Chapter 30
Jingbei Army Tomb.
The late autumn wind, carrying the bitter chill characteristic of the north, whimpered across the wasteland. Dead grass lay flat on the ground, and jagged rocks lay jagged. Countless low earthen graves, like silent scales, densely packed toward the horizon. No tombstones, no inscriptions, only a few gnarled old pines whispering in the wind. This is the burial place of a hundred thousand loyal souls of the Jingbei Army, the most silent and heavy scar in the empire's northern border.
In the center of the mound, a newly built tomb stood out. It had no ornate burial mound, no exquisite stone carvings, only a rough bluestone standing before it. On the stone, carved deeply with the edge of a sword, was a single word: "crow."
Gu Linzhi stood alone before the grave. His dark cloak rustled in the north wind, like a banner summoning a spirit. The scar on his face became ever more distinct under the bleak light of the desolate sky, like a branded mark. In his hands, he held a piece of blood-soaked linen, its edges charred—a bandage torn from Mo Ya's last wound. His fingertips unconsciously stroked the rough surface, feeling the touch of the long-cold cloth, which seemed to still retain a trace of life's warmth.
There were no incense sticks, no eulogy. Only the silent wind, picking up a few strands of withered grass debris in front of the grave, swirling and falling.
Gu Linzhi slowly leaned over and gently placed the bloodstained linen beneath the bluestone inscribed with the Chinese character "crow." His movements were incredibly slow and solemn, as if he were placing a rare treasure. His fingertips brushed the cold stone surface, lingering for a moment on the deep incision. The edge of the incision was sharp, carrying a sense of determination and loneliness that penetrated deep into the bone marrow, like the short, silent life of a black crow.
He stood up, his dark figure standing out against the endless expanse of graves, looking especially lonely and steep. His deep gaze passed over the black crow's new grave, gazing out at the hundred thousand silent mounds. In the wind, there seemed to be the neighing of iron cavalry, the wailing of frozen bones in the snow, the despair of the starving dead... Ultimately, all returned to this deadly wasteland.
"Blood debt..." Gu Linzhi's low voice spread in the wind, carrying a chill that froze the soul, "...blood debt paid."
Shengjing, Meridian Gate.
Lead-gray clouds hung low over the towering palace walls, as if ready to collapse at any moment. The air was thick with moisture and a suffocating oppression. The Meridian Gate Square, once a solemn and awe-inspiring, was now thronged with people. Civil and military officials lined up according to rank, their crimson and purple dragon robes losing their former splendor under the gloomy sky. Their faces were solemn, their eyes complex, and they were as silent as a mouse. Beyond, the imperial guards, clad in distinctive armor, their spears and halberds flashing like a forest, encircled the square, the atmosphere as grim and murderous as an execution ground.
In the center of the square stood a makeshift platform. Atop it, a thick execution stake was driven deep into the bluestone. Kneeling before it was a figure in tattered clothing, his hair and beard dishevelled. His hands were bound tightly behind his back with cowhide rope, and his ankles were shackled with heavy shackles. It was Zhou Shihong, the leader of the Jiangnan salt smugglers and the true controller of the Yunze Society. His former sinister and arrogant demeanor had long since vanished. His sallow face was covered in grime, and his sunken eye sockets held only a void of utter fear and death. His body trembled slightly with cold and despair.
Gu Linzhi sat upright on the execution platform. He was still wearing the same dark casual clothes that were as heavy as water, but he did not wear a cloak. The bandages on his shoulders and ribs showed through the dark color of the clothes. The scar on his cheek looked like a cold mark under the gloomy sky. He was not wearing an official uniform, nor did he wear a jade belt that symbolized the majesty of the Prime Minister. He only had a palm-sized black iron token, which was neither gold nor iron, and the edge was covered with dragon scale patterns, quietly placed on the table in front of him. The token was cold and heavy, and the iron-painted and silver-hooked "Gu" character exuded an invisible, heart-pounding pressure in the dim light.
He didn't look at the dense crowd below, nor at the pale, uneasy officials from the Ministry of Justice and the Supreme Court beside him. His deep, calm gaze rested on the leaden-gray skyline in the distance, as if penetrating time and space, resting on the lonely graves in the desolate northern border.
"The time has come!" The Minister of Justice cried out in a trembling voice, breaking the stagnant silence.
Everyone in the square's hearts were in their throats! Countless eyes instantly focused on the dark figure on the execution platform!
Gu Linzhi slowly withdrew his gaze. His movements were slow, his fingertips lightly brushing against the cold black iron order on the table. Then, he reached out and picked up a beheading order tied with red silk that had been prepared on the table.
