Chapter 402: Killing to Silence Witnesses, Hearts Deserving Death, Defying the Law of the Land, Heaven's Justice Will Not Abide

The Xu clan of Huating, a great family of a hundred years, collapsed overnight, and the news sent shockwaves through Jiangnan.

The first to learn of it was the Dong family, also in Huating. Dong Zuchang, who managed clan affairs, forgot all propriety and rushed frantically into the study.

"Father, Xu Yuanpu has been arrested, along with over two hundred members of the Xu clan—all of them were taken out of the mansion in prisoner carts, Father!"

Dong Qichang was copying the *Lanting Preface* in Chu Suiliang's tracing edition. At the words, his fingertips trembled, and the wolf-hair brush halted on the paper, bleeding out a heavy, dark blot of ink that soaked half the line "I know that life and death are one empty illusion" beyond recognition.

The hand gripping the brush shook uncontrollably, and for a long while he could not utter a word.

"Father, what do we do?"

Dong Qichang steadied himself, then spoke as if waking from a dream: "I will write a letter at once and have it sent by fast horse to Qian Muzhai, asking him to find a way to mediate."

"Father, it can't be sent—the mansion is already surrounded by the Green Crow Army. Even the servants sent out to buy supplies aren't allowed to leave."

Dong Qichang felt as if struck by lightning and collapsed into his armchair: "It's over, it's over——"

"Father, think of something quickly! Do you know anyone in the Green Crow Army? Or we could spend silver—with that many soldiers, there's bound to be one or two who love money——"

Dong Qichang only stared at the ceiling with a bitter smile: "Qian Qianyi, you have ruined us."

"Father, this is no time for sighing, we——"

Just then, the sound of someone ramming the front gate came from the front courtyard.

"Thump, thump, thump——" each blow like a drumbeat, striking terror into Dong Zuchang's heart.

Moments later, the front courtyard erupted in commotion, and footsteps drew near from afar.

"Spare us, military lords! The old master and the fifth master are both in the study, it's just——ow——"

The next instant, the study door was kicked open with a crash. A blast of frigid winter wind poured in, shredding the calligraphy Dong Qichang had just written, and even the scrolls hanging on the walls and displayed on the bookshelves were scattered every which way.

The leading officer stepped slowly into the room, swept his gaze around, and said in a cold voice: "Dong Qichang, Dong Zuchang? Xu Jin, steward of the Xu mansion, has reported you two for concealing land to cheat the public, inciting popular unrest, colluding to defy imperial edicts, and subverting the government. You are hereby taken into custody to await trial in Suzhou. Take them away!"

"How dare you! This is the Dong mansion! On the word of a mere steward, you dare lay hands on the Dong family?" Dong Zuchang shouted ceaselessly, but the Xia soldiers paid him no heed, directly producing cangues and shackles to put on him.

Seeing this, Dong Zuchang's pupils shrank and he shrieked in fright: "What audacity! Is this how you treat the gentry? Without a shred of evidence, you dare to cangue and arrest people—this is rebellion! Release me!"

"Alas!" Dong Qichang let out a long sigh, understanding that anything he said would be futile, and stretched out his hands in resignation.

The new army soldiers saw that Dong Qichang's hair and beard were already white, and that the cangue weighed nearly fifteen jin—wearing it all the way to Suzhou would crush him to death on the road—so they hesitated somewhat.

"Battalion chief, does this old fellow have to wear the cangue too?"

The Xia army battalion commander said: "Nonsense—every last one of them, from three years old to ninety, all wear the cangue and get marched off!"

"Yes, sir!" The soldier deftly fitted the cangue onto Dong Qichang.

The moment the cangue was locked onto his body, Dong Qichang's back bent even lower under the weight.

After much commotion, the people of the Dong mansion were escorted out in a great procession. The column of prisoners stretched over a hundred zhang long, containing not only men but also women of the household, all of them weeping and wailing as if being led to the execution ground.

The common folk of Huating had barely seen off the Xu clan when they watched the Dong family meet their downfall. They were so delighted they hardly knew what to do with themselves—gongs and drums resounded across the county, firecrackers popped in unison, and at one point firecrackers actually sold out.

