Descending from the city gate tower, Dingyi respectfully carried the sword behind her master. The yamen had sent plenty of escorts, so she blended into the crowd as they moved forward. The weather was too fine—the glaring sun made it hard to keep her eyes open, and the cloth strips binding her chest were stifling, making it difficult to breathe. Fortunately, there were only three condemned prisoners, so it wouldn’t take long. They could endure the heat, but even the grand secretaries and the Prince couldn’t bear it for long!
Standing on tiptoe, she saw that a canopy had been set up in front of Henian Hall. Every shop along the street had placed long tables outside, offering wine, white rice, and steamed dishes—farewell offerings for the prisoners. The road to the underworld might lack music, but it couldn’t be without food and drink. If a prisoner deigned to take a bite, it would be considered a great virtue for the household. The King of Hell would note it in his ledger, and the family could celebrate with red couplets, making it even livelier than a wedding!
Henian Hall was famous in the capital, not just for its potent decoctions. When commoners cursed someone, they might snap, "Go buy some wound medicine from Henian Hall!"—and that was no compliment. Opposite Henian Hall was the execution ground, and it was said that sometimes, people knocked on the door at midnight to buy medicine. When asked what ailed them, they’d say their neck hurt—clearly, ghosts were at work. A severed head left a bowl-sized scar; of course it would hurt. So, whenever prisoners were sent on a Red Errand, the clerks at Henian Hall would rattle their abacuses outside, the clattering noise said to ward off evil spirits.
As Dingyi and her group passed by, the clacking of the abacus beads made her head throb. She turned her face away as if to avoid it—once they got past this stretch, it would be better. In the height of summer, staying too long under the sun could bring on heatstroke.
The prisoners were lined up from east to west, and the supervising officials had taken their seats under the large arbor. She squinted at the platform, her vision blurred by the harsh transition from light to shadow. Counting five figures, all dressed in court robes and official hats. The one in the center was the Prince—a rank above all others, even the Prefect of Shuntian had to flatter them. But dragons beget nine sons, each different. One of them was lively, whispering to the officials beside him, while another sat as steady as a mountain, silent and unmoving. Dingyi smirked inwardly—such a man was either blind and foolish or cast from molten iron.
Lost in thought, she felt someone tug her sleeve from behind. Turning, she saw a servant in livery pressing a small bottle into her hand, whispering with a meaningful look, "This is Crane’s Crest Blood. Find a chance to give it to Anling Ba Wu."
Crane’s Crest Blood was a unique concoction from Henian Hall, said to numb the body and dull pain. Though effective, it couldn’t be used freely. Headsmen had many taboos; a single misstep could invite misfortune. She pitied those condemned to die, but she couldn’t break her master’s rules for them. Glancing toward the execution ground, she pushed the bottle back. "My apologies. Each to their own trade—I only carry the sword. The rest is none of my concern."
The man scoffed. Of all people, she was the least busy—approaching her was a favor, and here she was, ungrateful!
"Do you know who ordered this? If you delay this task, you’ll regret it!"
She smiled at that. "If it’s delayed, it’s your task that suffers. What’s that to me?"
The man’s temper flared, but Wu Changgeng noticed and hissed a reprimand, "What time is this for idle chatter?"She quickly ducked her head and scurried past, leaving the man glaring helplessly. When her master asked what had happened, she brushed it off with a few words, though her mind was unsettled. She couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched—gazed at from the execution platform beneath the large canopy. A creeping fear took hold. Could it be that the crane’s crest blood wasn’t entrusted by the bereaved family? Or was Anling Ba Wu connected to some high-ranking official, with favors exchanged in secret?
She didn’t dare dwell on it—the more she thought, the more uneasy she became. The conch horn from the southwest corner began to wail, and the legal secretary’s voice rose as he read out the charges. There was no time to worry about such things now. She hurriedly handed the executioner’s broadsword to her master.
