Chapter 19: The Meteoric Peril at the Execution Ground

Just moments ago, Lu Lier had sworn with utmost certainty that he had already inquired about Li Dong’s birth date and eight characters. Yet, who could have guessed that a simple handkerchief, delivered by a servant, would cause such a dramatic reversal in his stance? In the blink of an eye, he ordered Li Dong to be dragged to the Meridian Gate for execution.

Wine must be sipped one mouthful at a time, and the road must be traveled step by step—for if you take too great a stride, you risk injuring yourself. The step Lu Lier took was indeed vast; everyone present felt an involuntary tightness and pain below the belt. To save face, Lu Lier had just hinted that he intended to marry Lu Rou to Li Dong. To the others, this was like adding a bowl of plain rice and a dish of stir-fried cabbage together to equal a full steamer of buns—at least, it was within the bounds of reason. But to suddenly cast his prospective son-in-law before the executioner’s blade, it was as if he’d thrown goblins and ancient centenarians into a grand feast, bartered for coughs and tapestries, and in return received nothing but confusion and chaos. No one could make heads or tails of what was happening.

Yet Lu Lier was the Prefect of Zhangqiu, a man whose word was law. Who dared defy him in his wrath, unless they thought their life was too long already?

The assistant magistrate, who was on good terms with Li Dong’s father, Li Hun, saw that if he did not intervene now, the old man would lose his only son and his line would be cut off. As Li Dong was being dragged from the yamen’s gates, the assistant magistrate called out in a thunderous voice, “Hold! I have something to say!”

The constable immediately halted. Li Dong, thinking a reprieve was at hand, felt a glimmer of hope.

But Lu Lier gave the assistant magistrate not the slightest chance to speak. With a wave of his hand and a voice of steel, he commanded, “Take him out at once! Execute him at noon!”

The constables, fierce as wolves and tigers, hauled Li Dong out of the yamen at once, and in a flash, he was gone.

No sooner had Li Dong and his escort left than Lu Lier burst into triumphant laughter. The assembled guests, bewildered and uneasy, dared not utter a single word.

After a moment, Lu Lier ceased his laughter and, with a playful air, asked, “Did you all not think I was in a fit of rage just now, and meant to have Li Dong executed?”

The crowd was even more at a loss, exchanging confused glances. Was Lu Lier muddled by anger, or was he playing some deeper game, trying to frighten Li Dong?

Lu Lier continued, “Just now, Lu Rou sent a handkerchief through an intermediary. I will read it aloud for you all to hear, and you shall see for yourselves.”

It transpired that the handkerchief had indeed been sent by Lu Rou, bearing a few lines: Last night, Li Dong recounted a terrifying ghost story that nearly scared me to death. I beg Father to feign anger and order him taken to the Meridian Gate for execution, to give him a fright and vent your daughter’s grievance. It was not Li Dong who abducted me to the Li household, but a wicked monk. I have heard that Zhi Shilang still harbors designs on attacking Zhangqiu; I urge Father to prepare for war. With respects, your daughter, Rou.

Upon hearing the words written on the handkerchief, everyone was astonished anew. The assistant magistrate quickly rose to his feet and praised, “Your daughter is quick-witted and resourceful—a heroine no less than any man. Admirable, truly admirable.”

The county constable, not to be outdone, flattered, “A mere young lady can toy with a table of seasoned officials in the palm of her hand. We have been spun about until we no longer know which way is north. To have sired such a talented daughter is a shame to us all.”

The other guests joined in chorus, marveling at the depth of Lu Rou’s cunning, no less than any man, a true marvel among the women of Zhangqiu.

Lu Lier was clearly delighted by these words, and laughed heartily once again. He then ordered a guard to rush to the execution ground with his warrant and stop the executioner before he could bring down the blade—no carelessness whatsoever could be permitted to befall Li Dong.

The guard, unable to suppress his mirth, hurried off with the token, eager to snatch Li Dong from the jaws of death just as he was about to be scared out of his wits.

The county constable, who had been pleased enough to see Li Dong condemned, was now displeased at the prospect of pulling him back from the brink. Having been humiliated by Lu Lier’s reprimand, his fragile heart bruised, he silently resolved to settle scores with Lu Lier one day over this manipulation of the law.

At the execution ground, Li Dong was bound tightly like a Dragon Boat Festival rice dumpling. The common folk crowding the perimeter were indignant: “Is there no justice? Just yesterday he fought on the front lines to defend the city, and today they’re binding him for execution!” “That scoundrel Lu Lier, burning the bridge after crossing it, slaughtering the fowl once the eggs are laid—he’s no good.”

Amidst the commotion, no one noticed four burly monks in grey robes slowly pressing forward, drawing ever closer to Li Dong.

Li Dong, his head drooped, could not for the life of him understand the play that Lu Rou had staged. One moment, she was gentle and mild; the next, she turned cold and aloof, as if she’d become a different person. Lu Lier, too, was behaving bizarrely, his words disjointed and incomprehensible.

If he were to lose his head for rescuing Du Fuwei and the others, at least he could die for brotherhood and honor. But now, it seemed he would become a scapegoat for a few mysterious monks—just the thought of it filled him with a nameless fury. Would he die with his eyes closed, never knowing the truth? If he died, would he return to his own time?

What puzzled him most was that his father, Li Hun, had not come to see him, his only son, at the execution ground. Why had his father, after hearing Lu Rou’s whispered words, refused even to look at him? What had they plotted together? Had the old man, too, fallen under some spell?

Time trickled by. At the third quarter of noon, the executioner brought Li Dong a bowl of wine—the customary farewell drink before death. After that, it would be off with his head. Li Dong gave a bitter smile, raised the bowl to his lips, but did not swallow. He was preparing, at the critical moment, to spit the wine into the executioner’s eyes—blinding him, creating a chance to escape. Preserve life first; as long as the green hills remain, there will always be firewood to burn.

He vowed to untangle the mystery before he died; otherwise, this whole journey through time would have been wasted.

The execution officer, seeing that the time had come, unfurled the warrant and shouted in an elongated voice, “Draw the blade—execute!”

The guard hurriedly raised the warrant—but before he could speak, before Li Dong could turn his head and spit the wine, a thin rope snaked out from the crowd. At its end was a loop, which landed squarely around Li Dong’s neck.

Li Dong felt a chill at his throat, and before he could react, his body was yanked into the air. The force of the rope was tremendous; he shot through the sky like a meteor, landing beyond the crowd.

There, several swift horses had been waiting. In a flash, Li Dong’s body was slung over a saddle, and the riders spurred their mounts, dashing away at breakneck speed until they vanished without a trace.

Panic gripped the execution ground. The executioner and officer were the most stunned of all, having sat idly by as unknown assailants spirited away the condemned; the consequences for them would be severe. Next was the guard bearing Lu Lier’s warrant, who had been repeatedly cautioned to ensure not a scratch befell Li Dong—now, not only had there been a mishap, but the man had vanished into thin air.

The common folk, however, burst into applause and cheers: “Heaven above, the gods have eyes! They wouldn’t let a hero come to harm—how exhilarating!”

Li Dong felt light as air, as though soaring on clouds—much like the sensation when he first traveled through time. In a daze, he realized the wine had remained in his mouth, unspilled, and his neck felt cold—surely the blade had fallen, and his life had ended.

The swift horses did not slow, breaking through the city gates and outpacing the guards, galloping southward over mountains and hills until they finally stopped at a grand temple.