Chapter 42: Madness, Slitting the Throat

Chapter 42: Madness, Throat-Cutting

Upon leaving the palace, Ling Yehan bypassed his own residence and headed straight for the Capital Magistrate's Office. He had been entrusted with full authority to manage the capital's epidemic, and for the past few days, he had been using a courtyard there. Daily patient records from every street—categorized by gender, age, and severity (mild or severe)—along with medication consumption, were to be reported each morning. The Centurion responsible for the street and the registrar maintaining the records were required to be present for these briefings.

At this moment, people were already gathering in the Capital Magistrate's courtyard. Ling Yehan dismounted at the gate, where a junior sixth-rank registrar from the office greeted him. Ling Yehan's gaze swept over the waiting crowd, immediately noticing several missing Centurions. His expression hardened:

"Has roll call been taken?"

The young registrar softly replied:

"Not yet."

Ling Yehan raised a hand:

"Give me the register. I will take roll call myself."

As Ling Yehan entered, the bustling courtyard fell silent. He casually pointed to a nearby Centurion:

"What did I say the day before yesterday? Repeat the time for morning roll call."

The Centurion, startled, instinctively recited:

"Roll call at the third quarter of the *chenshi* (7:45 a.m.). Those who violate the order will receive ten cane strokes."

"Has 7:45 a.m. arrived?"

The registrar quickly interjected:

"It has already arrived."

Without another word, Ling Yehan called for a brush and began marking the names on the roster. By the time he finished, six individuals were absent.

"What is the situation with these six? Have any requested leave?"

The clerks who worked with the missing Centurions dared not stay silent. Seeing Ling Yehan's stern resolve, they scrambled to offer various excuses. Ling Yehan watched them coldly, offering no reply or judgment once they finished. Instead, he turned and quietly instructed a personal guard before sitting down to hear the previous day’s reports.

Nearly an hour passed. Everyone assumed the matter of the absent Centurions was forgotten—after all, some had influential family backgrounds in the capital, and overlooking such transgressions was not uncommon.

Unexpectedly, once the reports concluded, two soldiers in black armor entered. Ling Yehan looked up directly and asked:

"Have you located those men?"

"Yes. One of the six returned home early yesterday morning; the other five were drinking at Zuixianju."

Ling Yehan cast a mocking glance at those who had offered excuses earlier, then rose to his feet.

"Guards!"

"Here!"

"Bring the benches and punishment rods. Follow me."

A unit of Ling Yehan’s personal guards immediately responded, retrieving seven benches and punishment rods from the Capital Magistrate's office. The clerk who had been accompanying him these days paled:

"Marquis, what are you—?"

"Those absent at roll call receive ten strokes. Did you think my words were a joke? Everyone is to return to their assigned streets at once. Anyone who abandons their post will answer to the rod."

Ling Yehan did not mobilize a single Imperial Guard or any Capital Magistrate's constables. Instead, he deployed his own personal guards. Each guard wore black armor, with short swords at their waists and long blades in hand. Their armor gleamed coldly under the sun, every plate sharp as tempered steel. With a unified, metallic rustle, they moved with a discipline rivaling the most elite northern armies. They swiftly surrounded Zuixianju, securing every exit.

In recent days, the capital's major taverns had been closed. From the outside, Zuixianju also appeared shut and silent. Ling Yehan reined in his horse before the entrance and subtly raised his hand. Immediately, two personal guards stepped forward and kicked the door open.

"Ah! Who are you people?"

"We're closed today—get out!"

Ling Yehan spoke directly:

"Search inside. Drag them out for me."

A crowd had already gathered around the personal guards outside Zuixianju. Even Centurions from nearby streets, having caught wind of the news, quietly edged closer to watch.

"Are these the Emperor’s Black Armor Guard?"

"No, look—they don’t carry the Black Armor Guard’s token. They’re probably the Marquis’s household troops."

"Household troops? Private households aren't allowed to keep soldiers. How does the Marquis of Jingbian dare to go this far?"

