‘Slap!’
Just as the great fire at the Bai family’s place was reaching its peak, Li Zi, the Grand Yin Minister of Rites of Dayin, received a crisp, undeniable slap across the face.
This happened right inside the Ministry of Rites of Dayin.
Right there, in the main hall of the Ministry of Rites.
This was Li Zi’s usual office—his territory.
And right on his own turf, a group of assembled hostages from various feudal lords had gathered in the Ministry of Rites, loudly demanding compensation from the imperial court.
One by one, they laughed uproariously—some even laughing until they coughed or let out embarrassing noises, displaying all kinds of undignified behaviors.
Among them was Luo Yin, the fifth son of the Marquis of Luoyin.
He had a fat head and big ears, with a bit of a rough, simple manner.
Luo Yin proudly raised the hand that had just slapped Li Zi and loudly chuckled with his companions.
“Do you know why I slapped you?” Luo Yin asked Li Zi.
“Sigh, sigh, Your Highness, please speak,” Li Zi said with a dry smile, bowing and kowtowing toward Luo Yin as if pleading.
“You deserved it!” Luo Yin pointed at Li Zi's nose, scolding. “How much time did you waste of our brotherhood’s? We came first thing in the morning to the Ministry of Rites, looking for compensation, and you just hid inside the palace, avoiding us.”
“Not only do you deserve to be slapped, you deserve to die.”
“Finally, you dared to leave the palace and meet us, and yet you even tried to bargain with us?”
“Our accounts clearly show how much we lost in that fire.”
“The Empress Dowager already gave us money.”
“But the money from the Empress Dowager only calmed our anger and stopped us from reporting to our fathers.”
“If you want to truly resolve this, to fully make up for our losses, or else, this won’t end!”
The group of hostages laughed out loud: “That’s right, it won’t end!”
Luo Yin was smug as he snatched the official hat off Li Zi’s head and slammed it heavily onto his own.
“You’ve been bargaining so long, from dusk till now—how much time have you wasted? Instead of wasting time arguing with you, wouldn’t it be better to go somewhere and have fun?”
“So, I hit you—do you accept that?”
Li Zi gave a forced smile, bowing deeply to Luo Yin. “Your Highness speaks the truth; you could not be more right. It’s just that the compensation Your Highness demands is too high, and I don’t have the authority to decide.”
“How about I report your demands to the Empress Dowager, the Chancellor, and the other officials in court, then come back with an answer?”
Li Zi looked at Luo Yin and the others with pitiable eyes.
Luo Yin and the others exchanged glances, then several of them yawned at the same time.
“Fine, that’s enough for today.”
“Collecting debts can’t be rushed.”
“Tomorrow, once we’re rested, we’ll come back.”
“Let’s go, find somewhere to have fun, sleep in during the day, and come back tonight for this guy again.”
Luo Yin laughed, and with a ‘slap’, gave Li Zi another earful, then strutted with his comrades, laughing and shouting loudly as they made a raucous exit from the Ministry of Rites.
The hall’s lights dimmed.
When these feudal hostages came to stir up trouble, the experienced officials at the Ministry of Rites had long since fled without a trace, leaving only Li Zi, the official on duty, to take the fall.
Li Zi slowly straightened his back, hands resting on the jade belt at his waist, then suddenly released a cold sneer—a thin, eerie smile crawling across his gaunt face, sending chills down one’s spine.
“Go ask the Nine Yin Sect—what exactly are they doing?”
“Causing such a big commotion, what do they want? Huh? What’s their purpose?”
“By agreement, everyone keeps to their own territory, living peaceful lives—isn’t that better? But no, they have to stir up trouble. Do they deal with the dead too much? Has their mind rotted?”
“If they want to cause chaos, that’s fine, just not on my turf.”
“If they mess things up like this and attract the attention of our enemies, if they bring trouble onto us… don’t blame me for rallying the alliance to sweep them out of Haojing entirely.”
From some shadowy corner of the hall came a low, steady murmur of agreement.
Li Zi’s expression suddenly changed, his face twisted as he dashed out of the hall and climbed to the highest small building in the Ministry compound.
From there, he looked off towards the southwest.
Southwest of the Ministry of Rites lay Yushun Ward.
The Bai family’s residence was at the northeast corner of Yushun Ward.
Between Bai family’s mansion and the Ministry of Rites office lay a canal several li wide.
The Bai family’s Blue Field Garden was vast, and dozens of their fine houses were ablaze—firelight roaring, lighting up the sky.
Standing high within the Ministry of Rites, one could clearly see the rolling flames late into the night.
“So, who’s the hero this time?”
Li Zi sighed bitterly, hands clasped behind his back, his waist hunched considerably.
“Isn’t it better to just live peacefully, gain rank and wealth quietly? Why stir up all this trouble all the time?”
Squinting, he studied the location of the fire carefully, then raised a thumb at the blazing spot, murmuring, “Seems to be Bai Changkong’s house? Well... then it’s none of my business.”
“Good riddance. Bai Changkong,’ a cultural troublemaker—one less is one less, tsk, splendid!”
“Ritual and law? Ha! Abiding by the law is all that good?”
Shaking his head, hands behind his back, Li Zi hummed a little tune as he leisurely headed toward the back courtyard of the Ministry of Rites.
