Chapter 204: Running Wild (Part 2)

Chapter 204: Running Wild (Part 2)

Zhang Kai felt a lump stuck in his throat, but still managed a smile as he said: "So the Prefect has come to my door today, threatening me over baseless rumors?"

Le Wuya said, sounding perfectly sincere: "This isn't a threat. When I threaten people, this isn't usually how I go about it."

Zhang Kai wasn't swayed: "The Prefect is a sharp judge of criminal cases. Surely you know everything needs evidence."

Le Wuya said, his tone playful: "You want a witness, or physical evidence?"

Zhang Kai's heart dropped like a stone.

But he was a man of deep composure. In a few breaths, he was back to looking like nothing was wrong: "That business in Huangzhou is way too far back for me. Back then, my father had just passed, and I went to Huangzhou to stay with my uncle. Sure, I stayed at my uncle's place for a while. But before long, my uncle got promoted to Grand Master of Ceremonies and went to the capital to take up his post. So I left Huangzhou and went back to my hometown in Tongzhou to live with my grandmother. When my uncle was Prefect of Huangzhou, I was just a little kid with my hair in knots. With all due respect, even if you wanted to bring up those old days, there's no point talking to me about them."

"But it's not like I know Grand Master Zhang Wuzhi up in the capital. Even if I wanted to send that greeting gift, I couldn't get it to him."

He planted his hands on his hips, eyes glinting as he spoke: "The only one I know is you, Brother Meng'an."

Zhang Kai's smile vanished, and he went quiet.

He'd actually heard rumors about what happened back then.

For one thing, he couldn't admit to any of it; for another, he couldn't just kick Le Wuya out; and third, he didn't dare swear his uncle was innocent. If he came on too strong and this guy really had solid proof, he'd just be dragging himself into a mess.

Keeping his mouth shut was the best move he had right now.

Seeing the man had finally shut up, Le Wuya casually laid out the whole story.

"In Huangzhou, there was a jade dealer named Tong. He barely escaped with his life. Out of his whole family—seven people, young and old—only he walked out of prison alive. He escaped while being exiled and drifted to the southwest. Years later, he became a bandit king, holed up on Old Crow Mountain..."

Le Wuya's eyes flickered as scenes shifted before him.

A gaunt, white-bearded man in scholar's robes knelt before him, bound hand and foot, his eyes holding both the chill of autumn wind and a blazing fire.

The first military achievement Le Wuya earned after founding the Tianlang Camp came from this very man.

This man's surname was Tong, and his bandit alias was "Old North Wind," and he ruled Old Crow Mountain with a cold, ruthless hand.

At the time, Yu and Jing were at war, and grain was strictly rationed among the people. Families had no spare grain, and the bandits up on the mountain were flat broke, with no income.

So "Old North Wind" cooked up a nasty scheme: he'd disguise himself and slip into other gangs' territory, burning and looting villages to frame the rival gangs, so he wouldn't get wiped out himself.

Unfortunately, he ran into a little fox—and the newly formed Tianlang Camp, hungry to make a name for itself.

After investigating the scene, Le Wuya discovered that the raiders didn't know the area and had been way too brutal and flashy—not like the local gangs at all.

Sensing something was off, he took a risk and went up alone to the mountains of the gangs that'd been framed. After quietly investigating and smoothing things over, he used a mix of threats and sweet talk to bring these jittery troublemakers into his ranks.

That way, he could rid the people of one scourge, and, using the grudge from the framing, send these newly recruited bandits to hit Old Crow Mountain.

After that battle, those who survived could stay in the army on probation; those who proved unruly would be dealt with by finding fault with them, splitting them apart, and slowly crushing them in his grip.

And so Old Crow Mountain was wiped out in one fell swoop by Le Wuya, using the hands of other bandits, without expending a single soldier of the Tianlang Camp.

When Le Wuya met "Old North Wind," he saw his scholarly appearance and casually remarked: "Huh, you don't look much like a bandit."

"Old North Wind" knew that this time he had no choice but to offer his neck for the blade, so he kept his head bowed, his expression one of utter resignation.

Unexpectedly, Le Wuya's casual remark inexplicably reignited the nearly extinguished embers of "Old North Wind's" heart.

"Old North Wind" fell to his knees, weeping blood as he poured out his grievances, recounting in vivid detail the entire ordeal of his wrongful persecution.

