Chapter 837: Political Commissar Submerged and Bound, the Old‑School Colonel Defies Orders

Night wind poured in through the Military Camp's Camp Gate, blowing the oil lamp at the barracks doorway into a slanted flame.

Zhao Tiezhu was bound tightly with six thick hemp ropes, strangling him to the Wooden Stake in the center of the Xiaochang that was used for tethering a horse.

The ropes were tied so tight they dug into his arm muscles, and the tips of his fingers had already begun to turn purple.

The Dark Red Chest Badge on his left chest was half‑pressed by the rope, exposing only the tips of the Crossed Swords.

Torches around the Xiaochang were lit one by one, illuminating the entire Military Camp as bright as day.

Liu Biao stood three steps in front of Zhao Tiezhu, the Horse Whip twirling in his palm, its tip snapping crisply in the firelight with each flick.

"Sound the horn, bring everyone out for me."

The horn blared from the watchtower beside the Xiaochang, sharp and piercing, waking every soldier in the Military Camp's barracks from sleep.

In less than half a cup of tea's time, the perimeter of the Xiaochang filled with the hastily summoned soldiers, some barefoot, some wearing only half a piece of armor, their faces showing the bewilderment of being woken abruptly.

They saw Zhao Tiezhu bound to the stake in the center of the Xiaochang, and they saw Liu Biao standing before him, holding a Horse Whip.

No one spoke.

Liu Biao's gaze slowly swept over the soldiers' faces, the curve of his mouth deepening three more degrees.

"Everyone, look closely!"

His voice rose to a level that could be heard by those at the farthest edge of the Xiaochang.

"This is the damn Political Commissar the Zongguan Fu sent!"

He flicked the tip of his Horse Whip against Zhao Tiezhu's chest badge, the bronze metal emitting a light clink.

"On my turf, you dare demand accounts from me, you dare question why I don't issue winter clothing!"

He spun the Horse Whip in the air, raising his voice three more notches.

"Today I'll show you all who's in charge of this camp—whether it's this broken piece of copper or my blade!"

The Horse Whip rose.

Whack!

The whip tip struck Zhao Tiezhu's right shoulder, tearing a slit in the padded cloth, exposing raw flesh, a bright red wound stretching from the shoulder down his arm.

Zhao Tiezhu's body convulsed violently at the instant of the strike, his lips clenched, and a muffled groan forced out between his teeth.

Liu Biao's voice carried a chilling thrill that seemed to seep into one's very bones.

"Does it hurt?"

Zhao Tiezhu gave no reply, his jaw grinding, blood flowing from the shoulder wound down his arm and dripping onto the Mudi below his feet.

Whack!

The second lash struck his chest beside the Dark Red Chest Badge, blood droplets splashing onto its lacquer, darkening the Crossed Swords even further.

A suppressed howl of pain rose from Zhao Tiezhu's throat; his body arched like a shrimp, then his back snapped back upright.

Liu Biao pressed the handle of the Horse Whip against Zhao Tiezhu's chin, lifting his face.

"Admit your mistake."

Zhao Tiezhu's eyes were rimmed with blood vessels, a trace of frothy blood at his mouth corner.

Liu Biao's voice deepened another two notches.

"Tell everyone loudly, you Political Commissar are nothing but a fart; the accounting issue is because you don't know the rules, and the winter clothing matter is none of your business."

His fingers twirled once around the whip handle.

"Fine, I'll let you off today; everyone's face will look better."

Zhao Tiezhu's lips moved slightly.

Liu Biao withdrew the whip handle from his chin, cocked his head and leaned in.

"What did you say? Speak up."

Zhao Tiezhu spat a mouthful of frothy blood, spitting it precisely onto Liu Biao's boot.

"I damn you, you old hag's leg."

His voice was low, yet in the silent Xiaochang each word reached every soldier's ear clearly.

Liu Biao's complexion turned a steel‑blue mix of shock and fury the instant the blood foam hit his boot.