He decided to get some good wine and a few snacks tonight, to properly dissipate the resentment brewing inside him.
After a few steps, Li Zi glanced around again.
“Oh, I almost forgot. In a few days, arrange a street fight for Lord Luo. Break all his limbs.”
From the shadows, another low voice responded, accompanied by a light, cold chuckle.
At the same time, far beneath the Grand General’s Mansion lay a dark prison.
This black jail was used to hold and punish those soldiers who broke military discipline.
Because many soldiers had martial cultivation, the prison was built extraordinarily solid.
Even a martial artist with twelve expansions of his meridian channels would find escape impossible.
The two coffin shops’ owners, along with the few surviving waiters, craftsmen, laborers, servants—and even a few unruly servant girls—were all locked inside.
Thick chains and specially designed curved hooks bound them tightly.
What followed was a storm of brutal, merciless torture.
Military punishments were not like those of the official judicial office, the Sike Tai, or the eunuchs of the Shougongjian.
The Sike Tai’s punishments were ancestral arts passed down through generations, blending psychological and physical attacks with practiced interrogation techniques designed to make people unknowingly spill secrets.
The eunuchs at Shougongjian used poisonously cruel methods—minimally damaging the body but inflicting long-lasting intense pain designed to break the spirit and force confessions.
But what about these military thugs in the Grand General’s Mansion?
They had no such finesse.
Their methods matched their battlefield style—rough, straightforward, and devastatingly effective.
The unlucky wretches from the two coffin shops were crushed inch by inch within just a few hours, their bodies utterly shattered.
Before long, most of the living captives were beaten to death.
One commanding officer of the Imperial Guards shouted at the top of his lungs, “If they’re not dead yet, beat them until they are! Bunch of thieves! Kill ‘em all!”
No one cared about confessions.
They held the real power—the knives.
No matter who backed the coffin shops, if they dared raise their heads, the Imperial Guards would slash through them all, killing thoroughly, spilling rivers of blood.
So why bother with confessions?
Following the strategist general Jia Yu’s order—“As long as confessions don’t fall into the hands of civil officials, peace will reign!”
“Beat them to death! One branding iron isn’t enough. Twenty at once!”
A commanding officer, chewing on a toothpick, cheerfully ordered soldiers who busied themselves accordingly.
The waiters and laborers were beaten into pulp.
A few unruly servant girls fared even worse; within moments of rough handling, they were ruined beyond recognition.
Yet, no matter how hard the soldiers tried, everyone from the two coffin shops had blank smiles on their faces, lips softly chanting, “The Ghost Mother descends,” showing no reaction to the severe torture and wanton abuse.
Amid the horrifying sounds of bones breaking, two shop owners’ shins were crushed by copper hammers.
They let out soft sighs but kept smiling, chanting “The Ghost Mother descends” over and over.
The Imperial Guards began to feel a chill.
These people were unearthly beings—they didn’t fear pain or death.
What else could they be if not monsters?
A light cough sounded.
A young man dressed in armor but loosely draped in the wide, flowing robes favored by Dayin’s literary officials at home and leisure, appeared at the prison’s entrance.
“You all, leave. I have questions for them.”
The youth cleared his throat slightly and waved toward the soldiers torturing the prisoners inside.
“Y-Yes, General Leshui, right away!”
The guards dropped their tools without hesitation and hurriedly ran out in a neat line, keeping their distance from the black prison, lest General Leshui suspect they were eavesdropping.
Leshui was Leshan’s brother.
Leshan was the nephew of Grand General Le Wu.
Leshui was Le Wu’s son.
Among the Le family, Leshan was the one with the strongest martial talent and the greatest martial prowess—a true prodigy.
Leshui, however, was displeasing to his father, Le Wu, because he did not focus on martial arts but preferred literature and scholarship.
What made it worse was his close ties with professors and scholars at the Imperial Academy and National University.
He had nearly become a proper literary disciple.
Le Wu once said, “I’ve raised a little white-eyed wolf!”
Still, Le Wu cared for Leshui more than Leshan, being his own son.
Especially since when Le Wu had bitter arguments with Bai Changkong at court, he once pointed his finger at Bai Changkong and angrily said: “My son, my own son, is a literary disciple too.”
That phrase’s meaning spoke volumes if one read between the lines.
In any case, Leshui loved literature but held a rank in the Imperial Guards.
He had the authority to handle official documents and military intelligence at the Grand General’s Mansion.
He also had significant influence over execution of military discipline.
Visiting prisoners destined to be beaten to death was nothing unusual.
Holding a thin volume of poetry, Leshui approached the two bloodied shop owners and shook his head.
“You’re asking for death in this state.”
“However, a few elders sent messages wanting to know—is your Nine Yin Sect going mad?”
“Why stir up such trouble? Are you afraid our days are too peaceful?”
“What exactly do you want?”
“Give us a reasonable explanation. Otherwise, within fifteen days, everyone from your Nine Yin Sect in Haojing will be thoroughly cleansed.”
Leshui grabbed a glowing red-hot branding iron and pressed it casually against the cheek of a nearby waiter.
He smiled with a wicked, ferocious grin—completely lacking his usual refined, graceful mien.
(End of Chapter)