Assistant Prefect Zhang Wuzhi of Huangzhou had clearly said he was buying jade to gift to the imperial family. At the time, he was merely a merchant—how could he have dared to sell counterfeit goods?!

He had even sold the jade, originally worth fifteen hundred taels, to Assistant Prefect Zhang at a thirty percent discount!

But before the silver had even warmed in his palms, the authorities came crashing through his door and, without a word of explanation, shackled his entire family.

His two-year-old daughter and wife caught colds in the women's prison and died one after the other.

His five-year-old son ate the filthy prison food and died of violent vomiting and diarrhea.

His elderly parents, unable to bear the cangue, both passed away.

His seventeen-year-old brother was locked in a cell across from their father's, forced to watch him die in silence. Unable to cry out, consumed by grief and fury, he cursed the guards and was beaten to death with clubs.

For the sake of survival, "Old North Wind" had no choice but to sign a confession and was sentenced to exile.

On the road to exile, heaven finally showed him a sliver of mercy: he encountered a mudslide.

He and another man escaped in the chaos.

Afterward, he was swept up among the refugees, homeless and adrift, journeying ever westward.

The world surged like waves, carrying him all the way to the southwest, where he became a bandit and an outlaw, with no chance of turning back.

At the end of his tale, "Old North Wind" pounded his chest and wailed hoarsely: "I was wronged! I was wronged!"

Reclining in the great tiger-skin-draped seat of honor, Le Wuya sat with one leg crossed over the other, one hand lazily tapping his boot with a horsewhip while the other idly flicked the soft tiger tail back and forth.

"Old North Wind" had already sensed the young commander's casual indifference.

By the middle of his account, he had ceased to harbor any hope of vindication.

If anything, he was not so much crying out for justice to Le Wuya as he was telling his half-buried pain to himself once more—lest he drink a bowl of Meng Po's soup and forget everything, having suffered this lifetime's injustice for nothing.

When he finished his tale and fell into endless silence, Le Wuya lifted his eyes: "Are you done?"

He leaped up from his seat, draped the tiger skin over his shoulders, and said to Qin Xingyue beside him: "Fine pelt. Take it back for Father."

The young Qin Xingyue, stirred to fervor by "Old North Wind's" tearful account, spoke up: "Young Commander..."

Le Wuya cut him off: "The common folk he killed harbor no less resentment than he does." He pointed casually. "Look, there's one floating above your head right now, telling you to shut up."

...Qin Xingyue shut up.

Le Wuya, wrapped in the tiger-skin blanket, slowly descended from the high seat and walked to "Old North Wind's" side.

A massive tiger head still perched atop his own head. When he tilted his head to look at "Old North Wind," his bearing resembled nothing so much as a spirit born of nature in a secluded valley.

"You learned that trick of framing others and murdering them for their goods from Assistant Prefect Zhang, didn't you?" Le Wuya remarked. "You really are his finest student—you've mastered it to perfection."

"Old North Wind," having finished recounting his life and already resigned to his fate, heard this brilliant observation and felt blood rush to his eyes. He struggled and roared in fury.

But he had no defense to offer.

Over the years, he had robbed and killed civilians—if not a hundred, then at least fifty.

His spine had long since lost its straightness.

Le Wuya's words stabbed clean through his heart.

The bandit chief was captured, his crimes proven, and Le Wuya chose to execute these men on the spot.

Before the execution, Le Wuya verified each bandit's identity one by one, separating them from the men and women who had been robbed and dragged up the mountain—one group to be killed, the other to be released.

As he passed "Old North Wind," Le Wuya held a roughly split wooden plaque and asked him, "What name do you go by?"

Old North Wind had grieved, had raged, but now he was truly at peace.

He replied, "Tong Shan. 'Shan' as in 'goodness'—the 'shan' in 'ascending goodness is like climbing a mountain.'"

Le Wuya shot him a sidelong glance.

Ascending to goodness is like climbing a hill; descending into evil is like a landslide.

He scratched his head with the butt of his brush. "Then why'd you get the nickname 'Old North Wind'?"

"I came from up north," Tong Shan murmured. "...I want to go home."

Le Wuya planted the wooden plaque with his name upright behind his head and said, "After you're dead, just drift on back slowly."