Anyone who didn't know better would have thought Huating was celebrating the New Year early.

Afterwards, the mansions of Qian Qianyi, Zhou Yanru, Gu Yumu, Xiang Deming, Chen Yutai, Zhang Lianfang, and others all saw the same scene of arrests play out.

In total, over forty gentry families, great and small, were seized, with more than three thousand people implicated—and the number was still climbing.

Every single gentry member who had attended the Yangcheng Night Banquet was taken into custody without exception.

After the land-survey regulations were promulgated, those who had failed to cooperate actively or had paid only lip service were likewise hunted down.

The Qingping Bureau branch offices and the Xia army's garrison forces across the regions could use confessions as evidence to make arrests. Those with bad reputations were the first to be caught; those with good reputations merely had their arrests delayed.

One could say this was casting a net with no escape holes—the gentry of Jiangnan were almost all caught in one sweep.

For a time, everyone in Jiangnan, from top to bottom, feared for their own safety, trembling beneath the thunderous wrath of the Xia King.

Among those arrested were former Chief Grand Secretaries, descendants of Donglin leaders, and men whose ancestors had been great scholars and great collectors. All of them had once boasted resounding fame, yet now they were like condemned prisoners, wearing cangues as they converged on Suzhou.

Since the end of the Yuan dynasty, this was likely the largest-scale migration of great clans ever seen.

Beyond the great families, large numbers of low-ranking scholars in Jiangnan were also arrested, along with the village headmen, local constables, estate stewards, former dynasty clerks, grain tax chiefs, litigation masters, brokerage heads, haughty servants and house guests, clan hall elders, local ruffians and beggar bosses who had attached themselves to the gentry.

The gentry had dominated Jiangnan for over two hundred years, long ago weaving a vast web of interests stretching from top to bottom, across cities and countryside alike. From lowly village corvée laborers and street peddlers at the bottom, to prefectural and county officials, government students, and scholars at the top—all were knots on this great web, linked and dependent on one another, rising together and falling together.

Thus, for Great Xia, it mattered not whether one's family was noble or humble, nor whether one held official rank or scholarly honor—only guilt or innocence counted. The guilty, however poor and lowly, must be punished; the law-abiding, however wealthy and powerful, must be protected.

If they arrested the big fish and let the small fry go, those claws and minions, having lost their source of income and their backing, would never stay peaceable.

They held connections in the villages and knew the ways of officialdom. Not daring to resist openly, they would spread rumors in secret, incite the ignorant masses,

obstruct the land survey, make the new laws hard to enforce, stir up undercurrents, and leave endless troubles behind.

Moreover, when the top-tier gentry fell, a brief power vacuum would appear at the grassroots. These local bullies would swiftly seize power, co-opt the villagers, and transform into unconstrained local evil forces whose depredations would be even worse than those of the old gentry.

Only by sweeping clean from top to bottom, breaking the web and severing its roots, could the poison be thoroughly eradicated.

As for the excessive killing causing social turmoil—that could not be helped. Lin Qian had tried gentle reform; that path did not work. To completely uproot the gentry, one had to endure the turmoil.

In short, when cutting grass one must pull up the roots, and when straightening a crooked stick one must bend it past straight. Since the butcher's knife was to be raised, there could be no womanly softness—the killing must be done thoroughly in one stroke.

During this period, Lin Qian held court in Suzhou, sending out a flood of official documents across the entire territory of Great Xia like flowing water.

Li Shixiong led nearly all the graduates and current students of the Grand Academy's School of Law and Government rushing to Suzhou.

He Kai brought the core staff of the Min-Yue Bank to Jiangnan.

The Finance Department, Tax Collection Department, Public Works Department, Civil Registry Department, and other agencies all transferred large numbers of personnel to take up posts in Nanjing.

These were all preparations for the social chaos that would follow the demise of the gentry.

Everyone throughout Great Xia knew that an unprecedented and terrifying reckoning was about to arrive.

The twenty-eighth day of the twelfth month, at the beginning of the yin hour (around 3 AM).

Before the Confucian Temple, a public trial platform three chi high was erected on the ten-li long street.

