Chapter 145

At the three-army parade ground, six hundred thousand Jin soldiers gathered like a tidal wave, their might overwhelming and their presence majestic. In the center of the ground, the towering command platform rose into the clouds.

The man standing atop it had an unobstructed view, able to see every soldier below.

Yet the figure standing on this grand, imposing platform today was neither a general commanding legions and swallowing mountains and rivers, nor an imperial envoy representing the court’s dignity and the emperor’s power.

The man on the platform was a prisoner, bound naked and wrapped in a fishnet. Beside him stood another prisoner, holding a small knife, ready to execute.

“Soldiers! A group of traitors spread rumors at the brink of our great battle, sowing discord and poisoning the minds of our lords. Now, their ringleader has been captured alive. The moment we caught him, we cut out his tongue—see how he can no longer spread his heresies.”

“Soldiers! These traitors spread lies to incite you to rebel. When you rise up, they hide behind you. If you succeed, they step forward to enjoy wealth and glory; if you fail, they vanish. Look at him—left alone here by his own comrades. He’s about to be flayed alive, a thousand cuts. Where are his comrades? Who dares step forward?”

“All his comrades stand there, watching him being flayed alive. Even his sworn brothers treat him like this. What do you think they’ll do to you? Let me tell you: those who incited you to rebel are tricking you fools into trading your lives for their riches. Do any of them step forward? Anyone? Anyone?”

“Yes.”

That single answer was quiet, yet it exploded like thunder through the Jin army camp.

The crowd instinctively turned toward the voice. A man, seemingly shabby and cowardly, slowly walked toward the command platform. The people around him automatically parted to let him pass.

Li Gouer, his tongue cut out, stared wide-eyed at the approaching man—it was Wang Dayan, the man who had spoken to him just days ago. Why had this greedy, cowardly fool stepped forward?

“Seize this traitor! Cut him to pieces like the other one—flay him alive!”

“Hahahaha! You think killing me, flaying me alive, will frighten the others? You don’t understand—we poor wretches have lived since birth with a sharp knife piercing our flesh, piercing our hearts. We’ve already been flayed a thousand times.”

“Soldiers! Let me tell you: the day of these Jurchen nobles and landlord masters is ending. The Revolutionary Army will soon crush them, liberate our homes and families. Then every man will have land to till, meals to fill his belly, no more kneeling before corrupt officials to endure their insults. Can you imagine what kind of heaven this would be?”

Wang Dayan raised his arms and shouted to all.

“Cut out his tongue! Stop him from speaking!”

If he keeps talking, the army’s morale will shatter.

Dozens of massive, broad-shouldered Jin soldiers, clad in heavy armor, surged forward and surrounded him, swiftly pinning him down so he could not move.

One soldier gripped his jaw tightly; another swiftly drew his blade and cut.

The entire scene brimmed with tension and deadly solemnity, chilling all who watched.

Wang Dayan, his tongue severed, bled profusely from his mouth, yet he smiled at the officer on the platform—you silence me more, the more you prove I speak the truth.

Though his tongue was gone, his words had become iron reality before their eyes.

Seeing Wang Dayan’s smug smile, the officer flew into a rage and roared to the soldiers: “Strip him naked! Bind him in a fishnet! Three thousand five hundred and ninety-seven cuts—not one less!”

Li Gouer stared at Wang Dayan, bound to the same post, wondering how this man, always scheming for petty gains, had so willingly given up his life.

Wang Dayan met Li Gouer’s confused gaze with a serene smile. Could a man who chased every small advantage possibly pass up the chance to be a hero?

When the knife first cut his skin, the two men exchanged a smile.

They could use violence to force them to kneel like dogs.

They could use violence to seize the grain they had labored a year to grow.

They could use violence to make them carry their own rations to serve them.

It seemed they could make them do anything they wished—flaying was agony.

But was it more painful than watching your father beaten to death by a landlord for failing to pay rent?

Was it more painful than starving every day, so exhausted your chest pressed against your back, yet getting nothing to eat?

Or was it more painful than watching your mother die of illness, unable to afford medicine?

Which of these sufferings was not a slow flaying of the soul? If only no one else in this world would ever endure the same.

The Jin soldiers below watched silently as the two men were flayed alive.

In the cold wind, the open wounds made them shudder—but neither man screamed or groaned.

One hundred cuts. Two hundred. Three hundred. Their bodies covered in dense, bloody scars, the executioners kept going.

Then, as the three hundred fifty-fourth cut was made, a bolt of lightning struck the executioner dead center.

A blinding white light blinded everyone. When they opened their eyes again, the two men on the platform had vanished.

“The heavens saved them! The Revolutionary Army has divine aid!”

“Yes! Yes! Those two executioners have killed countless men—but only now did heaven strike them down with thunder!”

The two executioners were struck by lightning. After the flash of white light, the two men being flayed vanished before the eyes of six hundred thousand soldiers.

Even in modern times, people would kneel and bow at such a sight—how much more so in this superstitious age?

Emperor Wen of Han, who founded the Wenjing era, once asked not about the people but about ghosts and spirits. Qin Shi Huang and Han Wu Di spent fortunes chasing immortality.

As for common folk, they believed without doubt—why else would every peasant rebellion resort to sorcery? Why else mimic fox cries at midnight or slip notes into fish bellies?

This supernatural sign to the six hundred thousand Jin soldiers was no less than a thunderclap from a clear sky: the Jin had lost virtue; the Mandate of Heaven had been revoked.

The Revolutionary Army’s uprising to destroy the Jin was Heaven’s will. To fight them was to defy Heaven. Now, these men must follow Heaven’s decree.