Chapter 371: Without Lord Chen Yan, who could still keep us commoners in mind?

The sky had not yet brightened, and lead‑gray clouds pressed low against the eaves of the market stalls.

The wind, carrying shards of snow foam, rustled against the mottled red‑lacquered doors.

A thin sheet of ice coated the street, creaking under each footstep.

The tea house on the corner had opened its doors; its two heavy wooden doors hung ajar, and the "Qing Feng Lou" plaque above the lintel was dusted with a layer of white frost.

The man who had just entered stomped the snow from his boots, tossed his coarse canvas cloak onto the bamboo rack by the door, grabbed the steaming tea the proprietor handed him and gulped it down, his Adam's apple bobbing, then slammed his hand on the table: "Did you hear the news?"

"Today at three‑quarters past noon, Lord Chen Yan will be at the Lone Willow Tree to supervise the beheading of Zhao Qian and his henchmen!"

As soon as the words finished, the low murmurs in the hall abruptly fell silent.

The bearded man nearest him snapped upright, his tea bowl wobbling so the broth splashed a few drops: "Zhao Qian?!"

"Which Zhao Qian?!"

There was a noticeable hint of confusion in their words.

For a moment they could not recall who it was…

"Who else could it be?" the man who had just entered set his tea bowl down, chuckled lightly, "It's the treacherous Zhao Qian who slaughtered Master Hui Neng in Xi Shi and smashed the One‑Eyed Stone Statue!"

"So it's that heretical scoundrel!!" the younger ones by the window got excited, one of them thumped the table: "What's happening?"

Mentioning Zhao Qian alone, many might not know who he is…

But as soon as the treacherous one who harmed Master Hui Neng is mentioned, virtually everyone in Chang'an knows.

"Indeed!"

The two peddlers at the neighboring table who had just shouldered their loads into the shop were sipping hot tea when the commotion stopped them; the taller, lanky one wiped his mouth, craned his neck toward the ruckus and shouted: "That treacherous Zhao Qian, being one of the Eight Grand Pillars of State, has a power network tangled like roots, so vast—he was previously so arrogant and overbearing, why is he suddenly about to be beheaded?"

His shorter, stout companion also nodded, his eyes full of bewilderment.

"He's a bona‑fide Eight Grand Pillar of State!"

A tyrant who could murder Master Hui Neng openly without facing punishment…

And now, after barely any time, he is to be executed by law?

Truly inconceivable!

"It's not just a beheading…"

The newly arrived man suddenly raised his hand to hush, a faint mysterious smile on his face, leisurely lifted his tea bowl and took a sip; when everyone's gaze gathered, he slowly spoke: "It's to eradicate ten clans!"

The words sent a shock through the entire hall.

"Stop beating around the bush, tell us why!" the short brown‑clad laborer sprang to his feet, the chair legs screeching on the floor, urging.

Seeing the crowd hanging on his words, the man set his tea bowl down, rolled up his sleeves and spoke with increasing vigor: "That treacherous Zhao Qian plotted rebellion, attempted to storm the palace and assassinate the Grand Chancellor, and to seize Your Majesty to control the government!"

He lowered his voice, leaning closer: "I hear he's even drafted a forged edict; once the deed is done, he'll claim the Grand Chancellor betrayed the throne, and under the guise of a Minister of State he'll seize control of the government. By then, the realm of Great Zhou might even be renamed after Zhao!"

"Sss—!"

The room filled with a chorus of sharp inhales, a few tea cups trembled in hand, and the scalding tea splashed onto palms without anyone noticing.

Everyone glanced at each other; the fury on their faces gradually settled, giving way to lingering dread.

An old tea patron seated by the door twirled the chipped coarse porcelain bowl in his hand, and after a moment he trembled as he spoke: "If he succeeds, what then?"

Speaking, he let out a heavy sigh, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes gathering into a knot: "The common folk will surely have no good days left!"

Corruption and perverse law have that treacherous Zhao Qian.

He also harms the people, that treacherous Zhao Qian.

He plunders the populace's wealth as well, that treacherous one.

One dares not imagine what it would be like if Zhao Qian seized power.

Wouldn't he squeeze the very bones of the people for oil?

The man slammed his tea bowl onto the table, his voice suddenly rising three notches, his eyes blazing like burning coals: "Fortunately, the Grand Chancellor is far‑sighted, seeing through everything like fire…"

"That old rogue Zhao Qian thought his scheme was flawless, yet he didn't know the Grand Chancellor had already sensed his irregularities and covertly had Lord Chen Yan keep tabs on his movements."