West of the platform stood five requisitioned civilian houses, inside which were displayed over three hundred camphorwood chests containing hidden land ledgers, bribery silver lists, and other items confiscated from the various great families.

East of the platform were a dozen or so civilian houses, reserved for the victims and witnesses to stay in—they were already nearly full.

As for the prisoners, because there were simply too many to fit inside the city, they were arranged outside the walls, housed in military tents. Seen from a distance, they looked like a great army besieging the city.

In the gatehouse of the victims' compound, Shen Zhangshi, dressed in mourning hemp with a pair of young children in tow, held the spirit tablet of Shen Laosan in her hands, her expression tense.

When dawn broke, the case of Shen Laosan was about to be heard, and Shen Zhangshi would be the first to take the stand.

At this moment, her expression was half grief, half nervousness.

"Please set down the spirit tablet for now, and hold this to warm your hands."

Shen Zhangshi turned her head and saw that Ye Zhen had come to her side; a maidservant handed her a hand warmer.

Shen Zhangshi's heart fluttered with panic. She hastily rose to bow and, lowering her head, said, "Greetings to the Princess Consort."

"Rise quickly." Gu Yanwu's wife, Wang Shi, stepped forward and helped Shen Zhangshi up.

These three were all women, so conversation was easy. On the day of the temple protest, Shen Zhangshi had been frightened senseless—no matter how others questioned her, she could not utter a single coherent sentence.

It was only through Ye Zhen and Wang Shi's patient comfort that Shen Zhangshi finally told the full story.

Shen Zhangshi took the hand warmer, looking ill at ease. After hesitating a moment, she spoke: "Your Grace, when I go up on the stand shortly, I... what should I say?"

Wang Shi said, "Silly sister, just speak plainly. With the King backing you, what is there to fear?"

Ye Zhen also said, "Do not worry. No matter who is in the courtroom or outside it, just speak your grievance. Tell it as if you were telling it to your own child, or to your husband in heaven."

Shen Zhangshi was briefly stunned, then nodded heavily.

The three sat quietly in the gatehouse. As dawn approached, heaven and earth were shrouded in grey, and fluffy flakes drifted down from the sky, swirling and dancing—a lovely sight.

Baikou spotted it through the crack in the window and whispered, "Oh! It's snowing."

Yueyi shot her a glare, telling her to shut up.

Soon it was around the hour of Mao, and heaven and earth remained a vast grey expanse. Instead, the snow fell heavier and heavier, and before long the ground turned a pale white. From afar came the crunch-crunch of footsteps treading through snow—the yamen runners preparing to summon witnesses.

Suddenly, three signal cannons sounded outside the gate, followed by the call to open court.

"Smack!" The sound of the judge's gavel rang out from afar. All around was utterly silent, with only the soft rustle of heavy snow falling to the ground.

Gu Yanwu's voice carried from a distance: "A month has passed since the temple protest in Suzhou.

As the new year approaches, the people observe the custom of settling accounts before the year's end. This prefect believes that the accounts of Jiangnan gentry harming the people, the accounts of hidden fields evading taxes, and the accounts of lives driven to death—these too should be settled today.

Today's trial proceeds according to the Great Xia Code and the Great Xia Land Survey Regulations—every clause has its basis, every matter has its law.

The common folk may listen, the gentry may argue their case, and right and wrong shall be made clear before all."

Someone murmured approval, and from the sound of the voices, one could tell the crowd watching numbered no fewer than a thousand.

After a moment, Gu Yanwu's voice came again: "Summon the plaintiff Shen Zhangshi, and the defendant Xu Yuanpu!"

A yamen runner repeated the call in a loud voice. The gatehouse door creaked open, and the north wind swept snowflakes into the room.

"Honored ladies." The runner saw Ye Zhen and Wang Shi and started slightly, then clasped his hands in salute before saying, "Shen Zhangshi, it is time to take the stand."

Shen Zhangshi returned the hand warmer, clutched her husband's spirit tablet, and stepped out into the wind and snow.

Stepping out the door and seeing the scene around the public trial platform, Shen Zhangshi was taken aback. She had thought only a thousand or so would be watching, but she saw the crowd was so dense that it packed the entire thousand-yard-long street before the Confucian temple.