With a vermillion mark checked off, the execution was about to commence. As Xiazhi passed by her, she discreetly slipped a piece of ginger into his mouth—a precaution her master had instructed, both to bolster courage and sharpen focus. Headsmen varied in skill; the best wielded precise force, severing the head cleanly without detaching it entirely, making it easier for the bereaved to collect and stitch the body back together. For novices like Xiazhi, perfection was too much to ask—steady and reliable was the goal. A poorly measured strike, the blade lodging in the neck, would bring terrible misfortune.
The hour of execution arrived. The headsmen took their positions, the red cloth covering the broadsword was removed, and the cold gleam of the blade contrasted eerily with the two small red flowers adorning its spine. The crowd, previously chattering and climbing trees for a better view, fell silent. The timekeeper announced, “The auspicious hour has come!” Another cannon blast resounded. The faint whistle of the blade cutting through air was followed by a dull thud. Blood gushed uncontrollably, quickly staining the yellow earth around them.
The sight of the severed head was unsettling. The bereaved family, who had been wailing mournfully, froze in horror at the sight, momentarily forgetting their grief—until reality crashed back, and their cries erupted even more heart-wrenchingly. Dingyi couldn’t bear to watch. The dead were gone, but the living endured pain and torment. Having experienced it herself, it was a nightmare she dared not revisit.
Once the execution was over, unclaimed bodies were hauled to the western outskirts for burial, while those with waiting families were left where they fell. Xiazhi had officially entered the profession. Though he couldn’t compare to their master, at least he’d managed the task. Still, he wasn’t exactly impressive—his legs trembled so violently he could barely stand, and he refused to look back. Leaning on Dingyi’s shoulder, his teeth chattered audibly.
Dingyi quickly fanned him with her folding fan. “Calm down, Senior Brother. It’s over now.”
Xiazhi slumped beside her, his face twisted in misery. Spotting the blood splattered on his sleeve, he gagged and whimpered, “I hate my parents! Even if we were starving, they shouldn’t have sent me into this trade. What kind of life is this?” He thrust his hands in front of her. “Look, see this? Blood on my hands! I won’t sleep a wink tonight. You’d better stay with me!”
She scowled and swatted his hands away. “Can’t you toughen up? Whining like a woman! You’ve watched Master work for seven or eight years, and this is how you act when it’s your turn?”
“It’s different, it’s different…”
She shoved him. “Go wash up and rest. You’re a master now—I’ve still got work to do. Don’t come crying to me. It’s not my problem!”
As an apprentice, cleaning the execution ground was part of her duties. Under the scorching sun, scattering dirt to cover the blood, she had far more toil ahead than he did.They had dismissed him for being in the way, but the high-ranking officials on the execution platform hadn’t dispersed yet, and the area around it was still tightly surrounded by guards. She and a few bailiffs carried mulberry branches to sweep the ground, covering the bloodstains with prepared sand. Flies buzzed in swarms around their ears, the ground scorching hot, waves of heat mixed with the stench of blood assaulting their noses—the smell was truly unbearable.
Just as she was holding her breath and pushing through, a guard approached and called out to her, clearing his throat before saying, “You, drop what you’re doing. The Prince summons you over there. Go and kowtow to him!”
Dingyi straightened up and looked around. Her master and senior brother had already returned to the yamen, leaving only her and a few laborers behind. Suddenly being summoned by the Prince, she guessed it must be about the earlier incident with the crane’s blood. Her heart trembled with fear, but since the order had been given, she couldn’t refuse. She could only respond with a “Yes,” lowering her head and clasping her hands, then scurrying quickly to the foot of the execution platform.
The execution ground at Caishikou wasn’t large, and the platform took up most of the space. As people were about to disperse, a few bamboo sedan chairs stood at either end. Dingyi didn’t dare look up, only hearing the exchange of polite formalities and official pleasantries.
She remained silent, quietly waiting to the side. The guard went to announce her, then returned shortly after, roughly pulling her along. Uneasy, she stumbled forward, dragged all the way between two sedan chairs. The guard shoved her harshly, making her stagger. “Wait here. The Prince has questions for you later.”
She muttered under her breath, “I didn’t do anything wrong. I was just doing my job properly! Questions? What questions?”
No matter what, this seemed like a dire situation. Anling Ba Wu’s head had already been chopped off, yet this Prince was still relentless—clearly not someone easily fooled.