"They can’t exactly be called household troops—more like the Marquis's personal guards. Rumor has it these are veterans who've followed the Marquis of Jingbian through countless battles. Their armor was personally bestowed by the Emperor, nearly identical to that of the Black Armor Guard—the only one of its kind in the court."

Meanwhile, in Zuixianju’s rear courtyard, several men rose sluggishly, clothes disheveled, with the courtesans from last night still in their arms. Xu Zhuo stirred uneasily:

"It’s past *chenshi*, isn’t it? Could we get in trouble for skipping the Capital Magistrate's office?"

Dong Li kissed the woman in his arms and shot Xu Zhuo a dismissive glance:

"Look how scared you are. What’s the worst that could happen? Just showing up for roll call? The Marquis of Jingbian treats a chicken feather as a command arrow—making a federal case out of trivial matters. Who has time to cater to him?"

"Exactly. Look how he’s been throwing his weight around lately. We’re Imperial Guards, after all—it's not his place to order us around."

"BANG—"

The door was kicked open, and armored soldiers swarmed in. Several men reeking of booze were dragged out before they could even put on their clothes, hauled directly into the street.

"What are you doing? I'm a Centurion of the Imperial Guard! Let go of me!"

"Get lost! Who do you think you're touching? Beat it!"

Dong Li raised his foot to kick the guard restraining him, but Ling Yehan lifted his whip and lashed it across his calf. Li Fen, unable to withstand the force, dropped to one knee. Ling Yehan's eyes burned with uncontrollable fury, wild and unrestrained:

"Look up, you dog."

Dong Li’s face instantly paled when he saw Ling Yehan. Ling Yehan couldn't even be bothered to look at him:

"Xu Zhuo, Dong Li, Liu Bin, Li Fen, Zhang Bo—you are absent without leave, failed to report for roll call. Ten strikes with the rod. Strip their pants and beat them."

"Yes."

"How dare you? We’re Imperial Guards, directly under His Majesty’s command! What right do you have to punish us?"

Only then did Ling Yehan slowly raise his head, his eyes dark currents swirling violently:

"On the authority of my imperial mandate to manage the epidemic in the capital. If you disagree, submit a memorial to His Majesty and report me. Now, beat them."

These drunken libertines were no match for the personal guards. Five men, who usually threw their weight around in the Imperial Guard, were stripped of their pants, pressed onto punishment benches, and publicly flogged in the street.

Each strike was delivered without the slightest mercy. The air filled with cries and wails, but Ling Yehan didn't give them so much as a glance. Once the punishment was over, he ordered coldly:

"Throw them at the gates of their residences. Let their fathers see what kind of sons they’ve raised—trash like this, unfit to serve in the Imperial Guard."

"Yes."

After giving his orders, Ling Yehan immediately turned his horse around and headed straight for the two ducal manors behind.

At the moment, outside the Zichen Palace, Zhang Fu, who had just moments ago sympathized with Xing Fang, was now looking at the ten daggers bestowed by the emperor and an imperial edict, feeling deeply troubled for himself. His head was spinning—how was he supposed to deliver this edict?

Xiao Chen had been furious since early morning, leaning on a soft couch as dark spots swam before his eyes. Catching sight of Zhang Fu’s retreating figure, he felt a twinge of regret, but the words had already been spoken. This behavior had to be corrected—who taught him to use the tactic of threatening to cut his own throat as a means of coercion?

Outside the Zichen Palace, the ever-composed Grand Steward wore a pained expression, exchanging helpless glances with Xing Fang, who had dark circles under his eyes from staying up all night. This time, it was Xing Fang who looked at him with sympathy.

"Commander Xing, did the Marquis seem emotionally stable last night?"

Rubbing his sore eyes, Xing Fang felt for the first time that the usually shrewd Eunuch Zhang could also state the obvious:

"Would someone stable scale the forbidden palace walls at night and sit on the emperor’s roof all night?"

Zhang Fu’s round, pale face was now creased like a steamed bun. He knew full well that the emperor did not truly intend to have the Marquis of Jingbian executed. He was simply angered by the dagger-to-throat incident and wanted to teach him a lesson. But the emperor was the emperor—his word was law, and once spoken, it became an imperial edict.