The surrounding lanes and alleys—even the trees and rooftops—were all crammed with people. The sea of humanity stretched beyond sight.

Tens of thousands of faces turned toward her at once; tens of thousands of gazes bore down upon her. She felt her breath catch and instinctively wanted to flee, but remembering her husband's injustice, she gritted her teeth and stepped forward one pace at a time.

Beside the public trial platform stood several placards bearing large characters. Shen Zhangshi could barely recognize a few—it seemed to read "Kneeling Is Not Permitted."

Shen Zhangshi walked before the court and saw more than a dozen tables at the head. The man in the center wore a crimson official robe with a cloud-goose insignia on his chest—that was the chief judge, Gu Yanwu.

On either side of him sat the directors of the Adjudication Bureau and the Prosecution Bureau. Around them were the Provincial Administration Commissioner and Provincial Surveillance Commissioner of Great Xia's Southern Metropolitan District, as well as Li Shixiong, who was establishing the Supreme Court and Supreme Procuratorate, and the Prefects and County Magistrates of several prefectures and counties near Suzhou. Further up sat Zheng Zhilong.

On the imperial seat at the center of the platform's dais sat a figure in dark casual robes—none other than the Xia King, Lin Qian.

Around the judgment seat stood Lin Qian's personal guards; in the courtroom were yamen runners; around the public trial platform were garrison troops, along with mounted infantry standing guard on horseback, sealing off the entire area so tightly that not even water could pass through.

Let alone a village woman—even a high court official would tremble at the sight of such a scene.

Only when Gu Yanwu spoke—"The case of Shen Laosan—state the circumstances of the case!"—did Shen Zhangshi snap back to her senses.

"I beg Your Honor to seek justice for this humble woman!" Her knees went weak, and she moved to kneel.

But two matrons had already taken position behind her. Quick of eye and hand, they caught hold of her, and one fetched a round-backed chair, pressing her firmly down into it.

One matron said, "When the presiding judge hears a case, you must answer while seated."

On the other side of the courtroom sat Xu Yuanpu, the patriarch of the Huating Xu clan. Such a sight—a common woman suing a top-tier gentry family—had never been seen in the two hundred years of the Great Ming.

Shen Zhangshi felt as if she were sitting on needles, yet she had no choice but to obey. She then began to recount the events from the beginning.

Gu Yanwu had already asked about the case many times, and Shen Zhangshi had gone over it in her own mind a hundred, a thousand times. Now that she opened her mouth, her voice choked with tears yet her account was clear and orderly, laying out the full chain of cause and effect.

After Shen Zhangshi finished, Li Shixiong asked, "The news that the Great Xia land survey would impose double confiscation—who told you this?"

"It was... it was—it was the estate steward of the Xu manor."

"Ha! Utter nonsense!" Xu Yuanpu gave a cold snort.

Gu Yanwu's gaze shot over coldly: "If you make another outburst, your mouth will be sealed."

Xu Yuanpu had been worn down by a month of Great Xia's shackles and confinement; little pride remained in his heart, and he dared not retort.

Li Shixiong continued, "On the day before Shen Laosan died, whom did he go to see, what did he say, and what did he hear—do you know?"

"He only said he was going to see the village head to ask about the hid—the hidden fields."

Li Shixiong then asked through several points of doubt in the case one by one. Shen Zhangshi vaguely felt that all these questions were leaning in her favor.

She plucked up her courage and glanced at Li Shixiong, seeing a placard on his desk bearing the four characters "Chief Prosecutor of the Prosecution Bureau."

In all her life, the highest official Shen Zhangshi had ever heard of was the County Magistrate, and above that, the Emperor. What kind of official this "Chief Prosecutor" was, she truly had no idea.

The questioning soon concluded, and Li Shixiong summoned in turn the village head, the village schoolteacher Mr. Wang, and fellow villagers to take the stand.

These people had already been interrogated through multiple rounds before taking the stand; their signed confessions were all on record, leaving them no room to deny anything. Moreover, Gu Yanwu rarely resorted to torture—these witnesses and accomplices bore not a single wound, so they could hardly claim they had been subjected to severe torture to extract confessions.

