Chapter Sixty-Two: Stay the Blade
Iron-Blooded Ming
Beyond the Guangqu Gate, inside Wang Pu’s command tent.
Chen Yuanyuan gazed at the mound of sand growing ever higher in the copper basin. A faint trace of melancholy surfaced in her beautiful eyes; it seemed that miracles would not occur. She and Wang Pu could only become husband and wife in the underworld.
With a soft sigh, Chen Yuanyuan drew a small jade bottle from her sleeve, removed the stopper wrapped in crimson silk, and a strange, seductive fragrance began to spread, quickly filling the tent—the scent of peacock gall, the deadliest poison known to man.
Cai Shi Kou, the execution ground.
The shadow of the sundial needle pointed precisely to the third quarter past noon. Liu Zongzhou, the Left Censor-in-Chief overseeing the execution, opened the register and with a red brush marked off the names of Huang Taiji, Dai Shan, and Wang Pu. He announced loudly, “The time has come! Proceed with the execution!”
At his command, three executioners strode forward, blades in hand. The one assigned to Wang Pu shielded his eyes with his hand, apologetically saying, “General Wang, I know you are wronged, but I have no choice. When you get to the other side, please don’t complain about me to the King of the Underworld.”
Wang Pu’s heart was calm as water. Death was truly upon him, but he felt no regret. If he could live his life over, perhaps he wouldn’t drink so heavily, wouldn’t refuse a marriage in public—but he would still quarrel with Emperor Chongzhen for Chen Yuanyuan’s sake, and without hesitation, would break the law to rescue the bearded man from the execution ground.
“Swish! Swish!”
The executioners for the Manchu captives brought their blades down. Huang Taiji’s and Dai Shan’s eyelids were sliced off in one piece; Huang Taiji remained silent, while Dai Shan howled like a slaughtered pig, instantly losing control of his bowels and bladder. The executioner tossed the four eyelids outside the execution ground, and the gathered crowd surged forward, scrambling madly to snatch them.
The executioner for Wang Pu hesitated for a moment, and Zhen Youcai rushed out from the crowd, shouting sharply, “Wait!”
Liu Zongzhou sprang to his feet, demanding sternly, “Who are you, daring to disrupt the execution ground?”
Zhen Youcai answered loudly, “I am General Wang’s advisor. According to custom, I must offer him a farewell cup of wine!”
A nearby official leaned in and whispered, “Lord Liu, there is indeed such a custom. I advise a little flexibility.”
“Very well,” Liu Zongzhou frowned, then said in a low voice, “But be quick; do not delay too long.”
“Thank you, Lord.” Zhen Youcai turned, beckoned, and shouted, “Little Seven, bring the wine!”
***
Palace of Heavenly Purity.
Emperor Chongzhen, pacing back and forth, suddenly stopped and asked, “Cheng’en, what time is it now?”
“I will send someone to inquire,” Wang Cheng’en replied, bowing, and instructed a young eunuch, “Go quickly and find out the time.”
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The young eunuch departed and returned moments later, reporting respectfully, “Your Majesty, it is just past the third quarter of noon.”
“What?” Emperor Chongzhen exclaimed, “It’s already past the third quarter of noon!?”
Wang Cheng’en bent low and asked, “Your Majesty, is there something—”
“Quick!” Emperor Chongzhen urged, “Go to Cai Shi Kou and stop the execution!”
“Yes, Your Majesty, at once.”
Wang Cheng’en took the command and hurried out of the Forbidden City, heading straight for Cai Shi Kou, escorted by generals of the Han Army.
***
Cai Shi Kou, execution ground.
Zhen Youcai finally finished offering the wine. Liu Zongzhou declared, “The farewell wine has been served. Send General Wang on his way!”
Zhen Youcai glanced at Scarface, signaling with his eyes. At this point, he was out of options and could only hope his brothers would attempt a rescue. Scarface glared coldly at Zhen Youcai, raising his right hand, preparing to throw a dart and pierce the executioner’s throat—when suddenly, urgent hoofbeats echoed from the distant street.
A piercing shout rang out: “Stop the execution!”
The officials, including Liu Zongzhou, looked up to see a squad of Han generals galloping forth, led by a man in a bright red brocade robe—none other than Wang Cheng’en, the imperial attendant.
Scarface exhaled deeply and lowered his arm. Little Seven and the other household guards withdrew their hands from concealed weapons. Zhen Youcai collapsed in relief, as if he were the one bound to the execution post, rather than Wang Pu.
With the imperial attendant present, Liu Zongzhou dared not neglect his duty. He and the other officials hurried forward to greet him.
Wang Cheng’en and his retinue rode directly into the execution ground, proclaiming from horseback, “An imperial decree!”
All the officials, the spectators, and the garrison soldiers maintaining order knelt in unison, thrice shouting “Long live the Emperor!” Wang Cheng’en rolled his eyes and declared slowly, “By the Emperor’s command: Though General Wang Pu has committed grave errors, he has also rendered great service. His merits offset his faults; he is to be released without charge.”
“But…” Liu Zongzhou hesitated, “What about the Manchu captives?”
“The Manchu captives?” Wang Cheng’en replied coldly, “Did the Emperor say their crimes do not warrant death?”
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“No, he did not,” Liu Zongzhou replied quickly.
Wang Cheng’en said with a sly air, “Since the Emperor did not say their crimes do not warrant death, Lord Liu, proceed with the execution as usual. Why ask needlessly?”
“I obey the imperial command.” Liu Zongzhou bowed respectfully, then rose and shouted, “Proceed with the execution!”
The executioners brought their blades down swiftly, slashing Huang Taiji and Dai Shan twenty-eight times each, starting from their toes and working upwards, specifically targeting parts with few blood vessels. Their feet and calves were soon carved into a mangled mess.
The flesh cut from the two captives was snatched up by the crowd, and those who managed to grab a piece ate it raw and bloody. Those left empty-handed offered money to buy scraps. Some streetwise ruffians, having obtained flesh, immediately resold it at high prices, making a tidy profit.
The hatred of Ming subjects for the Manchu is thus clear.
Wang Cheng’en approached Wang Pu, smiling, “General Wang, you must have been frightened.”
Wang Pu exhaled deeply, still shaken, “Thanks to you for interceding on my behalf.”
Scarface, Little Seven, and the others gathered round, hastily untying Wang Pu and helping him down from the platform. Zhen Youcai, slight of build, finally pushed through the crowd, gasping, “General… hurry… go to the camp outside the city…”
Wang Pu frowned, “What’s the matter? Take your time and explain.”
“Your wife—” Zhen Youcai said urgently, “Madam is about to commit suicide for love!”
“What?” Wang Pu was stunned, “Yuanyuan is going to die for love?”
Scarface said gloomily, “I fear it’s already too late. It’s well past the third quarter of noon.”
Zhen Youcai panted, “Before leaving this morning, I deliberately delayed the hourglass by half an hour. If you hurry back by fast horse, you might still make it!”
Wang Pu leapt up in alarm, grabbed Wang Cheng’en’s imperial steed without another word, and galloped away at full speed.
“Hey, General Wang, ride carefully!” Wang Cheng’en called out kindly, “Clouds of Ten Thousand Miles is the Emperor’s favorite horse—please, take care not to wear it out…”
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