If the Marquis of Jingbian received the edict and admitted his mistake, all would be well. But Ling Yehan was obstinate, sometimes even beyond the emperor’s control. If he truly took the edict to heart and slit his own throat, Zhang Fu had already started planning what style of burial garments he should wear.

He turned to Xing Fang, his face full of anguish:

"Commander Xing, you can’t just stand by and watch me die."

Xing Fang raised an eyebrow:

"This is an imperial edict. You’re not asking me to beg the emperor to take it back, are you?"

Zhang Fu pulled him out of the Zichen Palace’s courtyard:

"The emperor certainly won’t revoke the edict, but His Majesty said that since the Marquis of Jingbian is so fond of slitting his throat with a dagger, I hereby grant him ten daggers to do so to his heart’s content. The edict doesn’t explicitly order the Marquis to slit his throat—it’s just meant to make him yield. But given the Marquis’s temperament, what if he actually goes through with it? How would the emperor handle that? So, come with me. I’ll announce the edict, and you step in if needed. If he really loses his mind, make sure you grab the dagger from him."

"Fine."

The two gathered a few palace guards and prepared to leave the palace to deliver the edict. Just as Zhang Fu mounted his horse, two scout soldiers sent ahead to locate the Marquis of Jingbian galloped over, their faces panicked. Zhang Fu asked:

"Where is the Marquis now?"

"Grand Steward, the Marquis of Jingbian has surrounded Duke Meng’s manor with troops."

Zhang Fu and Xing Fang looked up in unison:

"What? Why?"

"The Marquis ordered all Centurions on street duty to report to the Metropolitan Magistrate’s office at 7 a.m. to brief him on the previous day’s situation. Those who disobey are to be punished with ten strokes of the cane. This morning, six Centurions failed to report. Five of them were drinking at the Zuixian Tavern, and the Marquis just surrounded the place, stripped them, and publicly caned them in the street. The sixth is Duke Meng’s youngest son, who only served half a day before returning home, claiming illness. The Marquis has now brought an imperial physician to Duke Meng’s manor, demanding that the duke hand over his son. If the son is truly ill, that might be one thing, but if not... the Marquis is capable of anything."

Zhang Fu felt his headache worsening. Xing Fang took a deep breath, suddenly feeling that staying up all night with Ling Yehan wasn’t so unbearable after all. He turned to Zhang Fu:

"Eunuch Zhang, what do you think? Should we deliver the edict to the ducal manor now, or wait until the Marquis’s spectacle concludes?"

Clutching the edict, Zhang Fu had never found his role as chief steward so difficult. He knew Duke Meng—the duke’s mother was notorious for spoiling her grandchildren, and the children of the family were all excessively pampered. This youngest son was likely not ill. If they delivered the edict at the ducal manor now, it would be a public humiliation of the Marquis of Jingbian in front of the duke, and the emperor would certainly not want that:

"Let’s wait."

Meanwhile, Duke Meng’s manor was in chaos. Metropolitan Magistrate Wang Duan could no longer sit still. Dragging a few drunken Centurions out of Zuixianju to enforce military law was one thing, but leading troops to a ducal manor to seize someone for punishment was entirely different. On one side was the Marquis, on the other was the Duke. One demanded entry, the other refused to hand over his son. A direct confrontation was unthinkable. Wang Duan felt like an ant on a hot griddle, anxious and unable to offend either side. He could only try to mediate:

"Marquis, perhaps this official could take the physician in to examine the second young master?"

Ling Yehan, seated on his horse, was unyielding and refused to entertain any appeals:

"If he is truly ill, why can’t this Marquis see him? Today, I must see Meng Ran. If there is even a hint of falsehood, military law will be enforced."

Wang Duan was on the verge of tears and turned to persuade Duke Meng, but the duke was equally stubborn, insisting his son was ill. Lady Meng cried and made a scene, lamenting her grandson’s suffering.

