the cloth strip back over his mouth.

The crowd of onlookers was shocked and scared, erupting into a buzz of chatter.

This was insane!

If the authorities really pulled something like this, and once they got a taste for it, planned to do it again, then how were regular folks supposed to survive?

Yuan Zijin's face changed on the spot, and he instinctively shot a look at Le Wuya.

Look! Are you gonna do something or not!

Even He Qingsong, Qin Xingyue, and the rest all turned to look at Le Wuya at the same time.

But Le Wuya didn't budge.

Seeing that the guy seemed to have suddenly gone deaf, Yuan Zijin, tossing all decorum and rank out the window, frantically tugged at his sleeve: "Did you hear what he said?! He said—"

Le Wuya fanned himself lightly, the breeze ruffling the two curls at his temples.

The prisoner was still full of fight, thrashing nonstop like a live fish in a hot pan, and for a moment, the executioner couldn't get him under control.

In the middle of the chaos, a tall, handsome, middle-aged man strode over with an air of authority. Seeing the mess, he barked: "What the hell is going on here?"

The executioner scrambled to answer: "Vice-Prefect, sir, this criminal is spouting nonsense—"

While the executioner was distracted, the man used both teeth and tongue to bite off the loose cloth binding, freeing his mouth once more.

Seeing the other citizens retreating, afraid of being splattered with blood, leaving only Le Wuya standing alone at the front of the crowd, he fixed his gaze on Le Wuya, scrambled over to him, and cried out, "I am a Dayu citizen, they wronged me—"

Le Wuya coldly met his gaze for a moment, then suddenly raised his voice and demanded sternly in Japanese: "You worthless piece of trash, where's your spine?"

The man who had repeatedly insisted he was "not a Japanese raider" froze at once, a flash of shame crossing his face before he caught himself.

But it was too late to hide it now.

After all that rolling and wailing, he had already drawn countless eyes.

Any subtle change in his expression could not escape the notice of those around him.

"Folks, listen up!" Le Wuya clapped his hands and laughed, raising his fan to point at the man, "This born-and-bred Dayu citizen actually understands Japanese!"

Majima Ichiro glared at Le Wuya, malice festering in his eyes.

But unwilling to give up, he still stubbornly insisted, "I am wronged! I don't understand!"

"Oh, you don't understand." Le Wuya crouched down, hugging his knees, "Let me school you. When we Dayu people cry out for justice, we cut to the chase—say whatever we can. For instance, where I'm from, what village, what household, what my neighbors are called, what my parents are called, what they do for a living. Even the simplest self-introduction has its own rules. I wonder, have you ever heard of storybooks since you came to Dayu? In the Romance of the Three Kingdoms, there are those who call themselves Changshan Zhao Zilong, or Yanren Zhang Yide, but I've never seen anyone just sticking their neck out and squawking that they're a Dayu citizen."

With a few words, Le Wuya settled the crowd's restless nerves.

Not satisfied with that, he used his fan to flip up the man's greasy, matted hair: "Your hair has been deliberately grown out, but the parting is wide, sparse in the middle, thick on the sides. So which of your Dayu daddies gave you that hairstyle the Japanese love so much?"

Majima Ichiro was quite fluent in Dayu's official language, and having fallen into Dayu hands, he had hoped to smear the government's reputation before his death—but he never expected to meet this man, and now all was lost!

Seething with rage, he let out a roar and lunged at Le Wuya.

A black dog darted out from behind Le Wuya like a phantom, sank its teeth into his hand, and with a jerk of its head, ripped off two of his fingers!

The Japanese man crumpled to the ground, clutching his ruined hand and howling in agony, rolled twice before the executioner pounced on him, bound his hands and feet tight, and shut him up.

Vice-Prefect Mu Jiazhi, seeing Le Wuya's extraordinary demeanor, grew wary and stepped toward him: "If I may—"

Le Wuya raised a hand to cut him off, pointing his fan at Majima Ichiro: "Has this man confessed to being of noble birth?"

