Chapter 102

I wish he were dead!

After letting out this roar of anger, Jiang Fengyu fell silent, but his tears never stopped. Every letter he wrote to his family was stained with his tears.

That evening, over a meal of Zhangji Roast Duck, he wept uncontrollably—eating the delicious food while sobbing bitterly.

The other prisoners couldn’t take it anymore; they banged on the bars, shouting, “Can’t you do something? Can’t you do something? Is this ever going to end?”

Jiang Fengyu, you deserve to never rise in rank again. You’re not even a man—you should’ve been born a woman.

So effeminate! It’s just beheading! You’ve been crying all day—can’t you just shut up?

So even men are made of water.

The prisoners were in an uproar.

The jailer asked Chen Guanlou whether he should issue a warning.

Chen Guanlou waved his hand. “Don’t bother him. Let him cry. He’s got only a few days left—can’t you let a man weep? The Heavenly Prison has no such rule.”

After eating Zhangji Roast Duck, writing his impeachment memorial, and fulfilling his final wish, Jiang Fengyu finally stopped crying. He spent his last days in silence, slowly sliding toward the end of his life.

As Yu Zhaoan had said, no one could change the old emperor’s decision. Execution by immediate beheading meant execution by immediate beheading. No matter how much the court officials raged, the day of execution arrived as scheduled.

Jiang Fengyu was verified and escorted to the execution ground.

Sun Daoning once again served as execution supervisor, but this time his mood was unusually heavy. He had personally sent off these innocent officials dragged into the case, and his heart was so choked with grief he wanted to kill someone.

He immediately spotted Chen Guanlou in the crowd, pointed at him, and called him forward. “Your prisoner?”

“Sir, you mean Director Jiang? Director Jiang has been imprisoned in the Heavenly Prison all along—I was assigned to guard him.”

“Did Director Jiang say anything before he died?”

Chen Guanlou thought for a moment, then pulled out Jiang Fengyu’s memorial. “Before his death, Director Jiang insisted on impeaching Director Jiang. I didn’t know how to handle it. Sir, could you instruct me?”

He held the memorial with both hands, showing extreme caution.

Sun Daoning stared at the memorial for a long time, then sighed. He took it and said, “I will deliver Director Jiang’s memorial myself. Here are five taels of silver—arrange for the bodies of these officials to be properly buried. If they have families, return them to their homes; if not, give them a decent burial. If the silver isn’t enough, come to the Ministry of Justice and ask me for more.”

“More than enough! Sir, you have such a kind heart!”

“Kind?” Sun Daoning slowly shook his head. He wasn’t kind at all—only pitying his own kind, feeling the same sorrow. If today it were Jiang Tu’s lackeys being executed, he’d clap his hands and drink three cups in celebration.

Watching Chen Guanlou’s blank, innocent expression, he thought: youth is truly good. No useless melancholy, no pointless sentiment. He gave one final instruction: “Do your duty well.”

“I humbly obey your orders, sir!”

Sun Daoning waved him off.

Chen Guanlou summoned the jailers, called in the corpse-bearers, bought coffins, and prepared the bodies for burial.

He glanced back several times. Sun Daoning stood where he was, as if stunned. Chen Guanlou could clearly sense a force within him, restless and turbulent—furious, yet fiercely restrained.

He activated the “Ascension Scripture,” perfectly concealing himself.

As his cultivation deepened, his mastery of the “Ascension Scripture” grew more refined—and its power became more astonishing. To him, energy now seemed tangible. Where there were more people, the surrounding energy grew chaotic. He even spotted a fourth-rank martial cultivator in the crowd.

In the past, he could only perceive martial cultivators below third rank. Above that, they were beyond his reach.

Now that he had mastered the second chapter of the “Ascension Scripture,” nearing its final stage and close to perfect completion, his sensitivity to energy had sharpened. A fourth-rank martial cultivator’s power was like a slow-flowing stream—calm, unruffled, yet endless, gently nourishing the body, washing through tendons, bones, and meridians, as if constantly cultivating at every moment.

Extremely powerful!

Chen Guanlou judged that, with his current strength, he could not challenge a fourth-rank martial cultivator. He could almost see that gentle stream instantly surging into a towering tidal wave, swallowing him whole.

He took a deep breath.

It was time to challenge a third-rank martial cultivator—to test his own worth.

He placed Jiang Fengyu’s coffin in the charity mortuary. In winter, specialists would transport his body back to his ancestral home for burial in the family graveyard. Chen Guanlou had even prepaid the fees—considering it a daily act of kindness, helping the poor Beijing official one final time.

Life returned to its usual calm. Nothing changed except the meager pay and endless work.

He sat in his duty room, pondering where to find a third-rank martial cultivator—somewhere safe, with no consequences—when the jailer Qian Fugui rushed in, breathless.

“Chief Chen, disaster!”

“The sky hasn’t fallen—why panic? Sit down. Speak slowly.”

Qian Fugui gasped for air. “Chief Chen, this is almost as bad as the sky falling. Siantong Moneylenders have come to collect a debt.”

“What nonsense. What debt does Siantong Moneylenders want? Who owes them money?”

“No one owes them money. But someone does.”

The words were muddled.

Still, Chen Guanlou asked, “Who?” He ran through every name in his mind—still couldn’t think of anyone.

“Chief Chen, you’ve forgotten? The one who was just beheaded—Director Jiang Fengyu! When Master Wan was still in charge, he forced you to pay. Later, you helped arrange a loan from Siantong Moneylenders for Director Jiang. Now that Director Jiang is dead, Siantong found out and came here demanding payment from us.”

“Bullshit! The money was borrowed by Jiang Fengyu—why come to the Heavenly Prison? Does Siantong Moneylenders want to die? How dare they come here and cause trouble? Grab your gear—we’re going out to deal with these audacious bastards.”

“Chief Chen, calm down! Chief Chen, calm down!”

At that moment, Xiao Jin arrived at the duty room. He quickly grabbed Chen Guanlou’s arm. “Chief Chen, please calm down. I’ve already spoken to the moneylenders and sent them away.”

“How did you send them away?” Chen Guanlou asked, curious.

Xiao Jin hesitated, looking uneasy, then forced himself to say, “I promised them we’d meet tonight at Guanmei Restaurant. We’ll sit down and discuss the debt properly.”

“Absurd! What’s there to discuss? The debtor is dead. Even Siantong Moneylenders won’t let a corpse rest.”

“But the moneylenders say you personally guaranteed the loan—that’s why they agreed to lend to Director Jiang. Now that Director Jiang is dead, the guarantor must take responsibility.” Xiao Jin grew more nervous, stepping back slowly. He could feel Chen Guanlou’s rage building—he feared it would erupt onto him any second.

“Guarantor?” Chen Guanlou scratched his ear. “You’re telling me about a guarantor? They’re coming to the Heavenly Prison to demand money—who gave them the nerve? Do they think the Heavenly Prison is a soft melon they can squeeze? We’re the ones who collect debts—we’ve never paid a single copper coin to anyone.”

He slammed his fist on the desk, deeply disappointed. The ever-sly Xiao Jin had done something this stupid? A meeting tonight? What a joke.

Xiao Jin shrank against the door, ready to bolt at any moment. “Chief Chen, you don’t understand—Siantong Moneylenders have powerful patrons behind them. Rumor says even the Prince’s Mansion holds shares. Even the Crown Prince’s Eastern Palace has a cut.”