Chapter Twenty-Seven: Venturing Alone into Danger

Unlike Li Linfu’s villa in Yangzhou, the mansion of Li Zhongting—whose family had amassed generations of wealth—stood within the city, encircled by two towering walls. Inside were eight hundred estate retainers and dozens of elite guards, forming a veritable private army. The so-called unified rule of a feudal dynasty was often tight at the center and loose at the edges: the imperial court wielded centralized power, but in the provinces, the great families held sway. In truth, it was the gentry who governed the people, not the bureaucratic officials. The Tang dynasty was at its zenith, a vast improvement over the chaos at the end of the Sui, when nine out of ten shepherds were destitute, yet the power of the rural gentry remained formidable.

A summer rain, once gentle, had swelled into a torrent. Yu Lang, clad in a rain cape, stood ten yards from the gates of the Li mansion, lost in thought, unable to decide how to rescue Qingqing. The keen dagger in his hand brought him little confidence. The eight hundred retainers and dozens of guards here were not the half-starved bandits of Beigu Mountain; their discipline and equipment were excellent, and their morale, fired by the duty to protect their home, was high. Yu Lang had no chance of success if he charged in alone.

Moreover, the estate’s commoners were all lawful citizens. Even if Yu Lang possessed superhuman powers and slaughtered everyone in the Li household, he could never escape the law of the Tang. There would be no way out.

Legal channels were closed to him. Xie, the county magistrate, was a local official bound to the Li family, and in this matter, Yu Lang’s side was clearly at fault. Qingqing had burned a man to death; that much was undeniable. Perhaps the corpse had been dug up from some forgotten grave to serve as evidence, but once the magistrate issued his verdict, the case was sealed. All this had happened while Yu Lang was participating in the entrance examination at the Moon-Washing Academy, proof that Li Zhongting, that old fox, had planned it meticulously. The only person Yu Lang could turn to for help in Yangzhou, Du Fu, was busy grading papers, and Yu Lang could not even send a message into the academy.

Yu Lang’s anger gave way to calm restraint, and then to resignation: I am not a god; some things simply cannot be done, however much I wish it otherwise.

“Report, sir! The Yu boy is kneeling outside the estate, asking for an audience!”

Li Zhongting set down his teacup, incredulous. “You say Yu Lang is kneeling outside, not bursting in with a blade to rescue her?”

“Haha, well, well, cough, cough.” Li Zhongting laughed aloud, but his old ailment was triggered, and he coughed uncontrollably, tears streaming down his aged face. “That boy was so arrogant when he slaughtered people on Beigu Mountain. Pity my son Wenshan died young—this grudge, I will repay tenfold upon him.”

“Let it be known: after three hours of kneeling, I will see him myself.”

“Yes, sir!”

In the pouring rain, Yu Lang knelt in the mud for three hours. The ache and weakness faded, leaving only emptiness and numbness. He was powerless against them, yet he had to save Qingqing. All he could do was bow and beg, even if it meant trading his life for hers—at least he would be true to himself.

He hated his own impotence, hated the blind heavens, hated this era where lives were as cheap as grass. In the end, all his rage was washed away by the endless rain, leaving only a stagnant pool of despair.

A servant from the Li household came out, holding an umbrella. “Young Master Yu, our lord has time now; please come inside for a meeting.”

Li Zhongting, smiling, glanced at Yu Lang, soaked and spattered with mud. “What brings the Imperial Guard Captain to my door today?”

Yu Lang straightened himself with difficulty. “Please release Qingqing. This matter has nothing to do with a young woman like her. If you must punish someone, let it be me.”

Li Zhongting looked with pity at Yu Lang, now less than a drowned dog, and slowly shook his head. “Impossible. You were personally appointed by the Prefect as an Imperial Guard Captain, and you are about to enter the Moon-Washing Academy—an asset to the future of our dynasty. How could I, an old man, harm the foundation of the Tang? As for Zhang Qingqing, she committed murder and arson. If I do not execute her, I cannot answer to my tenants. I hope you can understand.”