Mu Jiazhi, intimidated by his bearing, faltered.

"That chonmage hairstyle takes a lot of upkeep. Your average ronin can't afford it. So he's most likely a noble samurai." Le Wuya said leisurely, "You've caught a big fish—you do know that, right?"

At that, Mu Jiazhi's face turned bright red.

He was the one in charge of the prefecture's criminal cases.

When this man was captured half a year ago, he only knew he was Japanese and spoke a few phrases of standard Dayu official language.

As for anything else, the man clammed up, refusing to say another word.

Mu Jiazhi had long been worried about this execution, fearing the man would use his fluency in Dayu speech to spout nonsense and cause trouble.

But the Dayu Law clearly stipulated that before execution, the prisoner's identity had to be verified, and the prisoner had to personally respond for the procedure to be valid.

Stuck between a rock and a hard place, he'd taken the Assistant Prefect's advice to give the man a thorough beating before the execution to cow him into submission.

The results were plain to see: there were none.

Seeing the man wasn't enraged but ashamed, Le Wuya smiled: "But Vice-Prefect, you needn't worry. This guy looks like he's been through every punishment Tongzhou has to offer, so he's clearly stubborn as a mule—even more interrogation probably won't get anything out of him."

Mu Jiazhi felt relieved, and seeing how Le Wuya had effortlessly defused this potentially serious crisis at the execution ground, he quickly straightened up and clasped his hands in salute: "And who might you be, sir?"

"Me?" Le Wuya stepped back, "You'll be seeing me again."

He glanced at the sundial's shadow: "Carry out the execution—it's almost noon."

With that, Le Wuya turned and walked off without a backward glance.

Mu Jiazhi couldn't call out after him in front of the crowd, and as the supervising official, he couldn't leave his post, so he swallowed his curiosity, climbed the temporary execution platform, ordered the executioner to re-verify the identities of all twelve prisoners, and after confirming they were correct, slammed down the token and barked:

"Execute!"

...

Yuan Zijin, who'd been frantic moments before, now trailed quietly behind Le Wuya, not saying a word.

But Le Wuya wasn't about to let him off.

Once they reached a quiet spot, he turned around and jabbed him repeatedly with his fan: "Go on! Keep pushing!"

Yuan Zijin, jabbed into hopping around, knew he was in the wrong but couldn't help retorting: "He did have calluses on his hands, not like—"

Le Wuya poked him even harder: "Don't pirates haul ropes and hoist sails? Don't they swing blades? How many callused hands have you seen? Can you tell which calluses come from a hoe, which from a sword, and which from a gun?"

Yuan Zijin, nearly in tears from the poking, ducked behind Zhong Piaoping, using him as a shield.

Clutching Zhong Piaoping's clothes, he whined in defense: "I meant well—it's not like there's no precedent for killing innocents to claim credit—"

"Meant well. It's your 'meaning well' I'm hitting!" Le Wuya said, "If you were the Assistant Prefect, temporarily managing the prefecture's affairs, with the previous prefect just dead and the new one about to arrive, would you have the gall to kill innocents and claim credit at a time like this? Afraid I wouldn't make an example of you as the new official?"

At Le Wuya's words, Zhong Piaoping frowned.

Having wandered and begged with his parents for so long, Zhong Piaoping had a keener sense for goodwill and malice than most.

He muttered to himself: "What a coincidence?"

Le Wuya checked his bamboo fan, confirming the grime from Majima Ichiro's head had been wiped clean on Yuan Zijin, then nodded with satisfaction: "Xiao Zhong, what did you say?"

Zhong Piaoping stammered: "I'm just being suspicious."

Le Wuya tucked the fan back into his waistband: "No harm—go on, tell me."

Zhong Piaoping, head bowed, said in a low voice: "Why choose today of all days for the execution? These prisoners should have been left for you."

