Huangming

Chapter 63 A Blood-Written Fatal Letter, the Wine Too Cold (Please Read On!!)

Tap tap tap~
In the corridor of the South Prison, two jailers, pen in hand and "Prison Log" in hand, patrolled the cells one by one.

They carried copper bells on their waists, which they would ring to warn others in case of an emergency, and the entire prison would be placed under martial law.

After making his rounds, the younger jailer breathed a sigh of relief, looking quite pleased with himself.

"Uncle Zhao, there's nothing wrong. Let's go have some drinks."

The young jailer was the son of a military household. His father had served in the Northern Garrison Command. He obtained a secure job as a jailer in the Northern Garrison Command through recommendation and examination, and had only been serving in the imperial prison for less than ten days.

Upon hearing this, the senior jailer, Uncle Zhao, stopped in his tracks, his sharp eyes flashing beneath his wrinkled eyelids: "Don't rush, there are pry marks on the latch of cell number seven, section A."

The young jailer peered through the iron bars. The prisoner lay motionless, huddled on the straw mat. He sneered, "Uncle Zhao is too cautious. This pedantic scholar has been fasting for three days; he won't have any strength left."

Before he finished speaking, Uncle Zhao had already taken out a copper key and unlocked the lock.

As the weathered iron gate creaked, he pressed his left hand against the copper bell at his waist and swiftly lifted the prisoner's clothes with his right hand. When he found nothing there, he breathed a sigh of relief.

Although nothing seemed amiss, Uncle Zhao remained vigilant. He said coldly, "The ironclad law of the Northern Garrison Command states that if a serious criminal in the imperial prison commits suicide, those on duty will be implicated."

He tied the copper bell to his wrist three times and said, "Go fetch the ginseng soup container."

As the young jailer returned carrying the gilded crane-beak pot, he saw Uncle Zhao clamping the prisoner's jaw.

The scholar made a hoarse sound from his throat, and ginseng soup mixed with bile sprayed from his nostrils, forming a dark brown stream on the moldy brick floor.

Don't be a woman's soft-hearted person!

Uncle Zhao snatched the bronze kettle, its spout wedged between the prisoner's molars: "During the Wanli era, an imperial censor went on a hunger strike for eight days. The garrison commander sent men to insert sheep intestines into his throat and force-feed him rice gruel. Why do you keep three-inch-wide iron hoops around the waist in your imperial prison?"

The prisoner suddenly sprang up and slammed the back of his head against the stone wall.

Uncle Zhao had already placed the copper bell between the bricks of the wall. Amidst the clanging of metal, four guards carrying embroidered spring knives broke down the door and entered.

The young jailer, gazing at the bluish-purple bruises left by the iron hoops digging into the prisoner's ribs, finally remembered his father's dying words: "The souls of the innocent victims in the imperial prison never starved to death."

After completing these tasks, the jailer Uncle Zhao finally relaxed, a slight smile appearing on his gloomy old face. He turned to the young jailer and said:

“The people imprisoned in the imperial prison are all important figures. As long as we don’t make any mistakes, we can live off this for the rest of our lives. If we do make a mistake, we will suffer the same fate as the people inside.”

The young jailer's face turned pale, and he nodded heavily, no longer daring to be as frivolous as before.

After the patrolling jailer left, a gloomy face appeared in the dim light of the prison corridor.

This man was burly and broad-shouldered, dressed in a blue-green seventh-rank military officer's uniform with a square patch embroidered with a seahorse pattern and a belt embroidered with a spring knife. He was Zhang San, the junior officer on duty at the Northern Garrison Prison today.

Zhang San walked slowly to the cell where Zhou Chaorui was. He tapped three long and two short marks on the iron bars with his fingers. A celadon bottle slipped from his sleeve and hit the stone slab with a crisp sound.

Zhou Chaorui stared at the porcelain bottle rolling in the urine stains, his Adam's apple bobbing violently, as if the thing was turning into a venomous snake and spitting its tongue at him.

"Thirty years of Shaoxing pear blossom white wine, mixed with peacock gall." The aroma of wine mixed with the scent of bitter almonds wafted into the prison cell.