When the Xu manor's estate steward arrived and testified on the stand that the Xu household steward had instructed him to drive Shen Laosan to his death and to collude with the scholars in the temple protest—

Xu Yuanpu finally lost all control. He rose and roared in fury: "Fabrication! It's all slander and fabrication! If you want to kill, then kill—let the whole world know—mmmfff—"

Before he could finish, yamen runners had already stepped forward, seizing him from left and right, while another fitted an iron mouth-gag over Xu Yuanpu's mouth, cutting off the rest of his words.

Xu Yuanpu was, after all, a respectable gentry member who considered himself a man of letters. Being fitted with a bit like a beast of burden and put on display before the public was worse than death to him. He kept grunting through his gag, struggling without cease.

The gentry awaiting trial witnessed this miserable sight and all lowered their heads, secretly weeping.

Xu Yuanpu's son Xu Yingzi saw his father humiliated, fury blazing in his eyes as he roared: "How dare you treat my father like this! He is the grandson of Lord Xu Wenzhen, he is——"

Before he could finish his sentence, soldiers seized him and fitted him with a gag as well.

The device was a small iron bar pressed down on the tongue, stretching the mouth open on both sides. Once fitted, saliva flowed uncontrollably down the chin — a humiliation beyond measure.

Xu Yingzi let out a beast-like roar. When the soldiers momentarily failed to restrain him, they struck him with rifle butts — aiming only at his torso, never his hands, feet,

or face, so as not to leave visible marks.

Xu Yingzi, after all, had lived a life of ease and had his constitution hollowed out by wine and women. He was no match for soldiers who rolled through piles of corpses. Three rifle-butt blows later, he was already beaten into submission, begging for mercy repeatedly.

But with the gag in his mouth, his words came out as nothing but meaningless whimpers. The soldiers thought he was still defiant, so they kept hitting him.

They only stopped when Xu Yingzi collapsed to the ground, breath as faint as a thread, eyes rolled back in his head, unable even to cry out for mercy.

In the heavy snow, the soldiers had worked up a thin sheen of sweat. They exhaled long breaths of turbid air, the warmth shooting out like arrows into the open sky.

An officer walked among the gentry awaiting trial, threatening in a low voice: "You've all seen it. Anyone else who makes a racket — this is what you get!"

Speaking with blade and gun had an immediate effect. The gentry all lowered their heads; no one dared act up again.

Zhou Yanru sighed and said: "Qian Qianyi, you have brought disaster upon us all!"

His words were not harsh, but the use of the full name showed his anger and disappointment had reached their absolute limit.

Gu Yumu wept without cease: "How I regret not heeding King Xia's words — great clans, a hundred years of dignity, reduced to this state. Alas——"

Dong Qichang was already over seventy, old and frail. He had been taken by prison cart from Huating to Suzhou, housed in a prisoner's tent in the dead of winter, wearing cangues, sleeping beside chamber pots, packed onto straw beds with a dozen or so gentry sons from other families. After a full month of such brutal hardship, he could no longer hold on. His vision went black, and he collapsed into the snow.

The surrounding gentry saw this and wanted to call for a physician, yet not one dared make a sound.

On the public trial platform, the proceedings continued. The steward of the Xu household, Xu Jin, was now being summoned.

His son Dong Zuchang dared not cry out for help either. He could only have the surrounding gentry pass word quietly, asking someone to come and treat him.

At that moment, the military physician was tending to Xu Yingzi. He cursed in a low voice at the surrounding Xia soldiers: "You bastards, going for the kill with your dirty blows, are you? You've broken three of his ribs! His internal organs are all badly damaged — how am I supposed to save him?"

The soldiers said sheepishly: "We held back. Didn't expect this dog of a man to be so fragile."

The infantry company commander said: "Doctor, just do what you can to keep him alive long enough to get through his interrogation."

The military physician said: "Nothing else for it." He told his apprentice to bring the afurong.