Ling Yehan closed his eyes, smoothing his horsewhip as he spoke:

"Go inform Duke Meng that his son, as a Centurion of the imperial guard, is bound by military orders. Even if he falls ill and needs to rest at home, he should have informed this Marquis. His silent absence without leave—in military terms, does that not warrant punishment? This Marquis will give him the time it takes an incense stick to burn. If the main gates are not opened by then, don’t blame me for showing no mercy."

All guards surrounded the main gate, waiting for Ling Yehan’s order to storm in. Wang Duan, unable to persuade either side, could only watch anxiously.

After the time it took for an incense stick to burn, the main gates of the ducal manor opened.

Zhang Fu, watching from a distance, felt half his worries ease. Good, good. No matter how things unfolded now, it would happen inside the residence, which was better than forcing entry into the ducal manor. But before he could fully relax, another commotion erupted. Ling Yehan dragged the second young master of the ducal manor out into the open, followed by a grim-faced Duke Meng and the wailing Lady Meng who chased after them.

"This Marquis does not show favoritism. The previous five were punished on the street, and Meng Ran will be no exception. Strip him and administer the punishment."

Duke Meng could no longer tolerate this and rushed forward:

"Ling Yehan, you go too far! This is a deliberate humiliation of my son."

Ling Yehan raised an eyebrow, his entire demeanor radiating unchecked madness:

"Humiliation? On the battlefield, Meng Ran would be deserting his post. Ten strokes are lenient. If he dares not serve, he shouldn’t join the imperial guard and disgrace the emperor. Today, I will punish him. If you disagree, lodge a complaint against me with the emperor."

"Carry it out."

Zhang Fu felt the daggers in his hand grow even heavier.

It was only after Ling Yehan’s affairs had concluded and he was preparing to return to the Metropolitan Magistrate’s office to review the previous day’s reports that Zhang Fu finally appeared.

Ling Yehan abruptly reined in his horse, fearing something had happened to Xiao Chen.

Zhang Fu took a deep breath:

"By the emperor’s decree: Since the Marquis of Jingbian is so fond of slitting his throat with a dagger, I hereby grant him ten daggers to do so to his heart’s content."

A young eunuch immediately stepped forward with a tray. Lifting the silk cloth revealed ten gleaming daggers. Metropolitan Magistrate Wang Duan, who had not yet left, witnessed the scene, his heart leaping into his throat. Was the emperor ordering the Marquis of Jingbian to commit suicide? And with ten daggers?

Ling Yehan stared at the daggers, his bright eyes swirling with madness. In his past life, Xiao Chen had abandoned him. He was always the one abandoned. But if he truly slit his throat, would Xiao Chen see him then? He looked at the daggers:

"Your subject obeys the decree."

With those words, he moved like lightning, grabbing a dagger and slashing it across his neck. Zhang Fu’s heart leaped into his throat, Wang Duan screamed in fright, and Xing Fang swiftly grabbed Ling Yehan’s arm. But he couldn’t fully counteract the force—the dagger still grazed Ling Yehan’s neck. Though not fatal, it left a trail of blood, droplets pouring from the wound.

Zhang Fu felt dizzy, his blood ran cold:

"Marquis, can’t you just admit your mistake?"

Ling Yehan chuckled darkly, his eyes bloodshot and filled with a desperate, wild madness:

"I’d give him anything he wants, do anything he asks. I’ve always done as he said. Why does he still reject me?"

When the news reached the palace, Xiao Chen’s vermilion brush trembled, and his heart clenched:

"What did you say?"

"Your Majesty, the Marquis truly slit his throat with a dagger."

Xiao Chen’s heart pounded like a drum, echoing in his chest, his ears ringing. The vermilion ink dripped from his brush onto a memorial, leaving a blood-like stain. The memorial had been delivered to the palace by Ling Yehan early that morning. The formerly sloppy calligraphy was gone, replaced by bold, powerful, and unrestrained strokes—the handwriting unique to the Marquis of Jingbian from his past life as regent, no longer concealed.

"Your Majesty."

Xiao Chen pressed a hand to his chest, his face pale:

"How is he? How is he? Tell him to come to the palace immediately."