Chapter 42: Calming the Waves (Part 5)
Leaving Meng’s residence, the palace gates were already locked. Han Qing didn’t go to the Yin Ye Si but returned to his private residence outside the palace. The steward who opened the door handed him an umbrella respectfully.
“Has Elder Sister gone to bed?” Han Qing asked, walking into the courtyard.
“Mistress said she would wait for you…” the steward said, glancing at him cautiously.
Han Qing didn’t reply and dismissed the steward. As he reached the porch, a maidservant emerged from a room, carrying a bowl of medicine, her face etched with worry.
“Master,” she bowed, seeing him.
“Give it to me,” Han Qing said, taking the bowl of dark, steaming medicine and putting down his umbrella.
“A-Qing? Is that you?” a female voice called from inside the room, tinged with joy.
“Elder Sister, it’s me,” Han Qing replied, carrying the medicine inside.
He saw the woman turn from her dressing table, a smile on her weathered face. She hurried over to him. “A-Qing, where have you been?”
“Working outside,” he said with a forced smile.
His sister frowned, taking his hand. “Didn’t I tell you not to work? You enjoy studying. I’m getting married soon. Then you’ll have money for your studies!”
When working outside, Han Qing didn’t wear his eunuch robes, concealing his condition from his sister.
But her words always pained him. He forced a smile. “Elder Sister, I… I’m not studying anymore.”
“Why not? Didn’t you say you wanted to make something of yourself? Didn’t you say you wanted me to be the sister of a Jinshi?” she asked, her grip tightening on his hand.
“Elder Sister, don’t get married,” he pleaded.
“Why not? They’re a good family. And more importantly, once I’m married, you can focus on your studies. We’ll have money for Mother’s medicine…”
She shook her head resolutely. “Listen to me. Don’t worry about these things. Even after I marry, I’ll still be your family. I’ll take care of you.”
“They’re not good people…” Han Qing said, his throat dry, the warmth of the bowl making his palms sweat. “Elder Sister, they won’t treat you well.”
If they were good people, they wouldn’t abuse her.
If they were good people, he wouldn’t have been forced to become a eunuch to pay for his mother’s medicine.
If they were good people… she wouldn’t be in this state.
“What are you talking about?” she asked, her eyes filled with confusion.
Han Qing composed himself and scooped up a spoonful of medicine. “Elder Sister, you have a cold. You should take your medicine.”
“I have a cold?” she murmured. “How much does this medicine cost?”
“Don’t worry, Elder Sister. I bought it with the money I earned. I didn’t steal it. But if you don’t drink it, it’ll be a waste.”
She took the bowl and drank the bitter medicine in one gulp. Han Qing cautioned her about the heat, then the steward’s voice came from outside. “Young Master, a guest has arrived.”
Footsteps approached, and a man in dark robes, a sword at his waist, entered the courtyard, his clothes damp with rain. “Director,” he called out.
The porcelain bowl slipped from Han Qing’s hand and shattered.
He turned to his sister, her face pale and bloodless. She began to tremble, screaming, “A-Qing! He’s here to kill me! I’m going to die!”
“Elder Sister…” Han Qing tried to comfort her, but she pushed him away and knelt down, kowtowing towards the figure in the doorway. “Your Honor, I was wrong! I didn’t mean to kill my husband! He beat me! I couldn’t take it anymore! Please don’t kill me…”
Zhou Ting stepped back, hiding behind the door.
Han Qing crouched down and held his sister, patting her back gently. “Elder Sister, no one is going to kill you. Don’t you remember? The Emperor pardoned you…”
“…Did he?” she asked, her eyes vacant.
“Yes,” Han Qing said, looking at the streaks of gray in her hair. She was only forty. “Elder Sister, no one can hurt you now.”
The autumn rain pattered against the window.
Han Qing remembered Meng Yun Xian’s words.
The Emperor’s whims could override the law.
When the law was unjust, like with his sister, who had endured years of abuse, her husband unpunished, and she, driven to desperation, had injured him, facing execution.
But the Emperor’s words had set her free.
When the law was just, like with Wu Ji Kang, who had cheated and caused Ni Qinglan’s death, deserving punishment.
But the Emperor’s favoritism had forced Ni Su to risk her life, appealing to the Dengwen Drum Court.
Indeed, the Emperor was above the law.
“What is it?” Han Qing asked Zhou Ting after comforting his sister and sending her to bed.
