Beauty, Power and Intrigue Chapter 111

Ji Mian pursed his lips. “If you insist on not wearing anything, then I’ll just have to reluctantly support you.”

Song Chuyi slurped down a bowl of congee, then reached out her claw-like hand to ladle herself another bowl, and silently downed another bowl with pickles.

“You really plan not to wear anything?” Ji Mian asked in surprise, seeing how calm and composed she looked.

“It’s early in the morning – what are you hollering about?” Song Chuyi took a bite of pickles, sipped some congee, and said, “I’m just carefully considering it.”

Ji Mian let out a strange cry. “You actually have such a notion? I thought you were joking.”

“Would I joke about something this serious?” Song Chuyi shot him a look.

Ji Mian’s face was full of disbelief – a scholar going into battle stark naked… what a shocking effect would that be? He had always heard that the Daoists of the Zhuangzi school were wild and free-spirited, and only today did he finally witness it. By the time he recovered from his shock, there wasn’t a single grain of rice left in the clay pot.

Song Chuyi sat slumped with a bulging belly, let out a breath, and said, “I’ve thought it over – this kind of thing isn’t quite suitable for me.”

“Song Huaijin!” Ji Mian glared at her with grief and indignation, then after a moment helplessly waved her hand and said, “Fine. After this meal, who knows if you’ll even have a next one – I won’t hold it against you.”

Ji Mian got up and fetched a horn comb, handing it to Song Chuyi. “For today’s matter, how many tenths of a chance of victory do you have?”

Song Chuyi bared her teeth and grimaced as she dragged the comb through her hair. Hearing this, she answered, “What do you mean by victory? If things are exposed, I’ve already lost. And if I make a name for myself without succeeding, then I can be considered to have won.”

“Keep yourself alive,” Ji Mian said, looking at her. “I’ll wait for you to come back and play a game of liubo.”

Song Chuyi made a sound from her nasal cavity, which counted as agreement.

After washing up and tidying herself, Song Chuyi looked at herself in the bronze mirror. She wore a plain wide-sleeved cloth robe, her black hair half draped behind her head, and a black great cloak. Those ordinary features of hers looked three parts less childish than half a year ago, filled with a scholar’s confidence and unconstrained ease.

Song Chuyi did not wear the gorgeous garments Ji Mian had prepared. Even if she needed to overawe the entire crowd, she would not be so insecure as to rely on a showy disguise.

“Sir, General Longgu has arrived,” a maid rushed in hurriedly.

Ji Mian immediately stood up. “Where is he?”

“Still in the gatehouse,” the maid answered.

Could it be that he knows Song Chuyi is here? Ji Mian could not be sure of Longgu Qing’s attitude, because Longgu Qing had always been steadfastly supportive of the Marquess of Wey.

“Huaijin, there are two fine horses in the rear courtyard stable. Put on a bamboo hat, ride out through the back gate, and I’ll go meet General Longgu.”

Song Chuyi gave an answer, cupped her hands slightly in salute, and walked toward the rear courtyard.

At this moment, the area near East Street was already packed with a sea of people. On the earthen platform, a small shelter had been temporarily set up, with straw curtains hanging down on all four sides to block people’s line of sight.

It was said that this was to let Ji Yu die with some dignity. But these were merely rumors, just to fool the common folk. Many people had already guessed that it was probably because Ji Yu had been tortured too severely, and they feared that exposing his miserable condition before the public would cause unrest.

It was nearly noon when a shrill voice rang out. “The lord has arrived!”

In East Street, a great crowd dropped to their knees with a rustling sound – slaves prostrated themselves, commoners performed the grand bow of reverence, and scholars made the long salute.

An old man in a deep brown splendid robe slowly stepped up onto the high platform. Only after he had sat down did he say, “Rise.”

The eunuch’s shrill voice loudly conveyed his decree.

