Chapter 11#

Slaughter#

Xu Daochun led Mijin to change his robes. This time he had learned his lesson—the crown set aside for the Crown Prince was stripped of most ornaments, comparable in simplicity to those worn by other members of the imperial clan, but he was not instructed to put it on. Instead, it was laid out on a tray alongside the jeweled casket and the dragon-headed pouch-belt.

“The Crown Prince comes this time to offer heads and submit in allegiance. It would be inappropriate to dress in full splendor,” said Xu Daochun as he presented the tray to Mijin, his expression rarely showing such frankness. “…Everything is settled now. I only hope that before His Majesty, the Crown Prince will not be too stubborn.”

Mijin took the tray without a word. Xu Daochun, feeling he had done his utmost, lowered his head and led Mijin into the hall.

The hall was ventilated, but the sky was overcast, so it felt rather dim. Eunuchs stood or knelt at their respective posts, all as still as porcelain figurines. Xu Daochun shuffled quickly; only when he reached the inner chambers did he kneel and kowtow. He said softly, “Your servant Xu Daochun, on the order of His Majesty, receives the Crown Prince of Ayoucheng, Mijin, for an audience. Crown Prince Mijin has removed his crown and shoes and respectfully bears the jeweled casket to await questioning.”

Mijin knelt, head bowed, waiting.

The hall fell into a deathly silence. Xu Daochun and all the eunuchs seemed to have vanished; only the faint patter of rain could be heard at the doorway. After a long while, a hoarse, aged voice came from above: “Miwuye, bring your casket forward.”

Mijin rose, lifted the tray, and walked forward. In the dim depths, a figure sat cross-legged, gradually revealed as Mijin approached.

The Slaughter King was now sixty-seven years old. He wore a Tongtian crown adorned with a gold Boshan ornament; beneath it lay a pair of deep-set eyes that, within these cold palace walls, merged with the backdrop of a black dragon screen with bared fangs. He occupied the royal seat, the wide sleeves of his clerical overgarment pooling between his arms, his inner garments all in black. As he leaned forward, the jade pendants of the Son of Heaven clinked softly. He studied Mijin, his gaze roaming meticulously and slowly across that face, as though searching for traces of his son.

Mijin knelt once more and offered the tray.

Milinan said, “Which one is your father?”

Mijin raised his hand and opened the central casket. Miluo’s eyes were shut tight, his face turned toward his father.

The pendants fell to the floor—this meant Milinan was leaning in closer. He reached out a pair of hands, trembling, and hovered them over Miluo’s face. They had not seen each other for twenty years; Miluo had long since reached middle age, yet when Milinan touched his brow and eyes now, he still felt him to be twenty-four.

“Xinghuan…” Milinan called Miluo by his courtesy name, his fingers trembling. “What a heartless son you are…”

Miluo rested against his father’s palm. The old man’s entire body began to shake. Moments later, he lifted his eyes and pressed forward toward Mijin.

“You…” Milinan spoke slowly, “another heartless son. He wounded my heart so, and you cut off his head just like that. What kind of little beast are you?”

“To achieve results, one must be decisive.” Mijin met Milinan’s gaze. “If I do not kill Miluo, the civil war in Zhonggu will never cease—one zhen, two provinces—”

Milinan snatched up another casket and smashed it against Mijin’s face. The casket cracked open, and the severed head of Master You Ye rolled to the side.

The hall became even more silent. Xu Daochun did not dare breathe. Blood ran down from Mijin’s temple, but he kept his eyes fixed on Milinan and finished what he had to say: “When will the one zhen and two provinces submit? When will the innocent commoners find peace? If I do not kill Miluo, who else in this world can kill him?”

“You compare yourself to heroes, you—” Milinan pointed at Mijin’s eyes. “a bastard from the Qiming sect—will never be worthy of standing beside my son. If it were not for your mother, that cheap servant of the Qiming cult, he would never have gone mad and fled!”

Milinan suddenly shoved the tray. All the heads and the dragon-headed pouch-belt fell to the floor. He threw out his arms and shouted: “He defied his sovereign and his father, ran off to Xiangling Plains to take in those beasts—I tolerated that! I gave it to him! He became king, surrounded by Qiming cultists, never repented over all these years, never distinguished black from white—I tolerated all of it! But what became of him? He was utterly ruined!”

Miluo’s head rolled by his leg. Mijin’s chest heaved as he heard Milinan’s voice rise to near-frenzy.

“How could there be such sons in this world—all these years, he never once felt the slightest guilt toward me! Mi Xinghuan, Mi Xinghuan! He was born in my arms. Back then Miaoshang said he was frail and might not live to a full month. So I cut my own blood as an offering to Heaven and prayed day and night to the god of the Golden Crow.” Milinan’s face twisted as he looked at Miluo’s head, as though trying to tell him: “As long as he could live, I would have been willing to be the god’s running dog. Later, when he fell ill, I went to summon Qiming priests. The Daqing had destroyed the cult for over a decade, but I—I was the one who rekindled the Qiming fire for him! And those beasts—how did they repay me? They filled his head with lies, making him naively believe there must be paradise in this world!”