There was no passionate verdict, no righteous rebuke, only dead silence.
He raised his wrist slightly, and the beheading warrant flew out of his hand.
“Pah.”
A slight sound was heard, but it was like a thunderclap in the dead silent square!
The order fell to the ground and rolled twice, and the red silk was dazzling.
Once the order is given, execute immediately!
"Execution!!" The executioner's roar, like a bell, numbed the eardrums! He suddenly gulped down a large mouthful of strong liquor and sprayed it on the edge of the thick-backed ghost-head knife in his hand! The liquor mixed with the cold air and condensed into frost on the blade!
Zhou Shihong's body suddenly stiffened! A "ho ho" sound like a broken bellows came from his throat! He suddenly raised his head, his cloudy eyes fixed on the dark figure on the execution platform. His eyes were filled with extreme fear, resentment, and a hint of deathly madness! He wanted to roar, to curse, to expose all the filth under the dragon throne! But the huge fear strangled his throat, and he could only open his mouth in vain and let out a silent cry!
The ghost-head knife was raised high! The blade drew a cold arc under the gloomy sky! The frost gathered on the edge of the blade seemed to freeze the air!
Gu Linzhi's gaze finally fell on Zhou Shihong's face, twisted with fear. It was calm and unfathomable, without anger or pleasure, but only a piercing coldness and... indifference. Like a high and mighty god, he gazed down upon an ant about to be crushed.
The knife falls!
“Puff!”
A dull, heart-pounding tearing sound!
Blood is flying into the sky!
A graying head, with a frozen expression of horror, tumbled onto the cold bluestone slab! The headless corpse suddenly fell forward, and blood gushed out from the broken neck like a fountain, instantly staining a large area of the ground red. It meandered through the cracks in the bluestone slab like countless scarlet snakes!
The strong smell of blood instantly filled the square! Pungent! Sickening!
"Ugh!" One civil servant, unable to bear the intense visual and odor impact any longer, bent over and violently vomited! Many more turned pale, their legs weakened, barely able to stand! The entire square was utterly silent, with only heavy breathing and suppressed retching.
Gu Linzhi slowly stood up. His dark figure stood tall as a solitary peak on the blood-soaked execution platform. He didn't even glance at the falling head or the gushing blood. His gaze calmly swept over the terrified, pale-faced officials below.
"Pass the order." His voice was not loud, but it was like the friction of cold iron, clearly penetrating the dead silence of the square, carrying an unquestionable iron-blooded majesty:
"First! The Jiangnan Dao Transport Commissioner's Office will be abolished immediately! All grain transport, salt, and iron affairs will be placed under the jurisdiction of the newly established 'Jiangnan Protectorate'! The Protectorate will establish a 'camphor wood token' inspection system! All salt, grain, and cargo ships entering or leaving the Grand Canal or Qiantang River, whether official or private, must carry this token to register their goods, quantity, and destination! Ships without the token will be detained and the prisoners imprisoned! Anyone who dares to privately carve, misappropriate, or forge a 'camphor wood token' will be executed without mercy!"
"Second! Any remaining members of the former Tongyuan Cao Gang and Ao Gang who wish to surrender will be incorporated into the 'Jingbei Water Post' to serve as canal guards and anti-smuggling fleets! Anyone showing disloyalty, disobeying orders, or colluding with foreign enemies will be charged with treason!"
"Third! Confiscate all property belonging to Zhou Shihong, Zhou Kang, Zhao Wenbi, and other treason suspects! Their land and businesses will be confiscated to provide relief to the orphans of the Jingbei Army and the flood victims in Jiangnan! Their hidden workshops and formulas for 'Soul-Separating Powder' will be completely destroyed! Anyone found secretly hoarding, refining, or spreading the poison will have their entire clan executed!"
"Fourth!" Gu Linzhi's voice suddenly turned harsh, his gaze like an icy probe sweeping over the pale, trembling officials below the stage. "Zhang Qian, Vice Minister of Personnel! Li Mao, Director of the Ministry of Revenue! Wang Huan, Doctor of the Ministry of War! You colluded with Zhou Shihong and facilitated his smuggling of refined iron and gunpowder. The evidence is irrefutable! Immediately dismiss you from your posts! Arrest you! Hand you over to the Censorate, the Supreme Court, and the Ministry of Justice for a joint trial! Severely punish you according to the law!"