"You motherfucker!"

The Horse Whip, like a maddened snake, snapped repeatedly, each lash driven by Liu Biao's full arm strength, the whoosh of the tip echoing across the Xiaochang.

Three lashes.

Five lashes.

Seven lashes.

Zhao Tiezhu's padding was shredded into strips, flesh on his chest and back ripped open, blood gushing from the wounds, staining the Mudi beneath the stake a deep crimson.

His throat could no longer howl; his mouth was filled with frothy blood and broken teeth, yet his eyes remained open, the blood‑veined pupils fixed on Liu Biao's face, his mouth corner curled in a shape still recognizable despite being smeared with blood and mud.

The soldiers around the Xiaochang watched the scene; some clenched fists at their sides, some felt their Adam's apples bob, some bowed their heads, unable to watch further.

A young soldier in the third row wore boots with holes, his frost‑blue toes sticking out of the gaps.

His fingers gripped and released the shaft of his waist‑mounted Long Spear repeatedly, the veins at his temples pulsing like two worms roasted over fire.

On a small earthen mound two li outside the Military Camp, two figures vanished into the shadows of the bushes.

Chen Yan crouched behind the bushes, the Qianli Mirror pressed to his right eye, the image within magnifying every detail of the Xiaochang to razor‑sharp clarity.

Gu Yu Ci crouched beside him, hand on his sword hilt, his jaw grinding.

"Minister, Zhao Tiezhu can't hold on much longer; Shuyi can still rush in with men."

Chen Yan lowered the Qianli Mirror from his eye, his voice cold as winter well water.

"Watch."

Gu Yu Ci leaned forward two inches.

"Pillar of the State, that kid has already been flogged with at least ten lashes; if we keep beating him, someone will die!"

Chen Yan's gaze passed over the tops of the bushes and fell on the bloodied man tied to a Wooden Stake on the Xiaochang of the distant Military Camp.

"If he can't even get through this trial, he doesn't deserve to wear that chest badge."

Gu Yu Ci pressed his lips together, tapped the hilt of his blade twice with his fingers, and finally said nothing more.

Chen Yan reattached the Qianli Mirror to his right eye.

Within the mirror, Liu Biao's Horse Whip finally stopped, not because his hand was weak, but because he was tired.

He tossed the Horse Whip onto the ground and drew a Horizontal Blade from his waist.

The blade glinted coldly in the firelight; Liu Biao held the Horizontal Blade across Zhao Tiezhu's throat, the edge pressed against the skin of his Adam's apple, and a half‑inch push forward would cut the throbbing carotid artery.

"One final chance."

Liu Biao's voice dropped to its lowest, carrying a butcher's casual indifference before a kill.

"Confess, or die?"

Zhao Tiezhu's lips moved twice, and the froth of blood in his mouth solidified at the corners into two dark‑red lines.

What churned in his eyes was not fear.

It was iron.

It was every word spoken by that voice beside the Jiangwu Hall bonfire, each one forged into the iron within the cracks of his bones.

He thrust his neck hard toward the blade, and the skin over his Adam's apple was cut with a shallow line of blood.

Then he opened his mouth.

His voice was hoarse to the point of breaking, yet each word sounded as if hammered from the Iron Anvil deep within his chest.

"Brothers!"

All eyes on the Xiaochang turned toward him in a sweep.

"Pillar of the State gave you fields! Gave you grain! How long will you keep letting him bully you like dogs?!"

His voice burst out from beside the Wooden Stake, surged across every pair of ears on the Xiaochang, and slammed into the chest of each militia soldier.

The young militia soldier in tattered boots clenched the shaft of his Long Spear until his knuckles turned white.

Liu Biao's Horizontal Blade paused for a heartbeat on Zhao Tiezhu's throat.

A mass denser than murderous intent flashed in his eyes.

"Looking for death."

He pushed the Horizontal Blade forward by two inches.