Milinan aged in an instant. He could no longer bear to look at Miluo’s head. This man who had set the troubled times in motion hunched over, propping himself on the armrests, turning his gaze away.

“Take this Qiming beast’s head and hang it on the Shuoyue Gate. Let everyone who passes by know that Zhonggu, too, will destroy the cult.”

Xu Daochun responded, crawling on his knees to Master You Ye’s head. He cradled it to his chest, ready to take it away.

“Miwuye, do you know the saying: ‘Against sovereign and parent, plotting shall bring certain execution’?"[1] Milinan lifted his foot and kicked the dragon-headed pouch-belt—symbolizing the heir-apparent—into Mijin’s face. “Did you think offering heads and submission would deceive me? Little beast, your father, in my eyes, is nothing more than a boy who has just learned to dabble in political scheming.”

He swung an arm, the wide sleeve fanning out, and the Slaughter King returned to his throne.

“These three heads you offer are, respectively, the monarch, general, and chancellor of Xiangling Plains.” Milinan’s agedness lasted but an instant; once he was back on the royal seat, he once again merged with the black dragon screen behind him. His bearing was composed, his voice authoritative: “I imagine this was your father’s idea. He wanted you to present these three skulls to demonstrate that Xiangling Plains would never again have the power to stand against Zhonggu.”

Without a monarch, another can be installed. Without a general, another can be appointed. Without a chancellor, another can be found. But if all three were delivered together onto the altar of state, Xiangling Plains would be unable to rise again for a decade.

“Actually, he need not have gone to such trouble. If he had simply been willing to send one head—yours—I could have forgiven him for his twenty years of betrayal.” Milinan’s expression was cold. “A pity he insisted on gambling everything on you. Very well—I shall see whether you are worthy of that expectation of his. Men! Draft the decree at once!”

When Xu Daochun emerged from the hall, the rain was still falling. He put on his wooden clogs, cradled You Ye’s head, and without waiting for anyone to bring an umbrella, hurried down the steps.

“The Crown Prince of Ayoucheng, Mijin, patricide and fratricide, offers his heads in sincerity—a deed of great merit, meriting promotion to the Prince of Fuxin as a sign of imperial grace. However, his conduct has been savage and contrary to human morality, and he is therefore demoted to the Marquis of Fuxin as a measure of discipline. Those in his retinue are former retainers of the Ming King—how dare they raise flags and change banners, selling out their lord for personal glory? By special order, the banner-general of the Imperial Guard, Yuchi Liang, shall lock down both inner palace gates and execute all these disloyal, unfilial, and unrighteous persons in their entirety!”

Yuchi Liang received the decree. He rose and said, “The decree has been issued. Soldiers, heed my orders—seal both inner palace gates at once. Not a single Eastern Palace Guard Lang may pass!”

The moment the two gates were locked, Kong Xiaoquan panicked first. He beat on the door panels, shouting, “General! We two are both Senluo Ghosts!”

Behind the panels, Yuchi Liang straightened his belt-sword. He said unhurriedly, “What nonsense is that? Look down at your waist badge right now. Is the figure on it ‘Binding Tiger’ or ‘Black Dragon’? If it’s ‘Binding Tiger,’ then indeed you two belong to my Senluo Ghosts. But if it’s ‘Black Dragon’—then it can’t be said I’ve wronged you.”

Shaxue had been on standby, having joined the Senluo and awaiting the arrival of the next pouch. But before nightfall, before he had even changed his clothes, he was shut inside the two inner palace gates.

“It seems the Crown Prince is no longer the Crown Prince.” Shaxue lightly pressed his short sword and spoke through the door to Yuchi Liang. “General, you are so eager to silence everyone today—I take it that seeing the Crown Prince’s power wane, you’re unwilling to leave any room for maneuver?”

“You’re fine material, a pity your origins are too lowly.” Yuchi Liang paced; his military boots made clopping sounds in the rain again, as if everything were that night they first met. “If you had been born into this Senluo City, I’d have made you a lieutenant at the very least. But you came from Tianxing Prefecture—that place is far. Though you have a roster vouching for you, who can be sure you didn’t slip in somewhere along the way as a spy?”

Through the narrow gap in the door, Tu Piao let the cunning in his eyes show.

“Sha Sanqing, with your skills, languishing in Tianxing Prefecture is like a pearl buried in dust. But the Crown Prince—ah, no, I suppose he’s the Marquis of Fuxin now. If the Marquis of Fuxin was willing to stake you against me, I saw it as an opportunity to humor him. If you’d been truly clever, you’d have switched sides on the road. But you insisted on clinging to the wreckage, so I’ll just go along with it.”

He had denied Shaxue and his men a ration allotment, forcing them to eat with the Eastern Palace Guard. It had been a good move—had Shaxue shown some sense that night, playing a role in the faction-splitting and instigating the mutiny, Yuchi Liang would have gladly rewarded him with an actual Senluo Ghost credential. Pity Shaxue didn’t play along.

It hadn’t mattered much. Back in Senluo, Yuchi Liang had other ways to deal with Shaxue. He had promoted Shaxue to squad-leader precisely to better control his movements. But who could have predicted that with Milinan’s decree, he would not need to expend any effort at all?