The Marquess of Wey seemed to have aged ten years in the past half year; his temples had suddenly gone from grizzled to snow-white. He glanced at the shelter screened by straw curtains, a look in his eyes that no one could understand.

The crowd rose one after another. Only then did they clearly see that many people had come following him, including civil officials and military officers, as well as an envoy from the State of Wei.

The sun’s shadow shifted; it was evident that noon was about to arrive, yet not a single person dared to remind him, nor wished to.

After about ten minutes, the Wei envoy was the first to speak, “My lord, the time is approaching.”

The Marquess of Wey’s hands, hidden within his sleeves, clenched tightly together. His ever-gentle face also revealed an expression of forbearance. Fortunately, it was veiled by thin gauze – apart from the attendant eunuchs, no one else saw it.

A gust of wind suddenly rose, stirring the curtains. Over on Ji Yu’s side, the straw curtain lifted slightly, and one or two sharp-eyed people could not help but cry out in shock.

The scene just now had lasted only an instant, and they were not certain – but what they had clearly seen inside was nothing but a patch of blood red. That burly man, bound and tied, was barely recognizable as anything but a blur of blood and flesh.

Not far away, Song Chuyi, sitting on horseback, saw it too. She had been staring fixedly at that spot.

She pressed her lips tightly together, and only after a long while did she ask Ji Huan, who was equally furious, “It’s him, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Ji Huan’s eyes were cracked with rage. He had followed Ji Yu since he was eleven years old; he would never mistake him.

Song Chuyi urged her horse forward. Ji Huan hurriedly reached out to block her, hoping she would think it over carefully.

Yet among the thousands of people present, all was silent. Song Chuyi had originally been in a corner, but her movement immediately drew the attention of many.

Steeling herself, she removed her bamboo hat and called out loudly, “Song Huaijin is here!”

At these words, thousands of gazes swished over to converge on her, and even those on the high platform looked over one after another.

After a moment of silence, the crowd unconsciously parted to make a path for her.

Song Chuyi rode straight up to the earthen platform before swinging down from her horse. She tossed her riding whip to Ji Huan and slowly ascended the steps.

Everyone held their breath, staring at her. The vast majority of them had never imagined that the great affair that had recently shaken the various states was actually the work of this young person before their eyes. There were familiar faces in the crowd as well – among them, Zhen Jun was staring fixedly at Song Chuyi with a face full of astonishment. When he had first met Song Chuyi, he had felt that his bearing was extraordinary and that he would surely achieve great things in the future, which was why he had sincerely befriended him. He had never expected that this person was actually Song Huaijin. Song Chuyi said nothing; she merely stood at a distance, performed a grand salute toward the Marquess of Wey, and then walked straight toward the straw shelter.

The armored soldiers on all sides immediately raised their swords to block her.

From his high seat, the Marquess of Wey said in an aged voice, “Do not stop her.”

Hearing this, the armored soldiers put away their weapons and withdrew.

Song Chuyi strode into the curtain. The first thing that met her eyes was a dark red figure of blood. His body had long since been lashed by whips until not a patch of intact skin remained. Song Chuyi hastily examined his limbs, and with a sweep of her eyes she saw that the foot standing on the ground was missing three toes; the wounds had not fully healed and were still oozing bloody fluid. And that rugged face was already beyond recognition. He suddenly raised his eyes, meeting Song Chuyi’s gaze directly.

Song Chuyi saw that in those eyes – always so calm as to seem somewhat cold – there was unexpectedly a faint trace of a smile.

“Yu, I’ve come,” Song Chuyi said.

Ji Yu looked at her for a long while, then said, “You’re not afraid?”

“Yeah,” Song Chuyi answered, in a tone whose meaning was unclear. The best revenge now against those who had inflicted such cruelty would be to tear down the straw curtains around them and let the people of Wey see just how a loyal and righteous man had been treated. But a man like Ji Yu did not need the pity of all under heaven. Song Chuyi stood quietly for a moment, then chose to preserve his dignity.