Chapter 1467: Emperor Liu Requests Your Presence

The thrill brought by killing perhaps exists only in that instant when heads hit the ground—the rolling heads, the dripping blood, washing away sins while also giving the watching gentry and commoners a horrifying sense of déjà vu.

Seventy-three people, severed at the neck, became one hundred and forty-six pieces. The terrifying scene quickly doused the near-overflowing fervor in the eyes of many onlookers, replacing it with a kind of fear—a psychological state called awe once again lingered in everyone's hearts. Few could calmly watch such a spectacle of heads falling to the end.

Compared to them, the nobles on the execution-viewing platform felt even more horrified. Having personally heard and witnessed it, they suddenly realized that their power and status were not so secure after all—this realm of the Great Han was ultimately not theirs to enjoy at will.

Many ministers and officials accustomed to issuing orders from high positions were likely seeing such a bloody scene for the first time. Their faces turned pale with shock, and quite a few instinctively touched their own necks, the chill lingering around their throats seeming to grow heavier.

After the climax, everything settled into calm. The spectacle over, the gathered gentry and commoners dispersed in succession under the guidance of government runners and soldiers. Among the fearful crowd, a few excited murmurs of discussion once again spread—there are always those who wish to display their courage through words...

On the execution platform, the north wind blew even more desolately. Runners under the Luoyang prefectural government served as corpse collectors, silently gathering the bodies and waiting for family members to claim them. Only the dripping blood, heedless of the wind and cold, remained a shocking sight.

At the "VIP seats," the silence was finally broken. Seeing that the faces of princes and dukes like Fu Yanqing looked somewhat grim, Liu Xu took the initiative to approach and offer words of comfort. The others also wore varied expressions, and the voices of conversation within this pavilion were noticeably tinged with caution.

Zhao Kuangyin still stood in place, his complexion having already returned to normal. Dongping Prince Zhao Kuangzan stood at his side, and watching the scene of the crowd dispersing in the market, he sighed softly: "It's finally over! I've spent half my life in the saddle. Though I can't claim to have killed like a butcher, I dare say I've grown accustomed to life and death. But this scene today—it unsettles the heart!"

"Dongping Prince is too modest. Such a small spectacle—why let it weigh on you? It's not worth this!" As if snapping back to himself, Zhao Kuangyin turned his head to look at Zhao Kuangzan and spoke softly.

Hearing this, Zhao Kuangzan chuckled lightly: "I forgot—Duke Rong is a veteran of a hundred battles. Leading armies to conquer states, with blood flowing for a hundred li and corpses filling the fields—such scenes are routine for you. Naturally, you wouldn't take this moment to heart!"

"Dongping Prince flatters me!" Zhao Kuangyin's face showed no ripple of emotion as he replied calmly, clearly lacking any interest.

However, his gaze unconsciously flicked toward Zhao Kuangzan. To those unaware, the two might be taken for brothers. Yet in reality, apart from the similarity of their names, they had absolutely no connection whatsoever. Even among the upper echelons of the Great Han's nobility, the two Zhao families had no dealings with each other.

That they could find some topic of conversation this time was solely due to this incident. Zhao Kuangyin was involved because of Zhao Kuangmei, while Zhao Kuangzan was involved because of his second son, Zhao Ji'en.

Ever since presenting Yan and entering the court, Zhao Kuangzan had received extremely generous treatment from the imperial court. For over a decade, his favor and honor had never waned. Beyond high office, noble rank, and lavish emoluments, Zhao Kuangzan had also acquired a vast array of properties in both capitals. Over the past ten-plus years, the Great Han had seen no small number of great wealthy merchants emerge, but what many did not know was that Dongping Prince Zhao Kuangzan was also a millionaire—truly commanding a family fortune exceeding a million strings of cash.

As the father, so the sons. Zhao Kuangzan had two sons in total: the eldest, Zhao Jili, and the second, Zhao Ji'en. Perhaps knowing that the likelihood of inheriting his father's enterprise was slim, Zhao Ji'en had developed from a young age a character of not striving for advancement and indulging in pleasure. From a tender age, he relied on his family's power and influence to amass wealth for his own carefree enjoyment.