"At the critical moment of the night, Lord Chen Yan descended with an embroidered‑clad emissary—swift as lightning! In just Half Hour Rest he swept the rebel forces clean!"

The hall fell silent for a moment, and someone was the first to sigh, "That was truly perilous."

Then the room's chatter resumed, but this time every remark was tinged with gratitude for having survived the calamity.

The bearded man by the charcoal brazier gulped a mouthful of hot tea, his Adam's apple bobbing, and boomed: "Thanks to the Grand Chancellor's wisdom and might!"

The short brown‑clad laborer nodded, his coarse porcelain bowl clinking lightly on the table: "Otherwise, how could the late emperor have chosen the Grand Chancellor to act as guardian?"

A merchant in the corner fiddled with a bent wooden hairpin, his smile creasing the corners of his eyes: "His eye for talent is poisonous, and his staffing is even worse! Look at Lord Chen Yan—he handled the matter cleanly and efficiently, without any drag; that's true discernment! If it were someone else, they'd probably still be fooled by Zhao Qian."

"Wait a moment!"

As the praise‑filled discussion peaked, a clear, cautious voice rang out from the corner: "Zhao Qian's net is closed, but what about Dugu Zhao?"

"These two have always advanced and retreated together…"

The question came from the silent elder in the blue robe.

He was old, well‑versed, and knew much…

Zhao and Dugu are indeed allies!

Yet this only mentions the handling of Zhao, while omitting another key figure entirely.

The bearded man froze, then suddenly realized, scratching his head: "Those two are in the same camp…"

The scholar in the blue cloth set his tea cup down, picked up the thread, and answered the doubt: "The proclamation states that Duke of Wei Dugu Zhao, after the Zhao Qian affair was exposed, had already taken his own life out of guilt…"

The merchant in the leather robe at the neighboring table set his tea cup down, his fingers drumming on the table: "A fitting death!"

The old soldier gnawing on a hard biscuit in the corner suddenly coughed twice, his cloudy eyes flashing: "With Great Zhou rid of these two malignant tumors, the future will surely bring peace across the four seas!"

"Indeed." The lanky peddler wholeheartedly agreed, pouring a mouthful of tea down.

The tea patrons all began clapping in delight.

These days, in Chang'an's streets and alleys, stories of the two Grand Pillars of State bringing disaster to the nation have been widely circulated…

It has even already been turned into a folk song.

The short, stout peddler shoved a roasted bean into his mouth, as if recalling something, and asked, "You just mentioned Zhao Qian, the bandit, and his nine clans; where were the nine clans to be executed at the third quarter of noon?"

"Lonely Willow Tree!" the man blurted out.

He hesitated, then corrected himself: "Zhao Qian, that treacherous bandit, is to have ten clans executed!"

"It will still be carried out by Lord Chen Yan himself!"

The man with a tangled beard tipped his head back and drained the remaining tea from the bowl, saying, "Such a gratifying act cannot go un‑witnessed, can it?"

Having said that, he "slap"—ed the coarse porcelain bowl onto the table, rose, and walked toward the door.

"Together!"

The short‑clothed laborer could no longer hold back, grabbed the shoulder pole leaning against the table, and followed.

In an instant, a dozen men surged toward the door, fearing they'd miss a good spot if they were late.

The Lonely Willow Tree execution ground had already been swept into a chilling, murderous atmosphere by the biting cold wind.

The lead‑gray sky pressed down low, fine snowflakes mixed with dust struck the bare willow branches, emitting a whimpering sound.

On the high platform at the center of the execution ground, Zhao Qian was bound with coarse hemp rope to a Wooden Stake; his former Brothel had long been torn to rags, stained with mud and blood.

His graying hair hung loose, a few withered strands clinging to his wax‑yellow swollen face.

The eyes that once always bore the ferocity of a Dark Hawk were now hollow like two bottomless dry wells, letting snowflakes settle on the lashes, too lazy even to blink.

The cold wind poured into his open collar, yet he seemed unaware, only occasionally emitting a few hoarse breaths from his throat, like a dying beast.

Below the platform, a mass of people knelt in a blackened crowd.

They were all members and old acquaintances of the Zhao family, now, regardless of closeness, bound together by coarse hemp rope.

An old man wrapped in an old cotton robe tiptoed to peer into the execution ground, then suddenly tugged at the youngster beside him: "Look over there!"

