Take control of Wei Zhongxian at the start and confiscate 100 million from him!

Chapter 247 The coldness of people's hearts is greater than that of a lake.

The high platform was deathly silent, like a grave.

The vermilion list lay quietly on the rosewood table, as thin as a cicada's wing, yet it seemed to weigh down the entire sky of Jiangnan, making it hard to breathe.

Qian Qianyi's gaze tore back and forth between the list and the vast lake.

His mind was filled with images of war and conflict, a battle between heaven and man.

On one hand, there was the cry that "the leader of the literati should sacrifice himself for the cause," a magnificent facade built upon his lifelong study of Confucian classics and adherence to the orthodox tradition of Neo-Confucianism.

The spirit of Qu Yuan and the style of Wen Tianxiang, those names that shine brightly in history books, now haunt his ears like ghosts, urging him to cross this river and fulfill this duty, so that his name after death can shine as brightly as the sun and moon!

But on the other side, there was an even more instinctive roar: "Live!"

Those nightmares of drowning, the suffocating feeling of the icy lake water filling his lungs, had long since washed away all his courage and integrity.

The fear of death gnawed at his every nerve like a bone-deep infection.

He was terrified of death. Terrified to death.

He wanted to live, even if it meant living like a dog!

The empty title of "loyal and heroic" struggled for only a brief moment in the face of the instinct for survival before being completely swallowed up like a candle flickering in the wind.

What's the point of a memorial archway? What's the point of a reputation? Once you're dead, you truly have nothing left!

Qian Muzhai had experienced the ups and downs of officialdom for decades, witnessing countless rises and falls, glory and disgrace. He understood better than anyone that only by living could he have a chance to turn things around; only by living could he enjoy the vast wealth he had embezzled; only by living could he continue to be the literary master of Jiangnan!
In an instant, the murky light that had just been extinguished in Qian Qianyi's eyes was rekindled.

That was the desperate fire of survival that burned away his last trace of shame and hesitation. He made his choice without the slightest hesitation.

Qian Qianyi reached out his trembling hand toward the list that would determine the fate of countless people.

This action was incredibly difficult. His hands trembled violently due to extreme fear and uncontrollable excitement. His fingertips touched the cool paper several times, only to recoil as if struck by lightning.

That thin piece of paper was, in his eyes, both a death sentence leading to hell and his only lifeline.

The audience held their breath.

The scholars of the Fushe Society, in particular, stared intently at Qian Qianyi's hand, which was suspended in mid-air.

Deep in their hearts, a sliver of hope remained: that this senior teacher would retain his integrity to the very end.

Perhaps he would slam his fist on the table and angrily denounce the imperial guards; perhaps he would follow the example of the sages and bravely face death...

But what they saw was Qian Qianyi's other hand also reaching out, his two hands gripping the list tightly in his palms with all his might, as if he were a drowning man clinging to a piece of driftwood.

The paper was soaked with sweat from his hands, which were damp from exertion, and became wrinkled, just like his distorted face at that moment.

This gesture was his answer.

A silent answer, yet louder and more resolute than any words.

He chose the path of survival, a path paved with the blood of his comrades.

A suppressed gasp rippled through the crowd, followed by an even deeper silence.

For the Fushe scholars on the left, Qian Qianyi's action was nothing short of a soul-crushing slap, shattering all their naive fantasies.

When Qian Qianyi clutched the list, used all his strength to prop himself up from the armchair, his old and hunched body hunched over, and then staggered toward them, all the fragments of their illusions turned into sharp blades, beginning to slowly torture their proud hearts.

They knew that their names were on that list.

That was the list of deaths of the Embroidered Uniform Guard! And the one who handed over this executioner's blade and personally came to name names was someone they once revered as a pillar of the state!

Zhang Pu's eyes widened in disbelief.

He watched as the old man staggered towards him like a walking corpse. The image of Qian Zongbo, the man who once commanded respect and critiqued the world at Donglin Academy, was now torn apart by the image of this servile coward who betrayed his friends for personal gain.

A bitter smile, utterly absurd, curled at the corners of Chen Zilong's mouth.

He even felt that what he was seeing was a bizarre nightmare he had just woken up from.

Public opinion? Sincere discussions? Correcting the emperor's wishes? In the end, it was nothing more than a trap set by the court, a meticulously planned hunt.

And they, these scholars who considered themselves the backbone of the nation, were the prey driven into the trap.

The most ridiculous thing is that the headhunter who led them into the trap was one of their own people.

When Qian Qianyi's cloudy and evasive gaze finally met the eyes of the scholars below the stage, he trembled as he unfolded the list, compared it with the names on it, and read out the first name in a dry, hoarse voice that seemed not to be his own—

“Pu…Zhang Pu…”

All the complex emotions froze and crystallized in that instant, leaving only a chilling contempt and a deep-seated resentment for being betrayed by one's closest loved ones.

Their teachers, their predecessors, their spiritual banners, at this moment, personally sacrificed themselves to the butcher.

"Bring him here." Li Ruolian's icy voice rang out at the opportune moment.

The fierce-looking officers of the Imperial Guard immediately stepped forward and roughly dragged Zhang Pu, Chen Zilong, and another radical Fushe leader, Wu Yingji, from their seats. They tied their hands behind their backs and shoved them toward the edge of the platform, toward the makeshift wooden pier leading to the lake.

"Qian Muzhai! You are shameless!!!" "We scholars, who study the classics, what have we learned! To associate with the eunuchs and their lackeys!"

