Her master treated her well, and she served him with all her heart and loyalty—only, the secret must never be discovered. Where was there a girl learning to be a headsman? If word got out, would she ever marry in this lifetime? She had no choice. She’d tried masonry and carpentry, starting early and with some strength, but after all, she was a girl—how could she manage? It was her wet nurse’s husband who’d mentioned offhand that Wu Changgeng’s craft was good, that he could work until sixty. Chopping heads was like chopping melons or vegetables—no effort at all. Every year after autumn, when the Nine Ministers of the Dali Temple, the Censorate, and the Board of Punishments finished their joint trials, there’d be a batch of executions before the winter solstice. The busy period was just then, ten or dozens a day. Usually, it was odd jobs—when the presiding official said, “Take them out and execute them on the spot,” that was rare. As for apprentices like them, they drew a small stipend and spent their idle time running errands.
It was a good job, really—just that the first few times, the sight of blood made her dizzy. A human body was like a water pouch; when the lid burst open, the water inside splashed out all at once, impossible to gather back. She’d never seen so much blood. In the countryside, when pigs were slaughtered, they used basins to catch it, but with executions, there was nothing—one slash, and blood sprayed five paces. Back then, her senior brother teased her, saying she was small but stubborn, refusing to budge when pulled, when in truth, she was frozen in terror.
Her senior brother, Xiazhi by name, was a reckless lad who liked to go off on tangents when working and spoke in riddles. When she arrived, he’d already been learning the craft for two years. Though not the most reliable, he was honest with his own. Over the years, he’d looked out for her everywhere. At first, she shared a room with him, but as she grew older, she mentioned it twice to their master, complaining that he ground his teeth at night. They cleared out a storage room for her to move into, and only then did she find peace.
But a door couldn’t keep Xiazhi out—he still came and went as he pleased. Like today, with their master away, she’d bolted the door for a nap and was deep in a dream when he barged in and woke her.
The sky was darkening. She looked outside. “Master’s not back yet?”
Xiazhi grunted. “The jailer’s marrying off his daughter—he’d have to be a fool not to eat his fill at the feast. You hungry? Dinner’s ready. Get up and eat!”
She shook her head. “Not hungry. Leave it for now.”
Xiazhi scratched his neck with the handle of a palm-leaf fan and sidled closer, probing. “Why do I always hear you calling for ‘Madam’ in your dreams? If you were older and thinking of a wife, fine, but you’ve been mulling over such long-term plans since you were twelve or thirteen—isn’t that a bit early?”
She ignored him, getting up to fetch water from the well outside to wash her face. The bucket clanked against something as it went down. By the moonlight, she saw a head floating on the water and nearly jumped out of her skin. On closer inspection, it was just a melon someone had chilled there, its vine trailing like a braid.
Sighing, she turned the windlass. The well water was cold in summer, and the shock of the cloth against her face cleared her mind.
“Anba Lingwu’s case is a big one,” she said, sniffing. “With so many people implicated, layer upon layer of investigation, half of Great Britain’s officials would be gone.”
“Exactly,” Xiazhi said, picking his teeth with a bamboo sliver on the rattan chair. “Even the Emperor’s scared. Why wait till after autumn? Better hurry. The more they dig, the more people get dragged in. If they investigate to the end, how will the court function? Pick a few big names, wrap it up. ‘Water too clear breeds no fish’—His Majesty understands that better than we do.”She had experienced the destruction of her family as a child, and after entering this profession, she had witnessed the rise and fall of officialdom so often that she seemed indifferent to everything. Turning her head, she asked, "How many are being dealt with tomorrow?"
Xiazhi held up three fingers. "Tomorrow's my first time stepping into the field. My heart's just..." He shook his head. "Master says it's going to be a big event. Among the execution overseers, there are ministers and even a Prince. If the job's done well, it’ll be my breakthrough. If not, even Master’s reputation will suffer."
"Aren’t you always saying heaven’s first and you’re second? What’s there to fear?" Dingyi patted his shoulder. "Master’s been nothing but good to you. Just prove yourself, make a name with one stroke, and you’ll rise in the circle. Don’t waste such a great opportunity. When I’m twenty, who knows if I’ll be so lucky? But remember one thing—how did Crooked Blade Liu get his nickname? He closed his eyes at the last moment and took off half the guy’s skull. The family nearly tore him apart. Keep your eyes wide open. If you ruin Master’s reputation, I’ll be the first to come after you."