Afurong was in fact opium. According to the *Compendium of Materia Medica*, this substance had extremely potent pain-relieving and qi-stabilizing properties. Taken after severe injury, it could temporarily suppress intense pain and preserve consciousness. Combined with splinting the broken bones and pouring ginseng broth down the throat to sustain vitality, it was more than enough to keep a man going for an hour or two through interrogation. But it only treated the symptoms, not the root cause — once the drug wore off, the danger would be even greater.

While waiting for the opium, word arrived that Dong Qichang had collapsed and was calling for help.

The infantry company commander smiled smugly: "Oh ho! A pack of lowly beasts — they can't understand human speech, only blades and guns."

The gentry, insulted by the common soldiers they had always looked down upon, felt deeply humiliated — but could only glare in response.

Even more of the gentry no longer dared so much as meet their eyes.

The military physician hurriedly pushed through the crowd with his medicine box, reaching Dong Qichang's side to examine his injuries.

Dong Qichang was over seventy, already suffering from chronic heart and respiratory ailments. After a month of hunger and cold, his spirit had collapsed entirely. He had fallen suddenly in the snow — cardiac syncope, a stroke. He could expire within minutes, and the bitter cold would only hasten his death. There was no saving him.

The moment the military physician touched his wrist, he found there was no pulse. He turned the body over, pried open an eyelid — the pupils were already dilated.

The military physician shook his head: "No saving him."

"Father!" Dong Zuchang knelt, letting out a low, mournful wail.

On the public trial platform, Xu Jin had finished his testimony. He detailed in full the Xu household's role in the Suzhou secret meeting, the Shen Laosan case, and the Temple Weeping case, and briefly recounted the grave crimes the Xu household had committed since the Jiajing reign, as far as he knew them.

If every matter were to be expanded into full detail, the Xu family alone could not be tried in less than a year or two.

But this public trial had stirred such immense popular outrage that Lin Qian had demanded severity and speed, so the crimes of past years were only summarized.

Even so, Xu Jin alone spoke on the platform for an hour and a half.

After Xu Jin withdrew, the three xiucai — Zhang, Li, and Wang — who had led the disturbance at the Temple Weeping were summoned next.

At this moment, a personal guard came up to the platform and whispered to Lin Qian: "Your Majesty, the principal offender Dong Qichang has died suddenly."

Lin Qian's eyelids lifted slightly. He said to Zheng Zhilong: "Go handle it."

Zheng Zhilong acknowledged the order and left his seat, walking among the gentry awaiting trial. Dong Qichang's corpse still lay flat on the snow, surrounded by five or six members of the Dong clan, weeping silently.

Zheng Zhilong swept his gaze over the scene. Dong Qichang's body was clad in a thin, plain garment, his hair disheveled, his face gaunt and haggard. Those hands famed for both painting and calligraphy were covered in frostbite sores, and his body gave off a sour stench of urine and feces. His condition was pitiful in the extreme.

The corner of Zheng Zhilong's mouth curled up: "What a fine old villain — killing himself out of guilt! Did he think this would spare him judgment? Naive! Not a single crime will be forgiven."

"You!" Dong Zuchang jerked his head up, staring hard at Zheng Zhilong, fury nearly bursting from his chest.

Zheng Zhilong turned his gaze to him and said with a warm smile: "What, do you have something to say?"

Dong Zuchang held his gaze for a moment, but fear won out in the end. He wailed miserably: "Why is this so? Why must you treat us this way?"

Zheng Zhilong let out a cold snort, deigning not to reply.

At this moment, the gentry who had attended the Yangcheng Lake night banquet recognized Zheng Zhilong, knowing him to be King Xia's right-hand man. They came forward one after another to plead.

"Commandant, this humble one knows his error. This humble one is willing to surrender his land registers and cooperate with the land survey."

"This old man was muddle-headed and committed a great error. I beg the Commandant to put in a good word before His Majesty. This old man is willing to offer half his family fortune."

"I want to see His Majesty — let me see His Majesty!"

For a moment, all manner of capitulation, pleading, and wailing filled the air.

Zheng Zhilong watched this crowd of gentry weeping and wailing, then said: "What did I say that night at Yangcheng Lake?"