As he planted the plaque, Le Wuya asked softly, "Got any evidence or witnesses?"

Tong Shan's face changed.

A gap in the clouds at the horizon let the evening light pour through.

He quickly pulled himself together, stifling his excitement, and said in a low voice, "When I fled, I was all alone, empty-handed. But there was this shopkeeper who sold calligraphy and paintings, named Rao Gaoming—he confessed, got exiled, and escaped with me. He said he couldn't stand to leave his homeland, that he wouldn't go far, and would become a monk. If you... if you go find him, he's a sharp one—he might have some evidence..."

Le Wuya knew some criminals picked small temples to shave their heads and become monks, to dodge trouble.

"What temple?"

"...I don't know."

"What'd he look like?"

"He was a fat guy." Tong Shan thought for a moment, then pointed at his neck. "On the back of his neck, he's got a green birthmark shaped like a sycee ingot."

Le Wuya went "Oh," straightened up, and waved at the Tianlang Camp soldiers behind him. "Alright, all checked out. Get to it—kill 'em all."

Privately, Le Wuya kind of wished Tong Shan would die without finding peace.

A bandit like him, who'd terrorized the whole area, didn't deserve to die easy.

But when push came to shove, he went soft for once.

…Damn it all.

Afterward, Qin Xingyue trailed behind him, head hanging, like he wanted to say something but couldn't.

Le Wuya led the troops down the mountain, saying, "Spit it out already. ...See that boundary marker up ahead? Cross it without speaking, and you never will."

Qin Xingyue whispered, "Young General, General Yue's at least a third-rank official—can't he... write a memorial, put in a word?"

Le Wuya reached out, twisted his ear, and hauled him close, grinning through clenched teeth. "My father's a frontier general. Should he take a fugitive bandit's word, with no proof, to accuse a civil official at the Court of Imperial Sacrifices? To accuse the emperor's right-hand man? Are you crazy, or am I?"

Qin Xingyue didn't dare say another word, just yelping in pain.

Le Wuya patted his head and said, "What a fine head. Such good brains, wasted—shame they're not being used to paste up couplets."

...

Roughly eight years later.

Le Wuya, now head of the Changmen Guard, stood in a black cloak under the "Sangui Temple" plaque in Xuan County, Huangzhou, gazing at the kind-faced, gaunt abbot before him.

Time moves on—it can turn a fat man skinny, but it can't erase that sycee-shaped birthmark on the back of his neck.

Le Wuya took a yellowed ledger from him.

The old monk's voice was soft and gentle: "This is an old ledger of mine. Before I took vows, I used to keep a second set of books to dodge taxes. This is the real ledger—it wasn't filed with the official ones; I hid it at home."

Le Wuya opened the ledger and found a few brittle authentication certificates tucked inside.

He carefully pinched a corner to look, and saw they had official seals—certificates verifying the paintings in question were genuine.

Seeing Le Wuya's reaction, the old monk said, "For every painting, I'd hire a famous appraiser to authenticate it and issue a certificate, to bump up its price."

His voice started to shake a little. "When I was locked up back then, I knew I'd been set up. Even if I showed this as proof, with me in the government's clutches, Assistant Prefect Zhang could still call a deer a horse and flip black to white. ...After I escaped, I risked my life to sneak back home, found the ledger and certificates hadn't been confiscated, and took them. I've hidden this evidence for years, shown no one—not because I'm a coward, but because I know justice in this world is sometimes hard to find. Today, benefactor, you're willing to right this wrong for me—I'm deeply grateful."

Le Wuya opened his mouth to speak but the wind caught in his throat and made him cough.

It didn't stop him from being as brutally blunt as ever: "One piece of evidence alone doesn't hold up. Just this ledger and a few certificates don't prove a thing."

The old monk smiled bitterly. "Then so be it. If this case is brought up again, it'll stir up another bloody storm..."

But then, a flash of grief and anger crossed his clouded old eyes, and his tone turned heavy: "But... back then, my whole family was framed and butchered. I got away by luck, but I wandered like a lost ghost with nowhere to belong. The temple was supposed to be my refuge from the world, but every night as I chanted sutras, the hatred in my heart wouldn't settle. The Buddha says 'all beings are in suffering'—but why does this suffering have to land on my family? The Buddha says 'karma brings its due'—but why hasn't that due come yet?"