Peeking over the edge of the sedan chair toward the platform, she saw the officials were already exchanging farewells. She recognized the Prefect of Shuntian, but unfortunately, he had already walked away—too far to help her now. She didn’t know which Prince had summoned her. Stealing a glance, she saw two rows of guards escorting the Descendants of the Dragon toward her. Her heart pounded violently, a sense of impending doom washing over her. There was no time to think too much. A pair of gold-trimmed black boots stepped into her line of sight. She hurried forward a few steps and, without waiting for orders, knelt and kowtowed. “This humble servant, Mu Xiaoshu, pays respects to Your Highness.”
The voice that drifted down from above was icy, sending chills even in the heat of July. “So you’re Wu Changgeng’s apprentice?” She answered yes, but the Prince didn’t permit her to rise. He fanned himself vigorously, sneering, “I thought you’d have three heads and six arms! Turns out you’re just a half-grown brat! You’ve got quite the nerve, daring to disobey my orders!”
With Imperial relatives like these, reasoning might not work. A humble admission of fault might be the only way out. She kowtowed again and said, “Your Highness, please understand. This servant had no idea the medicine was ordered by you. If someone had informed me earlier, I would’ve carried out Your Highness’s command without fail.”
The guard who had delivered the order wasn’t pleased and retorted, “That’s no excuse. You didn’t even ask whose orders they were before rudely refusing. Now that things have gone south, you’re trying to shift the blame? Not a chance!”"I'm just doing my job. If you didn't make the instructions clear, it's not my fault." She bowed again to the Prince. "Your Highness is wise. I'm just a lowly functionary, not someone who dares oppose you. Whatever your orders, even if it's a dose of crane's crest blood—no, crane's crest poison—I'd force it down his throat... Forgive my nonsense, Your Highness is kind-hearted and can't bear to see Master An suffer. Though we make our living this way, we're not completely heartless. But Your Highness may not know there are certain rules on the execution ground, taught by my master from the first day of apprenticeship. Crane's crest blood clots the veins, trapping all the blood inside—we Headsmen aim for a spectacular show. One clean strike, and boom! The blood sprays high..." She tilted her head, desperately grasping at straws, hardly aware of what she was saying. Her family had been ruined by the Yuwens, so she had an instinctive fear of these Yellow Belts.
She paused, but there was no response from above—the black boots hadn't moved. With luck, she might escape unscathed; her arguments were reasonable enough. Unexpectedly, the Prince's guards weren't having it. One barked, "His Highness was entrusted with this matter. If it's not done properly, how can he face the person who asked? You've embarrassed the Prince—do you understand? His dignity is worth more than your skin could ever repay. All your talk is about the Executioner's difficulties—who gives a damn about your difficulties?"
Dingyi shrank back. "No need for anger, let's talk this through... I see Master An, though condemned, stands proud—not a hint of fear on the execution ground. If we gave him crane's crest blood, he might not even appreciate it. At this point, when one disregards life and death, the pain hardly matters. Truly."
"Truly?" The Prince ground out between his teeth, "You sound so certain, but I don't believe it. You'd have to die once yourself to know if that's true."
No sooner had he spoken than several wolfish Guards lunged forward. In broad daylight—were they about to murder her? Dingyi's mind buzzed as she stared up in shock—what a fine Prince, with such handsome features and a heart steeped in poisoned wine. To kill her over such a trifle—the saying that the Yuwens bred beasts was proven right here.
The Prince seethed. How dare she look at him? At death's door, and still defiant? Lowborn scum, even if presentable, remained scum. Though her offense wasn't capital, royal dignity beyond common law couldn't be insulted. Offending a Prince warranted death by a thousand cuts.
He glanced at his men. "What are you waiting for? Drag her away! Notify Daxing County to collect the head. It's decided."
Dingyi gasped. Was this her end?
At the critical moment, someone emerged from behind the sedan chair. Unlike the hotheaded Prince, his enunciation was precise, his pace measured, yet every word cut sharp: "Such hot weather, Seventh Brother—why lose your temper over a petty underling?"
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