"It's the treacherous bandit Zhao Qian!"

The youngster squinted for a while, then slapped his thigh hard: "It really is him! That day he used his power to slaughter Master Huineng, and today he becomes a prisoner beneath the steps; truly the heavens turn the wheel well!"

The murmurs in the crowd grew louder, some cursing him for greed and perversion of law, some hating his wanton disregard for life, and others pointing at the trembling Zhao descendants on the platform, chanting "Good and evil will eventually be repaid."

"Master Huineng, may your spirit in heaven open its eyes and see!"

"Zhao Qian and his ten clans are about to be beheaded!"

"The blood debt will soon be repaid; you may close your eyes now!"

A hoarse wail suddenly erupted from the crowd, as a crippled middle‑aged man leaning on a wooden staff pushed forward, tears streaming from his eyes.

Amid the cries, someone—unknown—snatched a chunk of snow from the ground and hurled it hard into the execution ground.

Immediately after, rotten vegetable leaves, clods of mud, stones…

They flew like raindrops over the fence toward Zhao Qian's direction.

A frozen hard clod of mud struck his back; his body shivered violently, yet he kept his head down, as if he had no strength to dodge.

"Everyone!"

"Everyone!"

"Quiet, please!"

"The Supervisor has something to say!"

You Xian, seeing the situation, cleared his throat, raised a simple megaphone, and announced loudly.

The surrounding emotionally agitated townsfolk, upon hearing that Lord Chen Yan was about to speak, suddenly fell silent.

A figure in dark hue slowly stepped out.

The Supervisor stood on the high platform, his jade belt cinched straight at the waist; the dark official robe of the Supervisor bore embroidered shadowy patterns that flickered in the dim light, the biting wind lifted the hem of his robe yet could not move him an inch.

He raised his hand and pressed it lightly, a small motion, then lifted the megaphone and asked, "People of Chang'an, do you still remember the day Master Huineng met a tragic death, when you came before the gates of the Mingjing Department, and I, the Supervisor, made a promise?"

The crowd first froze, then someone whispered low.

"Remember!"

"Lord Chen Yan, you said that day that no matter how great the assistance, you would thoroughly investigate this case and give Master Huineng a just outcome!"

"And you would not spare any ambitious scoundrel!"

Chen Yan's gaze swept over the excited faces, and he continued, "Exactly!"

"Today I, the Supervisor, will fulfill the promise, restoring justice to Master Huineng and to the people!"

"Sorry for keeping you waiting!"

Having said that, he clasped his fists and bowed deeply forward.

"Lord Chen Yan truly is a good official!"

"Without Lord Chen Yan, who would care for us commoners!"

The cold wind carried his words across the execution ground; outside the fence was first a dead silence, then a mountain‑like roar of cheers erupted, shaking the dry branches of the Lonely Willow Tree.

"Sir, the third quarter of noon has arrived!"

You Xian looked up at the sky and said gravely.

"Fine."

Chen Yan gave a slight nod and said gravely, "Cut!"

On the high platform, execution officer Li Tan immediately waved the command flag in his hand, the bright red banner drawing a dazzling arc against the lead‑gray sky.

"Hey!"

Dozens of executioners shouted in unison, their raised Ghost Head Blades falling together; where the cold light flashed, the sound of blades cleaving bone rang out in unison.

Zhao Qian seemed about to speak, but a line of blood had already burst open across his neck.

Those hollow eyes suddenly widened, then he collapsed heavily onto the mud, his disheveled hair soaked in blood, the once‑arrogant skull rolling a hundred meters away, striking the frozen ground with a dull thud.

Immediately after came the alternating sounds of blades falling and wailing.

One by one, heads rolled onto the ground; some still stared with eyes wide open, some still had unfinished words clutched in their mouths, and in the end all were swallowed by mud and blood.

"Lord Chen Yan truly is a blessing to Great Zhou!"

"A blessing for the common folk!"

The common folk beyond the fence first held their breath, then erupted in deafening cheers.

Words of praise rang on without end.

That day, he, Chen Yan, used the people's fury to strike Zhao Qian, laying the groundwork for his downfall....

Today, stepping on Zhao Qian's Human Head, he further accumulates reputation for himself, to become a god!

Don't be fooled by this thing's ethereal intangibility; it will be of great use at a crucial moment later.

Under the lone willow, blood flowed into a river; in the subzero chill it steamed, then quickly solidified into dark‑red ice....