Chapter 988

Chen Guanlou strolled down the street.

He noticed subtle changes in the capital.

For instance, street cleaners collecting dung had noticeably increased; alleys and roads were visibly cleaner than before. When the Military Command patrolled, they not only managed shops and stalls, but also beat anyone caught urinating or defecating in public with sticks.

After taking several beatings, common folk learned their lesson and now went to public latrines when nature called.

The capital had always had public latrines, built by the yamen. But their usage was low, and no one enforced their use.

In the past, when the Military Command patrolled and saw someone in urgent need, they ignored them. Now, everything had changed: they beat every offender, making everyone scream in pain. Usage of the latrines surged immediately.

Also, livestock running through the streets now all wore dung bags behind their hindquarters. You could skip the bag—but the Military Command fined anyone caught without one. It was said that in the beginning, the fines were so numerous they made the officers’ hands cramp from counting. The Military Command was thrilled—it gained a new revenue stream.

Why had these changes occurred?

Naturally, because the court had issued an order!

Why had the court noticed such minor urban details?

One account claimed a high-ranking court official, traveling incognito, stepped unknowingly onto fresh human excrement—still warm—and was violently disgusted.

Another account said a plague had broken out in a certain region. Local officials, citing physicians’ reports, stated that the outbreak stemmed from deplorable city sanitation: rampant mosquitoes, stagnant water after heavy rains, and delayed corpse disposal—all worsening the situation.

To prevent plague, one must start with basic hygiene.

Upon receiving this news, the court felt a chill down their spines.

The capital also suffered from waterlogging and flooding.

As the capital’s population grew, flooding worsened year by year. Every summer was unavoidable, and the death toll rose annually—figures were documented, no exaggeration.

Court officials and the Emperor feared a plague outbreak in the capital, where over a million people lived; if one erupted, the consequences would be unbearable. Thus came measures: increasing street cleaners, banning public defecation, and more.

It was said these measures were forcibly pushed through solely by Left Chancellor Xie Changling. They cost little—even fines covered the added expenses and left a surplus. In short, a small investment achieved great results, benefiting everyone.

Good governance!

Xie Changling was capable, shrewd, and cunning, surrounded by loyal followers. No wonder Emperor Jian Shi hurriedly promoted him to Left Chancellor to mend the crumbling Great Gan empire.

Walking along the clean, orderly streets, Chen Guanlou’s mood improved.

He loved such thriving scenes—lively, bustling, full of human warmth.

He wandered, ate, ate until full, sampled price changes, then returned to Tianlaomiao to end his leave.

Mu Qingshan saw him and acted as if he’d seen his own parents—overcome with tears of joy.

“My lord, you’ve finally returned! These documents all require your signature and seal—they’ve piled up for a long time. The Ministry of Justice has already sent two reminders. And these files need your confirmation before replying to the Six Gates Bureau…”

Mu Qingshan rattled on endlessly.

Chen Guanlou grew impatient. “I’ve just returned, and you already dump this much work on me? Do you want to work me to death? Don’t you care how I’ve been these past days?”

“My lord, you were on leave, not sick or injured. How could leave be bad? Why would you need care?” Mu Qingshan retorted.

Chen Guanlou fell silent, then argued, “Who says leave must be good?”

“Did a woman abandon you?”

“Get out!”

Chen Guanlou felt a pang of frustration.

But this was his familiar life.

Returning from Xizhou, the unease in his chest faded as he returned to familiar surroundings.

Indeed, work was the best cure for a troubled heart!

When busy, there was no time to dwell on messy thoughts.

Sitting in his familiar chair, legs crossed, head swaying, sipping tea brewed from the finest snake leaves—add a girl singing a tune, and life would be perfect.

This was life!

Mu Yiguan arrived at the office, drawn by the tea’s aroma.

“Old man smelled the tea and knew my lord had returned. How was your journey?”

See—the difference.

Mu Qingshan greeted him with nothing but work complaints—not a single word of concern.

Mu Yiguan’s first words were about his well-being.

That oaf Mu Qingshan, after years of training, still hadn’t learned to navigate social grace. A stupid student—beyond saving!

“Fine.”

Mu Yiguan heard it—something was wrong.

“Has my lord encountered troubling matters?” Mu Yiguan poured himself tea, settled into his familiar seat, and began to savor it, chatting casually.

Chen Guanlou rubbed his head, wondering whether to speak or not.

He hadn’t told Qi Wuxiu about what he’d seen or encountered. Qi Wuxiu—if he heard the cruel truth—would likely spiral into another bout of self-condemnation, sinking into prolonged despair: guilt, doubt, rage…

Better he bear it alone.

“Old Mu, have you ever met someone born with a bloodlust, addicted to killing, who eventually began eating human flesh?”

Mu Yiguan’s expression remained calm.

No shocking words could shake his composure.

At his age, in his profession, he had long seen every horror the world could offer. Human joys and sorrows, in the end, always boiled down to human nature.

He spoke slowly: “Such people are rare, but they exist. I’ve not only seen them—I’ve encountered more than one. I’ve dealt with them.”

In fact, many executioners who excel in their craft have a touch of bloodlust—insensitivity to human blood, even excitement at it—this is a basic requirement. But most executioners grow numb over time.

The kind you describe is another extreme. They cannot be executioners, for they ignore rules, disobey orders, and act recklessly.”

Chen Guanlou nodded vigorously, fully agreeing.

Originally, he’d thought Wang Wu suited the role of executioner—back when Wang Wu was still in his early stages. But what he witnessed in the Xizhou forest proved his judgment wrong.

Wang Wu was an extreme case—his heart harbored a demon. Such a person should never have been born.

“As for eating human flesh—actively, willingly—that’s an extreme within extremes, exceedingly rare. If you encounter such a person, my lord, do not hesitate. Kill him immediately.”

Chen Guanlou was curious. “Did you kill one back then?”

Mu Yiguan’s expression froze for an instant, his gaze distant, lost in memory.

“If only I’d killed him then! I was young then, lacking in every way—even my courage was weaker than now. If I met such a person today, I wouldn’t hesitate—I’d strike to kill!”

For a physician, killing has countless methods—no martial skill or strength needed—to kill unseen, untraceable.