The cold wind whipped through the branches, and Le Wuya pulled his cloak tighter, saying nothing.

At the same time, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a few young novices peeking out.

The old monk knew complaining was useless, let out a long sigh, and his tone softened, as if examining himself: "I know well that a heart full of anger and hate is a great taboo on the path of cultivation. If this case is cleared, I want to dedicate that merit to my innocent, wrongly killed family, so they can ascend to bliss and escape the sea of suffering for good. If it's never cleared, then it's heaven's will, and I have no regrets."

Le Wuya bowed to the former Rao Gaoming, now Master Liaoyuan, chanted a greeting, then took off his cloak, wrapped the fragile old evidence in several layers, and walked toward where the novices were hiding.

...

In his telling, Le Wuya left himself out of the story.

After hearing the story, Zhang Kai clapped his hands and said, "Sir tells a tale with such twists and turns—you should take up storytelling, and I'd gladly be your audience. However, this matter touches my uncle's good name, so I can't go along with you."

Le Wuya deflected with relish: "To entertain Brother Meng'an is a pleasure in itself."

"There are some inaccuracies in this tale. For instance, the Yu-Jing war was from the tenth to twelfth year of Tianding; at that time, you, like me in Huangzhou back then, were just a kid. How could you know such details so exactly?"

Le Wuya replied, "The events happened near Nanting. When I was Magistrate of Nanting, I got around a lot and loved hearing interesting folk tales."

"How strange. How could you take folk tales as truth and trust a murderous mountain bandit? How can you believe a bandit's word?"

"Though it's a tale, it has its source," Le Wuya said. "A southwestern bandit who knows northern affairs well, and whose story lines up with your uncle's time in Huangzhou—that made me curious, so I dug around... and got some interesting intel."

Zhang Kai held back the fire raging in his chest and let out a helpless sigh. "Setting aside truth or falsehood, if you come bearing intel, you must want something from me."

"Brother Meng'an, I've been done a grave injustice!" Le Wuya said with a sly smile. "I told you, I've come bearing a 'welcome gift.'"

"That Luan Yuqiao, behind Brother Meng'an's back, is buying up cloth at high prices and messing up the market—truly hateful. Going against me like this, he's bound to get himself in trouble sooner or later. Why should Brother Meng'an dirty his hands by getting mixed up with him? Luan Yuqiao is filthy rich, fat and smug, and can't tell anymore who really runs Tongzhou. If I take him down, we split the take thirty-seventy. Thirty for me, seventy for you. Then Brother Meng'an profits, I get a rep for cleaning up the market and rooting out bad practices, and the people get real benefits—isn't that a win for everyone?"

Zhang Kai: "..."

For some reason, he always had the nagging feeling he was being played for a fool by some fox spirit.

"You've got thousands of acres of good land, yet in the end, all you want is a full granary and peace for your family. Why cling so stubbornly to a man like Luan Yuqiao, who doesn't know when to back off or what's good for him?" Le Wuya spoke with ease. "Not to toot my own horn, but I've got the easiest temper going—yet what I hate most is when someone puts me in a bind. Luan Yuqiao made me lose face, insisting on opposing those I support, and for that, he's got to pay a price. He leans on Brother Meng'an's backing, and with your support, I ought to have taken you down as well. But Brother Meng'an and I hit it off right away, and I truly can't bear to hurt you—hence this friendly warning."

Zhang Kai: "..."

The meaning was unmistakable.

Luan Yuqiao had crossed the line, so he would be crushed.

And what about himself?

Even Ming Ke had not deigned to visit him in person for a cordial talk; instead, he had dragged up an old affair, delivered a harsh threat, and only then broached the real matter.

He led with force, then played nice—this prefect was indeed a real scorpion's tail of a man!

After a brief moment of deliberation, Zhang Kai had already made up his mind.

He said flatly, "Your Excellency's story is not yet finished. What, then, is this 'interesting piece of intelligence'?"

Le Wuya smiled broadly and openly, saying without hesitation, "Tong Shan's dead, sure, but there's still a witness to that year's events—one who not only escaped the net of justice but also holds the evidence, having taken monastic vows at Sangui Temple in Xuan County, Huangzhou, under the dharma name 'Liaoyuan.'"

"Brother Meng'an, is this piece of intelligence not intriguing?"