"Yang Jisheng drank this wine before impeaching Yan Song, and today's Censor is fortunate to follow the example of his predecessor."

Zhou Chaorui suddenly lunged at the ventilation hole, his fingernails scratching white marks on the stone wall: "What does this mean?"

Zhou Chaorui's face was pale, his lips trembled, and he couldn't even stand up, so he could only hold onto the wall.

After a moment of silence, the junior officer of the Northern Garrison Command slowly said, "The remonstrances made by the officials kneeling outside the Zuoshun Gate have failed. His Majesty's division and disintegration have caused the people's hearts to scatter. Chief Zhou, only by shedding blood and sacrificing ourselves can we protect the bright and clear world of our Great Ming."

Is this a sacrifice for me?

With my blood, I will protect the bright and clear world of the Ming Dynasty.

just
I haven't lived enough yet, can I find someone else?
Seeing the man's cowardly appearance, Zhang San's face also showed a ruthless look.

"What about the 'Nine Admonitions of a Gentleman' that you taught at Donglin Academy? It is called benevolence to risk one's life in the face of danger, and cowardice to flee in the face of battle!" Upon hearing this, Zhou Chaorui trembled even more, whether from fear or shame, it was hard to tell.

"After the shift change at 3:45 AM, it won't be me on duty anymore, but the eunuch faction. You probably don't want to know the methods of those eunuch lackeys."

Seeing that Zhou Chaorui remained unmoved, the junior officer of the Northern Garrison frowned and asked meaningfully, "I heard that Chief Censor Zhou's hometown is in Dongchang Prefecture? Your son just entered the county school this year, right?"

Zhou Chaorui shuddered, his eyes filled with fear.

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm just reminding you."

Zhang San continued:

"According to the Directorate of Ceremonial, His Majesty will issue an edict to execute the Censor and others to investigate whether they have formed a faction. I wonder if the Censor can withstand the punishments in the imperial prison? Even if he can, will his body still be usable?"

The punishments in the imperial prison were generally extremely cruel.

Tin snake poured over the head, earth bag crushed to death, rat playing zither, pipa torture, scrubbing.
One torture technique is usually enough to kill most of a person.

"Is this truly an imperial edict?"

"Why would I need to deceive the Chief Censor? I simply want him to die with dignity."

Zhou Chaorui's pupils contracted sharply, and cold sweat seeped from the celadon bottle in his palm.

“A letter written in blood can be written on the inner garment.”

Zhang San's words were devoid of any emotion.

"Thunder and rain are all blessings from Heaven, but I would rather die speaking out than live in silence. These words should be written in my own blood on my inner garment."

Zhou Chaorui suddenly ripped open his undergarment as if in a frenzy, bit his index finger until it bled, and the excruciating pain made him furrow his brow.

But he endured the pain and used his undergarment as paper to write a letter in blood.

The sound of clappers outside pierced through the prison walls, and Zhang San's expression suddenly changed.

He heard the familiar sound of iron boots coming from the end of the passageway; it was the cloud-patterned boots of Xu Xianchun, a trusted centurion of the Northern Garrison Command of the Embroidered Uniform Guard.

With a mighty cleaver, the porcelain bottle shattered, and amber-colored poison splattered onto Zhou Chaorui's face: "Drink!"

In extreme fear, Zhou Chaorui actually stuck out his tongue and frantically licked the venom off his face.

Then, as if he had thought of something, he vomited out all the poison.

Zhang San, a junior officer in the Northern Garrison, became anxious.

"Does Chief Censor Zhou intend to ruin something important?"

Snot and tears streamed down Zhou Chaorui's face, his expression contorted to a ridiculous degree.

He lowered his head, too ashamed to look up at the Imperial Guards in front of him, and muttered to himself as if in a hysterical state, "I'm not afraid of death, I'm not afraid of death, it's just that the wine is too cold."

"I, Zhou Chaorui, am an honest official, and I, Zhou Chaorui, have not formed any factions!"

Zhou Chaorui smashed the poisoned wine and roared, "It's because the wine was too cold, not because I, Zhou Chaorui, am afraid of dying!"

I just don't want to die!

I don't want to die!
His face was extremely ferocious.

Why should I die?
(End of this chapter)