Chapter Forty-Seven: The Public Trial Assembly

No one could have imagined that the infamous One-Eyed Golden Eagle would collapse so utterly, and what piqued Zhao Hengyi’s curiosity was: what secret did Fang Dayong possess that he believed could buy back his life?

In a desperate bid to survive, the One-Eyed Golden Eagle, Fang Dayong, revealed the small chest he had hidden in the secret compartment beneath his bed, claiming it contained his correspondence with important figures.

"With these letters, my good man, you could make deals with those powerful people and take my place!"

Even at this moment, speaking of such “great figures,” Fang Dayong’s face still bore a trace of pride. "This is a path to the heights! With their protection, once you hold this Cliff Mountain stronghold, you’ll have nothing to fear!"

Zhao Hengyi’s expression was inscrutable, his lips curled in a faint, cold smile. "You have powerful backers, don't you? You should be able to sleep soundly, shouldn’t you? So, where are your protectors now?"

The words struck Fang Dayong like thunder.

A blow that killed not just the body, but the heart!

"Take him aside. When all those we rescued have assembled, bring him before everyone and behead him as a warning!"

With just a few words, Zhao Hengyi lost all interest in toying with Fang Dayong. The man’s confidence was nothing more than the usual collusion between bandits and officials. Even the children in the villages surrounding Anyang County knew why government troops would sweep the area every few years, and yet banditry never truly disappeared, the scourge never ceased.

"Master, you can’t kill me!"

"I work for Master Huang at the county yamen!"

"I’m sworn brothers with Chief Constable Yuan in the county!"

Dragged aside by two veteran soldiers, Fang Dayong struggled in despair, shrieking without restraint, revealing every bargaining chip he had hoped to play in private.

Zhao Hengyi’s face was cold as frost, unmoved.

Fang Dayong’s pleas made some of the old soldiers and the hunting party’s guards hesitate, but the household servants from Anyang Manor acted as if they heard nothing.

At that moment, one of the servants stepped forward and smashed the hilt of his sword into Fang Dayong’s mouth, shattering his teeth. Blood gushed from his lips as he could only whimper and sob; half his tongue had been severed, and he could no longer make a sound.

Zhao Hengyi recognized the servant as Xing Xiaorong, the steward among the household staff. With Steward Song absent, the others followed Xing’s lead.

Catching Zhao Hengyi’s gaze, Xing Xiaorong smiled and nodded back.

Just then, among the women and children rescued from the dungeon, a strikingly beautiful woman stood and called out to Zhao Hengyi, "Leader, since you mean to kill Fang Dayong, let me do it with my own hands!"

The crowd looked on in surprise. Women were thought to be frail, and even the most fiery peasant wives would faint at the sight of blood. Yet this delicate-looking woman dared to ask to kill with her own hands!

How monstrous must have been Fang Dayong’s crimes, to drive a gentle woman to insist on taking his life herself?

"When everyone is assembled, you shall do it," Zhao Hengyi replied after giving her a long, searching look.

There were over two hundred women and dozens of children imprisoned in the dungeon. Zhao Hengyi’s attack on the stronghold had been so swift that the bandits guarding the captives hadn’t managed to silence them all. Unfortunately, three hostages imprisoned with the bandits had been killed in the chaos—their names and homes forever unknown, a cause for grief.

“Master, the dungeon... it’s like a ghost realm. Most of the women are not right in the head,” whispered Wang Erhu, usually so brash, for the first time bearing such a grave expression. “Bandits that deserve death by a thousand cuts!”

Zhao Hengyi’s eyelids twitched, but he said nothing. Instead, his resolve grew: not a single bandit atop this Cliff Mountain would be left alive today.

He didn’t need to see the dungeon for himself; just the sight of two hundred women with blank faces and dozens of silent, tearless children told him enough.

When everyone had been gathered in the open space before the Hall of Brotherhood, Zhao Hengyi finally spoke.

“Sisters, it is not your fault you fell into these villains’ hands!”

“Blame only this unjust world, blame only the cruelty of bandits!”

“Today, you have seen the sun again. From now on, you need never suffer at the hands of these fiends. If you do not live well, would that not let down the brothers who fought and died for you?”

“A woman’s suffering is a man’s shame!”

“The people’s misery is the government’s disgrace!”

“Blame for all this lies not with you. Today, think of it as a new life—live well from this day forward!”

Most of the women, still in shock, stood with vacant expressions, not yet awake from their nightmare. Once they realized they were saved, many would likely choose to end their own lives, just like that woman who leapt from the stone wall and crashed upon the hard ground.

Only now did the bandits under guard, and the rescued captives, realize that these newcomers who had so swiftly seized the stronghold were not another bandit gang.

Yet these men’s clothes were not uniform, nor their bearing that of official soldiers, and none could quite make sense of the situation.

Zhao Hengyi ignored what others might think and sent his men to their tasks.

The mountain’s stone wall was fortified once more; teams scoured the summit for any bandits who might have escaped the initial onslaught. Others fetched grain from the storehouse and boiled thin gruel in the kitchens, for the women and children, starved for so long, could not stomach solid food.

Under Zhao Hengyi’s command, everything proceeded in perfect order, as if he had foreseen every step before the attack began.

Even after hearing Zhao Hengyi’s words, the women and children remained unchanged. They stood when told, sat when told, drank the gruel when given—like soulless puppets.

It was only when Zhao Hengyi began the public tribunal that their faces finally showed some sign of life.

All the bandits were dragged out to the open ground, and the women and children were called upon to point out each man’s crimes. Zhao Hengyi made it clear: if no one accused a bandit, he would be presumed innocent and set free.

Cries and wails shook the very summit of Cliff Mountain!

For even among their own, the bandits had committed countless atrocities. Even the most insignificant of them had blood on his hands.

One by one they were tried, and one by one they were beheaded. The captured bandits were plunged into the deepest terror.

They understood that, with the women free to accuse them, there was no hope of escape—only death awaited them.

Had they known it would end like this, they might as well have died fighting these mysterious assailants in the first place!

For these bandits, death itself was not the most frightening thing. What was truly unbearable was to wait for the inevitable, powerless, tormented beyond what any man could endure.

Three of the bandits snapped under the pressure, driven mad with fear, but Zhao Hengyi showed no mercy: all were tried, all were beheaded, none spared.

When at last the One-Eyed Golden Eagle, Fang Dayong—mouth full of blood, able only to moan—was dragged to the square, the tribunal reached its fevered peak.