Only then did the gentry recall Zheng Zhilong's words that night: "Don't wait until the blade is at your throat to know regret!"

At the time, they had all taken it for an empty threat. Imperial power had never extended below the county level; the court ruled the realm jointly with the gentry. They had assumed Great Xia would follow the same pattern, and so had paid Zheng Zhilong's warning no mind.

They never imagined Zheng Zhilong had meant every word. Great Xia would rather scrape the poison from its very bones, cut out its own rotten flesh, than leave the great clans and powerful families standing.

This lesson was too bloody, too agonizing.

At this moment, the gentry regretted it to the point of having their livers and intestines wrenched apart, wishing they could turn back time and stab themselves twice at that night gathering in Suzhou.

No matter how they wailed or begged, Zheng Zhilong had only one ice-cold response: "Too late!"

On the platform, Ruan Dacheng was summoned last, detailing in full the crimes of the Xu clan's hidden fields and tax resistance.

Afterwards, Xu Yuanpu's gag was removed, and he launched into a hoarse, desperate defense.

He first invoked the glory of the Xu family's ancestors, then spoke of their contributions to local governance, and then said that after the Xu family was dealt with, tens of thousands of Songjiang weavers would be left without work, and so on.

Unfortunately, the evidence was ironclad, and all of this was useless nonsense.

In the hall, Gu Yanwu kept a cold face and refused to accept any of these useless arguments.

Xu Yuanpu could tell from the expressions of everyone in the hall that these words were utterly useless—from his initial arrogance and fierce threats, to screaming himself hoarse, weeping bitterly, and finally begging humbly for mercy, kowtowing for his life—it took no more than an hour.

In the end, he finally exhausted his strength and had nothing left to say.

Gu Yanwu rose, showed the sentencing opinion to Lin Qian, and Lin Qian nodded slightly.

Gu Yanwu turned around, slapped the gavel, and read out the verdict: "Xu Yuanpu was a wicked gentry member of the former Ming, habitually greedy and cunning, relying on power and influence, spreading harm throughout the countryside, concealing land and grain, repeatedly resisting the state levy—these old crimes are as clear as day.

When the Great Xia established its rule over Jiangnan and promulgated the land survey, this criminal did not submit to the law, but instead, wishing to conceal his private property and secretly harboring seditious intent, actually ordered his household slaves Xu Jin, Xu Zhong, and their ilk to torment Shen Laosan in every conceivable way, driving him to hang himself and die. Killing to silence the witness—his heart deserves execution; he showed no regard for the law of the land, and heaven's justice cannot abide him.

Later, he incited scholars to weep at the Confucian temple, intending to oppose the land survey and overthrow the Great Xia. His crimes pile up like mountains—too numerous to record.

The accomplices in this case, Xu Jin, Xu Zhong, and eighty-four others—whether they carried out their master's orders and inflicted harm, or gathered followers and abetted the rebellion, or tyrannized the countryside and acted with reckless abandon—all aided evil and abetted wrongdoing, and the law cannot show them mercy.

Reference is made to the relevant provisions of the Great Xia Code and the Land Survey Regulations.

This office, acting with impartiality, hereby sentences Xu Yuanpu, Xu Jin, Xu Zhong, Wang Xuesen—eighty-five criminals in total—all to be executed by decapitation according to law, without delay.

All hereditary positions and imperial honors of the Xu clan of Huating are stripped, all scholarly titles and local dignities are revoked, and all family property and landholdings are confiscated in full to the state.

The remaining members of the Xu clan and all others implicated in this case, insofar as they are involved in the crimes of land concealment and resisting the law, shall still be strictly investigated by the relevant authorities and concluded in separate cases—no leniency shall be shown.

This verdict is final!"

Upon hearing this, Xu Yuanpu collapsed on the public trial platform.

This verdict did not say "execute the nine familial branches," yet it was worse than executing the nine familial branches—so ruthless and decisive that even the onlookers felt a chill seeping into their bones.

The verdict was issued, copied out in two copies, and posted by the yamen runners on the notice boards on both sides of the public trial platform.

For a moment, all was silent across the field, with only the sound of wind and snow.

Yahei

Pink Round

Pen