Xiazhi, still dazed, smacked the back of her head. "Brat’s got some nerve, lecturing your senior brother. I ought to teach you a lesson." The two apprentices chased each other around the courtyard, a daily routine.
The next morning, they rose early, bathed, burned incense, and prepared meticulously. Master stood imposingly at the door, his large frame blocking half the sunlight, resembling the Heavenly King of Growth from the temples. Wu Changgeng, in his forties, was alone in the world. Having outlived two wives, he no longer entertained thoughts of marriage. As he put it, "In our line of work, starting a family is just bringing harm to others. Carrying hundreds of lives on our backs—no sins in this world, but the underworld keeps its accounts!" So, childless, he took on two apprentices to handle his funeral arrangements when the time came.
Master had drunk a bit too much the night before and hadn’t slept well, his eyes puffy as he instructed Xiazhi, "Keep your heart steady, your hand firm. Have Xiaoshu prepare some old ginger for you to chew. Even if the Heavenly King himself shows up, you won’t tremble."
Xiazhi responded loudly, though inwardly he was nervous, filled with a morbid excitement all morning. Two other families lived in their compound, also working for the Shuntian Prefecture. One, nicknamed San Qingzi, had a wife who’d gotten pregnant right after their wedding. Xiazhi loved teasing him, calling out as they left, "San Qingzi, go home for a kiss, suck some milk, then get moving!" No sooner had he spoken than a basin of water was flung from inside, soaking his shoes.
Dingyi, standing nearby with a bundle on her back, mocked him. "Serves you right! Who told you to flap your mouth?"
Wu Changgeng, hot-tempered, shouted toward the house, "San Qingzi, control your woman! Does she know the rules? If not, I’ll teach her!" Starting the day with a woman splashing water on them was bad luck before duty.
San Qingzi came out, bowing and apologizing, urging Uncle Wu to calm down. Xiazhi had been a nuisance for ages, and everyone was used to it. Dingyi, tired of their bickering, stepped out under the sun to wait. Across the way stood a century-old locust tree, lush and full in July, its clusters of purplish-red buds hanging low, filling the air with fragrance for miles.This neighborhood was home to the lower-class folks—dung collectors, pole carriers, coal ball rollers... people from all walks of life. Dingyi took shelter under a tree where someone was already seated: an old woman who often set up a stall selling fried dough twists and peanuts near the Dongyue Temple, with her grandson by her side. A small basin sat nearby, though Dingyi wasn’t sure what they were fiddling with. The woman smiled at her and asked, "Shu’er, got work today?"
Being familiar with the locals, Dingyi smiled and nodded. She leaned in to look—the basin held over a dozen tadpoles, and there were three more in a bowl. The old woman brought the bowl to the child’s lips, coaxing him, "This is good stuff. You know why the Emperor gets to be the Emperor? Because he dares to eat this! The Emperor said whoever eats it gets to be a general, lead troops, and even gets a big sword as a reward. That sword’s way prettier than your slingshot, a hundred times better..."
Dingyi’s throat tightened. The elderly always had their tricks—it was said eating tadpoles prevented boils, though who knew if it was true. Still, passed down through generations, almost every village kid had swallowed them raw at some point.
The child, convinced, asked in his innocent voice, "Really? A big sword?"
His grandmother nodded. "If the Emperor won’t give it, Granny will. Drink up, and we’ll go buy one right after."
The child took the bowl and drank. The creatures were still alive, squirming in his mouth. Unaware, he naturally chewed a couple of times. Dingyi was horrified, feeling the morning’s porridge churn in her throat, nearly making her retch. She quickly turned away and spotted her master and Xiazhi emerging, so she hurried over to meet them.
The Shuntian Prefecture was located north of Gulou East Street. From Tongfu Lane, it was a journey that would take a carriage a good half-hour even at a brisk pace. Though the condemned had already been tried and the imperial decree approved, formalities still had to be observed before execution.
Dingyi followed the bailiffs into the holding cells to tally the prisoners. Once high-ranking officials, now reduced to convicts—glory and disgrace could flip in an instant. Seeing these prisoners always reminded her of her father, and the sight of the ragged figures inside stirred a tumult of emotions in her heart.