His words were vague and seemingly disjointed, and most present didn't catch his meaning.

It was the quick-witted Hua Rong who explained: "You're about to take office in Tongzhou in a few days. Capturing twelve Japanese pirates—such a feat should have been saved for you to oversee the execution. This case must have been tried long ago, reported up, approved by the Ministry of Justice, sent back, and a date set—at least a month, at most half a year. If left for you, you'd arrive and execute the pirates right away—what a way to start your tenure, so invigorating."

Yuan Zijin, ever the spoilsport, muttered: "Why give him the credit? That was the previous prefect's achievement."

"The previous prefect is dead," Zhong Piaoping said quietly, "The Assistant Prefect is only managing affairs temporarily. By rights, executing prisoners is a major matter that should be left for you. It would both do him a favor and avoid seeming overstepping."

Yuan Zijin was a bit confused: "Well, executing early just means he's not tactful... He couldn't have known Wen Ren Ming Ke was arriving in a couple of days."

Zhong Piaoping wanted to say more but felt he might be thinking too ill of people, and was about to stop when he saw Le Wuya looking at him with encouragement. He steeled himself and continued.

From Nanting to Tongzhou is a set route, so it wouldn't be hard to figure out when you'd arrive. Even though we kept a low profile on the road, you're hardly a nobody, and with a group as large as ours, anyone paying attention could easily spot us crossing into Tongzhou. If you'd ridden into town today and seen criminals about to be executed, and gone to check it out, and—like Xiao Er—taken hearsay at face value and wrongly thought these were innocent folks being killed so someone could take credit, and stopped the execution, then wouldn't that—

A chill suddenly ran down Yuan Zijin's spine, so much that he didn't even bother objecting to the jab about "believing hearsay."

...The execution order came down from the Ministry of Justice.

If Wen Ren Ming Ke really thought these were innocent civilians and stepped in to stop the execution, and it later came out that they really were Japanese raiders...

Wouldn't Ming Ke's vaunted reputation for good judgment become a total joke?!

He stood there stunned for a long beat, swallowed hard, and managed to say, "...That can't be, right?"

Was this really his very first day in Tongzhou Prefecture, and already there was an invisible net waiting for him?

Could political scheming really go this far?

Le Wuya sneered faintly: "You can't judge a person's heart by their words. Time will tell. We'll see."

...

Assistant Prefect Wei Yixian sat by the pond in the back courtyard of the newly renovated government office, fishing in peace.

A big parasol shaded him, creating a cool little oasis.

The sun was blazing. He sat in a roomy armchair, mostly hidden in the shade, with just the toe of his raised right foot catching the sunlight, swaying happily back and forth.

A servant boy crept up quietly.

Before the page could say anything, Wei Yixian, who'd been resting with his eyes shut, opened them: "He's here, isn't he?"

"He's here, he's here," the page said crisply. "He came in through the South Gate and rode straight to the execution grounds without stopping."

Wei Yixian smiled, satisfied: "Good. I hear our new Prefect is a whiz at criminal cases and really cares about the people. Looks like the rumors were right. Is everything ready?"

The page dutifully topped off his tea: "The Prefect's come a long way. The watermelon's been chilling in the well all night, so it's just right. If he shows up, it'll be perfect for cooling him down."

Wei Yixian sighed contentedly at the water: "Yeah, he could use a good cooling off."

Just then, another page hurried over and whispered something in Wei Yixian's ear.

Wei Yixian's face didn't change at the news: "All executed? Good. Those Japanese pirates are despicable, and evil must be wiped out completely..."

As he spoke, he suddenly sat up straight, gripped the rod, and yanked it up.

The rod came up out of the water, the silver line gleaming in the sun.

The bait on the hook was already gone—eaten clean off.

He shook his head, a little regretful: "Too bad. It didn't take the bait."

Author's note:

A new stage is set.