Yu Lang spoke calmly. “Zhang Qingqing is a Zhang, unrelated to my family. Setting fire to the general store was my idea alone, but I was occupied at the academy, so I asked her to do it. I am the true mastermind. Please, Master Li, see the truth.”

“Steward, record what Young Master Yu just said and have him sign it.”

“No need. I will write it myself.” Yu Lang, with great effort, wrote out his confession and signed his name. Just yesterday, he had written with pride as a student of the Moon-Washing Academy; now, a day later, he wrote a confession of guilt.

Li Zhongting picked up the confession, blew it dry, and read it carefully. “Young Master Yu writes a fine hand. Even this confession is elegant and fluent—a great talent, truly. What a shame.”

The old man’s face was full of malice. “With this confession, you and Zhang Qingqing will die together.”

Yu Lang feigned weakness and terror, collapsed, then rolled sideways and seized Li Zhongting’s throat from behind.

The guards in the hall, assuming Yu Lang was half dead, had let their guard down, and no one reacted.

Yu Lang laughed bitterly, voice hoarse. “Li Zhongting, I didn’t expect your old bones to be so brittle, but your throat is soft and springy—it makes one want to squeeze harder.”

Li Zhongting, who had lived a life of comfort, had never been so terrified. He forced himself to remain calm. “Don’t try to trick me, boy. If you harm me here, you won’t leave this mansion alive.”

“If I let you go, I’ll die with Qingqing anyway. Since I’m doomed, I might as well take you with me. The road to the underworld will be less lonely.” He tightened his grip.

Li Zhongting’s face turned red as he choked for help.

The guards drew their swords, surrounding Yu Lang.

Yu Lang shouted, “Back off!”

The murderous rage in his voice was so intense that the guards involuntarily retreated half a step.

Li Zhongting, now truly afraid, asked in a trembling voice, “Tell me what you want. I will do as you say—just spare me.”

“Write a statement declaring Qingqing innocent. Release her.”

“Yes, yes! Steward, do it now! Quickly, bring Qingqing here!”

Within the time it took for incense to burn, Qingqing, disheveled and dirty, was led out by two servants.

The moment Qingqing saw Yu Lang, she understood what had happened and refused to leave.

“I failed to protect Yu Chaoran, but this time, I will protect you,” Yu Lang commanded softly but with unyielding resolve.

“Go!”

“No!”

“Come on, I’m hungry. Go home and cook for me. I’ll eat when I get back.” Yu Lang suddenly spoke with gentle affection.

“Please, persuade her.” This tenderness did not extend to Li Zhongting, who, gripped by Yu Lang, cried out, “Yes, Qingqing, Young Master Yu will stay to talk with me—go home and cook first.”

Qingqing gazed deeply at Yu Lang, then turned and walked into the pouring rain without looking back.

Half an hour later, Yu Lang released Li Zhongting and let the guards knock him down. Now, utterly exhausted, he had no will to fight. The phrase “an eye for an eye, when will it end” drifted through his mind; he only wished to die in Li’s mansion.

Li Zhongting, who had always maintained his dignity, was thoroughly humiliated before his servants, and his hatred for Yu Lang deepened. Gnashing his teeth, he ordered the guards to beat Yu Lang for dozens of strokes, until he lost consciousness, then had him thrown into the private dungeon.

It was not mercy that spared Yu Lang’s life; Li Zhongting wanted him to suffer punishments worse than death, to regret ever opposing the Li family, to regret even being born.

Yu Lang’s last message to Qingqing, hidden in his words—“I’m hungry”—was a reminder that only Du Fu could save him.

He gambled that Li Zhongting’s hatred would keep him alive for a while, so that Du Fu would have time to rescue him.

But Li Zhongting, an old fox with decades of experience, saw through Yu Lang’s ploy. He had already decided to torture Yu Lang to death that very night.