For a noble scion like Zhao Ji'en, making money was truly not a difficult matter. But making big money was not so easy. Of course, Zhao Ji'en was not as bold and reckless as Zhang Jin, but he likewise could not avoid participating in some gray-area operations. What was exposed this time was his involvement in the private salt trade.

For a long period in the past, private salt activity among the Great Han's common folk had been very quiet. Not to say it had vanished entirely, but the fact was that few engaged in it—after all, salt prices were low, there was truly no profit to be made, and the risks were enormous. Even when it did occur, it was only in remote regions or borderlands. Among the tribes surrounding the Great Han, the salt market was still considerable, but it was basically controlled by the government.

However, as the court's reform of the salt system unfolded, and as salt prices rose, around this enormous chain of profit—the court ate the meat, powerful merchants drank the soup—it was inevitable that some vultures would also feast on carrion.

Within a mere half year, private salt activity in the Great Han ran rampant with an unstoppable momentum. Even though the court subsequently strengthened its crackdown on private salt, the prohibition repeatedly failed to take effect.

Under Han law, any commoner privately selling one dan of salt was to be beheaded. And following the previous salt price adjustment, this was changed to execution at five dou. Yet even with such severity, it still could not stop people's craving for the profits of private salt.

Given Zhao Ji'en's status, there was no need for him to profit through private salt. In fact, his involvement was indeed not deep. Even so, when Zhao Kuangzan learned of it, he gave him a severe scolding. Then, following the trend of turning oneself in, Zhao Ji'en also surrendered.

Just like Zhao Kuangmei, Zhao Ji'en's final judgment and sentencing hung between execution and survival. Under Han law, either way could be justified—it all depended on how Cui Zhouding weighed the matter.

In the end, both men's lives were spared. Although on the surface, the reduced sentences were attributed to their voluntary surrender, in the eyes of many, Cui Zhouding's sentencing ultimately showed leniency out of regard for the two Zhao families' faces. Of course, this also received the tacit approval of Emperor Liu.

However, though the death penalty was avoided, the living punishment could not be escaped. Though their lives were preserved, the corporal penalties were by no means light. Zhao Kuangmei was stripped of his office, exiled three thousand li, his property confiscated, and never to be employed again; Zhao Ji'en was exiled two thousand five hundred li, fined one hundred thousand strings of cash, and never to be employed again.

Toward such judgments, Zhao Kuangyin and Zhao Kuangzan both displayed an attitude of tacit acceptance, making no further moves to fight for either man. In fact, Zhao Kuangzan even took the initiative to apologize to Emperor Liu, saying that he had failed to govern his household strictly, and heaped great praise upon the court's fair and impartial sentencing.

Of course, backed by the power and influence of their families, even in border exile, Zhao Kuangmei and Zhao Ji'en would not live as miserably as ordinary convicts. But their careers and official paths were essentially destroyed—once stained with this blemish, a shadow would hang over them forever.

Even so, these two were among the fortunate ones. At least they were not among those seventy-three meritorious nobles and convicted officials, and they did not suffer decapitation in the southern market of the capital before the eyes of the multitude.

Perhaps because of this shared plight, Zhao Kuangyin and Zhao Kuangzan rarely found some exchange between them.

Having finished watching the grand spectacle of killing the chicken to warn the monkeys, everyone's interest had waned, and they wished to disperse to their own affairs. However, before they could take their leave and depart, a dark-faced, composed middle-aged man entered—Murong Chengtai, the current commander of the imperial guard.

As a high-ranking noble himself, his presence here was not surprising. But when he opened his mouth, his words made the assembled princes and dukes' hearts inexplicably sink: "By His Majesty's oral decree, the execution viewing has concluded. All princes and dukes are requested to proceed to the Western Garden for an audience with the Emperor!"

The assembled company was somewhat startled, but their faces all darkened. Seeing this, Murong Chengtai smiled slightly: "Gentlemen, let us be on our way. Do not keep His Majesty waiting!"