"Even if I, Chen Zilong, were to die, I would be ashamed to be ranked alongside a spineless coward like you in the literati!"

The three men's angry curses echoed through the sky, but Qian Qianyi turned a deaf ear.

He simply clutched the list tightly, head down, not daring to look anyone in the eye, his steps unsteady as he followed the Imperial Guards, walking towards the stage of shame prepared for him under the gazes of those pairs of contemptuous, resentful, and angry eyes.

He had to carry out the emperor's orders personally in order to save his own life.

The pier was rudimentary, hastily nailed together from a few planks, extending into the slightly deeper part of the lake, where the rainwater made the planks extremely slippery.

Qian Qianyi, accompanied by three students whose faces were ashen but who still held their heads high and cursed, walked to the end of the pier under the escort of the Imperial Guards.

A cold lake breeze blew in his face, and Qian Qianyi couldn't help but shiver.

He looked at the young and angry face in front of him; it was Wu Yingji.

He had read this man's articles and praised him for having "the style of Jia Changsha".

And now, he is going to personally push this junior whom he once admired into the cool lake water.

"Lord Qian, please." A captain urged expressionlessly.

Qian Qianyi closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then suddenly opened them. His eyes were filled with numbness. He stretched out his trembling hands and pushed hard against Wu Yingji's back.

However, perhaps because he was too distracted, or perhaps because his feet were too slippery, the moment he exerted force, his feet gave way and with a "plop," he lost his balance and half of his body fell into the lake!

In early May, the waters of Taihu Lake, soaked by continuous rain, were far from the warm and gentle waters of summer. Instead, they carried a slightly chilly feel. The lake water instantly enveloped his lower body, and the chill mixed with boundless fear made Qian Qianyi shudder.

"Bring Mr. Qian up here!" Li Ruolian called out from the shore.

With a flurry of activity, Qian Qianyi was pulled out of the water in a disheveled state.

He was soaked to the bone, his brand-new Confucian robe clinging tightly to his body, outlining his thin and frail frame. Water droplets dripped down his gray beard, his teeth chattered uncontrollably, and his face was paler than the lake water.

The moment he was pulled onto the pier, he trembled all over, hugged his arms, and blurted out instinctively, his voice trembling with tears:

"Water...the water is so cold..."

This cowardly, even somewhat comical remark was like a drop of ice water falling into a sizzling oil pan, instantly breaking the deathly silence and oppressive atmosphere with a sizzling sound.

Some scholars and gentry standing closest to the pier heard clearly the tearful cry, "The water... the water is so cold..."

They were first stunned, and then a feeling of utter absurdity washed over them.

Some people's lips twitched, wanting to laugh but feeling that the occasion was inappropriate, and finally it turned into a low sneer full of contempt.

That sneer seemed to be a signal.

Laughter began to ripple outwards from the inner circle.

"...What did he say?...The water was too cold?"

"...He's afraid of dying, yet he pushes students into the water, and then complains that the water is too cold?"

"...This is Qian Muzhai? Seeing is believing..."

Whispers coalesced into a low, guttural sound, interspersed with increasingly suppressed, short snickers.

The laughter contained contempt for Qian Qianyi's cowardice and shamelessness, disillusionment that the emperor he once admired was such a scoundrel, and a callous indifference to the brutal tragedy unfolding before them, which they viewed as an absurd farce.

However, the laughter did not turn into uproarious laughter.

Because everyone was keenly aware that no matter how despicable Qian Qianyi was, at the end of that pier stood three young students who were about to drown.

The shadow of death hangs over everyone's heart like an invisible veil, making laughter always carry a chill and a sense of numbness.

Gradually, the expressions of disdain and mockery faded from people's faces, replaced by a more complex and indifferent detachment.

But these subtle yet persistent taunts, mixed with pity and indifference in their gazes, were more hurtful than any knife, like countless cold steel needles piercing the heart of every scholar present.

When the Fushe scholars on the stage heard these words and the buzzing mockery like flies, many of them clenched their fists in shame and indignation, their nails digging deep into their palms.

They felt an unprecedented sense of shame and a deep-seated despair.

The embodiment of the tradition they defended not only betrayed them, but also, in front of the world, trampled the dignity of the word "soldier" underfoot and crushed it to pieces in such an ugly, ridiculous, and despicable way.

This is a hundred times more painful for them than killing them!
The comment "The water is so cold," and the ensuing, albeit not loud, but pervasive, mockery, became the final straw that broke the camel's back.

Wu Yingji, whose hands were tied behind his back, was still cursing angrily, but he suddenly stopped cursing after hearing this.

He stared blankly at Qian Qianyi, who was still trembling, at his mentor who was making such a fool of himself. The last glimmer of hope for survival in his eyes was completely extinguished, and what suddenly rose was a mad, almost frenzied flame of mutual destruction!
Wu Yingji's hands were tightly bound behind his back with ropes, but at this moment all the muscles in his body tensed up, and his veins bulged, like a wounded beast that had been driven into a corner and was about to launch a fatal blow.

He stared intently at Qian Qianyi, who had just climbed onto the pier and was still muttering about how cold the water was as if defending himself. His eyes were bloodshot.

Urged by the Imperial Guards, Qian Qianyi wiped the water off his face, took a deep breath, and forced himself to calm down.

He must complete this task; he must survive!
Qian Qianyi turned around, but did not notice that a pair of bloodshot eyes had locked onto him behind him. The flames in those eyes were enough to set the cold lake water ablaze!
(End of this chapter)