Now, even the bailiffs spoke more politely. One unlocked a cell door and bowed slightly. "Master An, your case is settled today. Congratulations."
Anba Lingwu had been the Governor of the Southern Waterways, a second-rank official responsible for dredging and maintaining the riverbanks in Jiangsu. Canal and road projects were lucrative, and the expenses had been fudged while he skimmed off the top. But the newly repaired waterways failed during the summer floods, causing severe damage to the people along the banks. When the court investigated, the embezzlement was substantial. Greed alone might have been forgivable, but he had dared to "collude"—an offense so grave that only execution could quell the Emperor’s towering rage. There was no waiting for autumn; no, he had to be dealt with swiftly.
A man who had seen grander days, Anba Lingwu didn’t crumple into tears. He emerged from the cell, shackled at the neck and feet, and stood at the cell door waiting for the handover. Dingyi held the register and asked, "Name?"
He mumbled his name, and once confirmed, the bailiffs outside wasted no time. They stepped forward to take him, dragging him out of the cell.
In the main hall, the Shuntian Prefecture went through the formalities again. When Anba Lingwu remained silent, the escorting bailiffs answered for him. The hall buzzed as the execution orders were finalized, with the executioners waiting under the eaves. Dingyi glanced at Xiazhi. Among the three prisoners, one had been assigned to him. He had stolen several nervous glances, growing paler each time, his legs trembling visibly beneath his trousers."Brother, are you scared?" She turned her gaze to the glaring sky beyond the eaves and shook her head. "Even if you are, it's too late now. Do your job well, don't make them suffer—consider it a good deed."
Xiazhi steadied himself, his tone carrying a hint of worldly resignation. "Once you've chosen this path, there's no turning back. Xiaoshu, if you can find another way before you're twenty, change trades. This work... it's not meant for humans."
No one would do this if they had any other choice. She was desperate to leave Sanhe County. As a girl growing older without protection, if her true identity were discovered by her wet nurse's brother's family—who had a simple-minded son—she'd be forced to marry him.
Her master had a rule: disciples must take up the blade and leave the mountain by age twenty. At seventeen, she still had three years left. She could handle trivial tasks, but inheriting the mantle on the execution ground was out of the question. Xiazhi was right—it was time to plan an escape. But where could she go? She hadn't worn a skirt since she was six, knew nothing of women's needlework, and dared not even dream of marrying and settling down.
What decent man would marry an executioner?
The thought almost made her laugh. Just then, noise erupted inside—the prisoner, tightly bound, was being led out for the Red Errand. Three cannon shots sounded outside. The prisoner exited through the White Tiger Gate, where an Eight Immortals table awaited, laden with a farewell meal prepared by the yamen: braised pork knuckle and a pound of flatbread. Eat up, for the road ahead.
Who could eat when death loomed? It didn't matter if he couldn't—the jailer would smear the pork knuckle on his lips to show he'd partaken. The chopsticks were snapped and tossed aside, and then it was onto the prisoner's cart, bound for Caishikou.
Caishikou lay outside Xuanwu Gate. The Headsman's broadsword was enshrined atop the gate tower, requiring a ceremonial request for use. Those without apprentices had to kowtow themselves; those with sent their disciples instead. Dingyi climbed the tower with Xiazhi, leaning on the wall to peer below. "Wasn't there supposed to be a Prince overseeing the execution? I don't see any."
Xiazhi lit incense as an offering. "Who wants to stare down a condemned man? They'll watch from a distance once the platform's ready—no need to court bad luck like He Nian Tang's clerks. The Princes are refined folk; they bypass the Shuntian Prefecture yamen and go straight to the execution ground, seated under the grand arbor..." He suddenly pointed into the distance. "Ah, here they come!"
Dingyi followed his gaze to a grand procession approaching. The cleared path forced spectators to either side, leaving the central route unobstructed—making the entourage appear all the more haughty. Seeing these Imperial relatives reminded her of Prince Zhuang, who'd arrested her father. That elder-generation Prince had shown some humanity, but these were the Emperor Emeritus's nephews, peers of the current Emperor—spoiled and arrogant, unlikely to possess any redeeming qualities.
She retrieved the broadsword, cradling it with a heart full of tangled emotions. The Wen family had served the court since the dynasty's founding, their rise and fall both tied to it. Looking back now filled her with bitterness and chill.
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