Chapter Fifty-Nine: I Dare!

The beauty in Wu Xiangjin's arms, Wan Cui'er, was the former reigning courtesan, yet it was Wan Dan'er—the newly crowned courtesan of this cycle—who now opened the door and entered. Her face, her figure, but most of all that tender, dewy freshness of youth, instantly left Wu Xiangjin utterly entranced.

Wan Cui'er, nestled against him, was none too pleased. Yet she had no standing to vent her anger at the patron. Instead, she wrapped an arm around Wu Xiangjin, pointed at Wan Dan'er, then at the door, her lovely face set in a stern expression: "Get out! This is my room!"

Wan Dan'er took no offense; she merely pouted her lips, making herself even more endearing, and cast Wu Xiangjin a coquettish glance. With a sugary sweet voice, she said, "Young Master, the old flowers have withered. You favor only the old and not the new—aren't you afraid people will say you've lost your taste?"

With that, she flicked her embroidered handkerchief, swayed her slender waist, and turned to leave.

How could Wu Xiangjin bear to let her go? Already spellbound by such beauty and that honeyed voice—most importantly, what young lord out seeking pleasure would wish to lose face in a place like this? The courtesan of the night simply had to be his; otherwise, where would his dignity be? How could he continue to show his face in the capital?

He shook off Wan Cui'er's arms from his neck, strode over in a flash, and spun Wan Dan'er around.

With a tinkling laugh, Wan Dan'er collapsed into Wu Xiangjin's embrace and shot a triumphant glance at Wan Cui'er. Her smug little manner delighted Wu Xiangjin and nearly made Wan Cui'er explode with rage.

Wu Xiangjin, ever the connoisseur of feminine charm, did feel a fleeting affection for Wan Cui'er. Seeing her upset, he drew her close as well. With a beauty in each arm, he sat at the table, drinking and bantering.

Wan Dan'er, good-natured as she was, even raised a cup to Wan Cui'er in apology after sitting down. This only pleased Wu Xiangjin further. Wan Cui'er was in no position to make a scene, so she bit her lip in secret and forced a smile.

Outside the pink gauze curtains, night crept in. The evening scenery of the capital—so often lauded and immortalized by poets and scholars—was a magnificent spectacle. While the glow of sunset still lingered, lanterns were lit along every street and alleyway, shining in harmony with the last rays of dusk and reflecting off the rivers winding through the city.

To walk amidst it all was to be dazzled by the splendor.

Unaware, Wu Xiangjin drank far too much, his senses muddled. Half in a daze, he tried to pull Wan Dan'er to the bed for a little rest.

Wan Dan'er refused. Her nails, painted a vibrant carmine, pressed lightly against his temple—a touch as gentle as a tickle, making him all the more desperate with longing.

But she said, "This is my elder sister's room…"

Wu Xiangjin saw nothing wrong with that, but catching sight of Wan Cui'er's sullen face, he relented and allowed Wan Dan'er to lead him away.

His head spun; colors swam before his eyes, and Wu Xiangjin grew dizzy. Half his weight hung on Wan Dan'er as he staggered forward, hiccupping drunkenly. He couldn’t shake the odd feeling that Wan Dan’er’s rooms were unusually convoluted—so many steps up and down, so very far.

Just as his legs gave out, he spotted a bed draped in brocade and collapsed onto it, closing his eyes, eager for sleep.

He could hear Wan Dan’er calling his name over and over, urging him to write something. His mind barely his own, he registered her command to write his name. Feeling something in his hand, he scrawled as told, then tossed aside the brush and, head lolling, fell asleep.

In his dream, he sat in a small boat, a gentle breeze rippling the river, rocking him into a deeper slumber.

Suddenly, a violent gust overturned the boat. Icy water soaked him to the bone, and shivering, Wu Xiangjin opened his eyes.

No boat, no river. He found himself in a magistrate’s court.

At first, Wu Xiangjin thought he was still dreaming. But the sight before him—a stern-faced young man with phoenix brows, an arrow still lodged in his arm, and his own drenched, freezing robes—snapped him to his senses.

He shook his head hard, staring at the young man. He asked, "The Fox Clan's territory?"

Di Ying said nothing, but slammed the gavel on the table, his expression grave. "Prisoner Wu Xiangjin: On the twelfth day of the sixth month last year, you attempted to molest a village girl outside the city, and were stopped by Wu Minzhe. You then personally killed Wu Minzhe! On the third day of the third month last year, you rode your horse through the streets, trampling an elderly man to death. On the twentieth day of the second month last year, abusing your status, you sold fake examination papers to candidates. And this New Year—"

"Enough, are you an accountant or something?" Wu Xiangjin wanted to scratch his ears in annoyance, but he was so frozen he couldn't lift a hand.

Di Ying cut him off, time running short. "For each of these crimes, do you confess?"

"Confess…what? I don't remember a thing. Those trivial matters aren't worth a thought. If you’ve questions, ask my father, Minister Wu."

Wu Xiangjin was about to brazenly admit everything, then changed his tone.

His father had taught him: Do as you will, but never admit a thing—never give anyone leverage.

As Wu Xiangjin spoke, he tried to stand. The chill had stiffened his whole body. Yet as his knees straightened halfway, a sharp gust sounded, followed by a heavy blow to the back of his knees.

With a crash, his knees smashed into the stone floor. He fancied he could hear his kneecaps shatter, and the pain made him howl in agony.

It brought clarity to his mind at last. Groaning and cursing, he cried out, "You’re Di Ying! How dare you interrogate me? My father will have your head—the Emperor will have your head! Let me go this instant!"

But Di Ying only sneered, slamming the table. "Wu Xiangjin, your crimes are so many and heinous that even execution is too light a sentence! Men, execute this criminal at once!"

"You wouldn’t dare!" Wu Xiangjin shouted.

But Di Ying did dare. Even more so did Peng Liang.

As Di Ying gave the order, Peng Liang drew his saber without hesitation. With a single swipe, Wu Xiangjin’s head was severed.

What remained to Wu Xiangjin was searing pain and endless darkness.

Zhao San and the other ten guards glanced at Wu Xiangjin’s head rolling across the floor, wiped the blood from their faces, and shook their hands in distaste.

Yao Cong, meanwhile, struggled to steady his jaw. It took great effort to recover from the shock of what had just occurred.

He had assumed Di Ying’s plan was merely to extract a confession from Wu Xiangjin. Who could have guessed things would end like this—so swiftly, so decisively?

Once he regained his composure, Yao Cong looked worriedly at Di Ying, about to speak, when he saw Di Ying stride quickly from the bench, seize Wu Xiangjin’s severed head, and urge him, "Quickly! To the palace!"

Yao Cong was left speechless.