Four orders, like four thunderclaps, thundered across the silent square! Abolish the Transport Commissioner's Office! Establish a Protectorate! Strictly control the "Camphor Wood Talisman"! Incorporate underworld forces! Confiscate property and provide compensation! Destroy the source of the drug! Punish corrupt officials! Each one directly targets the lifeblood of Jiangnan, each one executed with a thunderous, iron-blooded approach!
The three people named, Zhang Qian, Li Mao and Wang Huan, seemed to have their bones pulled out. They collapsed to the ground in an instant, their faces pale and they didn't even have the strength to beg for mercy. They were dragged away like dead dogs by the ferocious imperial guards.
The entire court, civil and military officials, was hushed in fear. No one dared to look directly at the dark figure on the execution platform. Fear, like an icy tide, seeped into everyone's bones. They knew that the sky of Jiangnan had completely changed. And the man who controlled this sky, in the coldest and most decisive way, was declaring his authority and the end of the old era.
Gu Linzhi no longer looked at anyone. He leaned over and picked up the cold black iron token on the table. His fingertips slowly stroked the sharp dragon scale pattern on the edge of the token, feeling its cool touch and heavy weight.
He turned and walked down the execution platform. His dark robe brushed against the blood-stained bluestone steps, his footsteps steady and silent. Wherever he passed, the crowd parted as if by an invisible force, automatically making way for him. The imperial guards lowered their heads, not daring to look directly at him.
He crossed the deadly square, through those terrified, awed, and complex gazes, and headed deep into the palace. His back, against the leaden gray sky, was as solemn as a mountain, as solitary and steep as a cliff.
The pinnacle of power is also the height of loneliness. Every step taken carries with it the stain of still-dry blood and a heavy reverberation.
Jingbei Army Tomb.
The cold wind howled, blowing up the dry grass in front of the grave and hitting the bluestone with the word "crow" engraved on it.
Gu Linzhi reappeared at Mo Ya's grave. He held a jug of wine in his hands, a crude, unlabeled pottery jug. He uncorked it, and a strong, spicy aroma of alcohol instantly filled the air. He offered no offerings to heaven or earth. He simply poured the liquor from the jug slowly and evenly over Mo Ya's grave. The wine seeped into the new soil, leaving a dark mark.
"The Jiangnan incident is over." Gu Linzhi's voice was low and vague in the wind. "Zhou Shihong has been executed. The salt and iron transport system has been rectified. No one who should be liquidated will escape."
The wine was gone, the pot empty. He casually placed the empty pot beside the bluestone. Then, he pulled the cold black iron token from his bosom. Under the cold light of the wasteland, the token shone with a dark luster.
Gu Linzhi gazed at the iron-painted, silver-hooked "Gu" character on the token. His fingertips brushed the sharp dragon scale pattern along its edge. This token was a symbol of authority, a keepsake from the former members of the Jingbei Army, and once the very thing his father, Gu Zhong, relied on to command his troops. It carried so much glory, and was stained with so much blood.
He was silent for a moment. His deep eyes churned with emotions no one could comprehend. Finally, they dissolved into a deep, ancient-well-like calm.
He raised his hand, his arm tense, his knuckles slightly white from the exertion.
Then, throw it down suddenly!
“Crack—!!!”
A sharp, crisp, and heart-pounding sound of shattering exploded in the deadly wasteland!
The Black Iron Token slammed fiercely onto the rough bluestone in front of the Black Crow's grave! The hard edge of the token collided violently with the bluestone! The token, which symbolized supreme authority and had an edge as sharp as a knife, was actually knocked off a corner by this violent force!
The broken token tumbled onto the dry grass, its broken edge gleaming with a cold metallic sheen. A clear, deep dent was also left on the bluestone inscribed with the word "crow."
Gu Linzhi didn't even glance at the broken token. He slowly bent his knees and knelt on one side before Mo Ya's grave. The hem of his dark robe spread across the cold earth and dry grass.
He reached out his hand, his fingertips gently brushing over the newly indented mark on the bluestone, then the deeply engraved character for "crow." His movements were gentle, like brushing the shoulder of an old friend.
The wind picked up even more. His robe sleeves rustled, rustling. Across the wasteland, a hundred thousand lonely graves lay silent. Only his figure, kneeling before a grave, stood there, like an unchanging rock, yet also like a final trace of ink, about to be buried by the wind and snow.
Power and loyalty, honor and sacrifice, hatred and duty... everything seemed to shatter, along with that chipped-off black iron order, on the frozen soil of the northern border, a place where so many loyal souls were buried. All that remained was a solitary grave, a jug of strong liquor, and the lone minister, kneeling silently, his figure gradually fading into the dusk.
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