When better to kill them than now? With Mijin demoted to a marquis, Yuchi Liang had even less need to mind his face.

Shaxue turned around. The entire corridor was packed with Eastern Palace Guards. At the edge of death, no one needed to fight anymore. From behind the other gate came the faint wail of dragons, but the sound dissipated in the rain, adding only to the desolation.

“It’s over…” Kong Xiaoquan retreated, swallowed by the crowd, his raised face full of fear. “It’s all… it’s all archers…”

Archers lined the tops of both gates. Shaxue heard the creak of drawn strings. He didn’t know who screamed first, but the Guards fell like ripe wheat, felling in waves. He was forced to move—picking up a shield from the ground, he ran toward the center with Kong Xiaoquan.

The eight hundred men were like water poured into a leather sack, sloshing back and forth as their numbers dwindled. After two volleys, fewer than half remained alive. The walls on both sides and the floor were covered in blood. The corpses piled up and tripped yet more people.

The gates burst open at that moment. Fully armed Senluo Ghosts drew their longswords and surged in from both ends—a cacophony of screams and roars erupted. The Eastern Palace Guards had been disarmed of their side-swords before entering; now, facing the Senluo Ghosts, they were lambs waiting for the slaughter.

Shaxue killed a man. When he pulled his short sword free, arms locked him from behind. Yuchi Liang had been prepared—several Senluo Ghosts closed in on Shaxue together. Those longswords gleamed as Shaxue cut one down, then another; suddenly his feet were entangled in iron chains. He toppled instantly, crashing to the ground.

A blade struck Shaxue. He blocked from the other side. The Senluo Ghosts pulled in unison, dragging Shaxue toward the others. Kong Xiaoquan charged from the side, grabbed the chains, and pulled back with everything he had, shouting with all his might: “Brother Sha!”

Shaxue climbed to his feet. Blood covered the ground beneath him. He may have been wounded, but he felt nothing. He seized Kong Xiaoquan by the collar, drove his short sword deep into a Senluo Ghost’s chest. The ghost sprayed blood across his face. Gasping for breath, his upper body was seized from behind again.

There were comrades here.

Shaxue hooked his short sword, twisted around, and slashed off a Senluo Ghost’s face. Blood gushed like a waterfall, yet they still held him. In that moment, he clearly felt—another comrade had infiltrated their ranks!

Someone roared. They held Shaxue fast; as his feet slipped, they hoisted him up abruptly. Shaxue saw their faces—they competed with one another, driving longswords into his abdomen.

One man pulled his blade out, then stabbed again.

Blood sprayed from Shaxue’s throat. This was the way he executed his comrades. Now they would use the same method on him.

They released their grip. Shaxue dropped to his knees with a thud. Soaked through by the rain, the world before his eyes began to blur. He propped himself up on his elbows, still clutching his short sword. Blood ran down the side of his face. He choked a few times; his whole body trembled.

No one knew how many Senluo Ghosts had fallen. Those who remained dared not approach. They circled Shaxue, ring after ring. He tried to crawl to his feet again, but someone braced a sword against his back and pushed—

Shaxue pitched forward and lay still.

Rain washed away the puddle of blood. Sanqing’s eyes were still open. Yuchi Liang checked his nostrils for breath, confirming the man was dead. The Senluo Ghosts withdrew. The gold-and-black dragon banner lay among the corpses across the ground. Night fell. The rain continued. Several batches of eunuchs came with single-wheeled carts to clear the bodies.

Shaxue was dragged onto a cart. The eunuchs carried the bodies out of the palace to the usual burial place. The ground was desolate and barren. A few coroners held oil lamps and, alongside the eunuchs, rummaged through the pile of corpses for anything of value.

“Here’s a pretty one!” one eunuch marveled, shining the oil lamp on Shaxue’s face. “I’ve never seen one like this even inside the palace…”

“Wrongly reborn,” the coroner, his face still covered with a cloth, sighed. “Eight hundred and one—make sure you report the right number to the general when you get back.”

The eunuch who had found Shaxue was barely in his teens, still more of a child. He nodded, but seemed truly saddened. “Put him on top… Sigh, let’s bury them first thing tomorrow morning, otherwise if wild dogs come gnawing on them, that would be too sad.”

The group each pocketed some trinkets. Because the rain was still falling and the night was cold, they huddled together, clamoring to go inside first to divide the spoils.

The oil lamp’s glow receded into the distance. Rain pattered down on Shaxue’s face, occasionally flecked with bits of ice. A lantern drifted soundlessly toward him from afar. When it reached Shaxue’s side, it illuminated a figure.

Plop.

The pouch landed on Shaxue’s face, then slid along his profile and fell to the ground.

The figure bent down and said, “Sha Sanqing, your mission has arrived.”

Rain seeped into those lifeless, hollow eyes. After a moment, a glimmer of light seemed to kindle. The pupils rolled suddenly, and then Shaxue opened his mouth, coughing up blood once more. His chest rose and fell as his breathing gently resumed.

In an instant, that blood-caked hand clenched the pouch with fierce determination.