“Wu Ji Kang has been sentenced to death.”
“Has the execution date been set?” Han Qing wasn’t surprised. The Emperor’s purge was nearing its end. Wu Ji Kang’s case couldn’t be delayed any longer.
“Yes, the fifteenth of this month,” Zhou Ting replied.
Han Qing nodded, then asked, “Have you visited Ni Su?”
“I visited her after the Dengwen Drum Court incident, but I’ve been busy with the Yin Ye Si matters since then.”
Zhou Ting hadn’t had a proper night’s sleep in days.
“A woman endured sixteen lashes and survived. Even I admire her courage and loyalty,” Han Qing said, looking at the rain. “It’s almost New Year’s. I have some gifts. Have them prepared, and take them to her when you visit.”
Zhou Ting was surprised. He had never seen the Director show such compassion or admiration for anyone. But then he remembered the woman inside and understood.
Perhaps it was empathy, seeing a reflection of his own sister’s suffering in Ni Su’s plight.
“Yes, Director,” he said.
***
On the fifteenth day of the twelfth month of the nineteenth year of Zheng Yuan, Wu Ji Kang was executed at the Caishikou execution grounds.
It was the depths of winter, everything bleak and desolate.
A large crowd had gathered. Wu Ji Kang, dressed only in thin inner robes, his legs too weak to support him, was carried onto the platform.
The sight of the executioner’s block made him tremble. He looked down at the sea of faces, their curses ringing in his ears.
The presiding official sat at his table, stroking his beard and looking at the sky, calculating the time, ignoring the rotten vegetables being thrown at the platform.
Ni Su, still unable to walk without assistance, was helped by Cai Chun Xu. She saw He Zhong Ping and the other scholars, who bowed to her from across the crowd.
She returned their greeting.
Someone in the crowd recognized her as the woman who had been beaten at the Dengwen Drum Court. They parted, making way for her.
Wu Ji Kang saw her standing below, dressed in mourning clothes, her thin figure and clear eyes a stark contrast to the surrounding chaos.
He had looked down at her from his palanquin then.
He was still looking down at her now, but from the execution platform… The thought was unbearable.
The presiding official waved his hand, and the executioners forced Wu Ji Kang onto the block. He struggled, looking up at the heavy blade, and screamed, “Your Majesty, save me! Sister, save me! I don’t want to die!”
But today, there were no servants to protect him, no stern father, no doting sister in the palace.
Only the cold stares of the scholars, the judging eyes of the crowd, and… Ni Qinglan’s sister.
Wu Ji Kang had never felt so alone and terrified. He cried out for the Emperor, for his sister, struggling against the ropes binding him.
“The time has come,” the presiding official said.
The winter sun offered little warmth, only a blinding light. Wu Ji Kang babbled incoherently, tears and snot streaming down his face. He saw the young woman standing below.
A faint smile touched her pale lips.
Her smile enraged him further. His pupils contracted, and he laughed and cried hysterically.
The presiding official raised his hand, and the officers began to loosen the ropes holding the blade. Ni Su watched as Wu Ji Kang was held down, the crowd roaring, the blade falling… and a hand suddenly covered her eyes.
The thud of the blade cutting through flesh. Wu Ji Kang’s cries ceased.
“It’s best you don’t see this, Miss Ni,” Zhou Ting’s deep voice said beside her.
Amidst the noise, Xu He Xue, standing beside Ni Su, looked at his translucent hand in the sunlight. He clenched his fingers and lowered his hand, withdrawing it silently.
But then, he felt something. He opened his hand, and the beast bead appeared, emitting a faint, shimmering light.
The light of soul fire.
The platform was splattered with blood. Ni Su pushed Zhou Ting’s hand away and saw Wu Ji Kang’s severed head.
His eyes were wide open, frozen in terror.
She turned away, retching, tears streaming down her face. She clutched her dress, then forced herself to look again, to remember the face of her brother’s killer.
“Brother Ji Ming, rest in peace!” He Zhong Ping cried.
The other scholars and even the crowd echoed his words, calling out Ni Qinglan’s name, wishing him peace.
The cold wind numbed Ni Su’s ears. She looked at the bloodstained platform, then at the faces calling out her brother’s name, tears blurring her vision.
Brother, can you see this?
May you be reborn into a better world, free from worldly troubles and your father’s constraints, free to pursue your true aspirations.
Your little sister, Ni Su, can only do this much for you.
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