Chapter 107: Feed the Stray Dogs

The heaving chest of Tukesulu seized the drenched, trembling Scorpion by the scruff: “Beast, your time is up.”

His bushy brows knitted tight, eyes bloodshot; his thick arms, forged like steel, hoisted the frail Scorpion high, voice thick with rage and hatred.

Seeing the Scorpion’s ashen face, the old man on the ground blinked in disbelief: “You... you’re truly the Imperial Envoy?”

His cloudy eyes widened, face filled with shock, voice laced with incredulity. His bony fingers trembled as they pointed at Jiang Mingyu, as if facing a ghost.

Jiang Mingyu snorted coldly: “Indeed, I am. Now, will you speak the truth?”

His gaze pierced like lightning, fixed on the old man, voice icy and commanding, radiating unyielding authority. Thin lips pressed beneath his hawk-like nose, his entire being exuded an aura of absolute certainty.

The old man’s dry eyes instantly reddened: “My lord, we’ve finally waited for you.”

Tears burst forth; he sobbed, voice trembling with emotion and relief. Wrinkles twisted across his face, his frail body shaking violently.

“Ever since the Scorpion came to Scorpion Gorge, we poor folk haven’t lived like human beings.”

As he spoke, his fists clenched, radiating fierce hatred. His voice, low and agonized, seemed to tear his soul with every word.

“Over these years, this damned Scorpion has killed how many of us? Ruined how many young girls?”

At this, his voice turned fierce, eyes blazing with fury. Tears streaked his face, eyes red, body trembling—as if he could turn his hatred into tangible force.

“Even my own son died last winter, cut down by these beasts.”

At these words, tears surged again. He shut his eyes in pain, face contorted, heart pierced as if by knives.

He slammed his forehead to the ground, body trembling uncontrollably with hatred.

Jiang Mingyu quickly lifted the old man: “Elder, don’t grieve. I’ll kill him now—avenging you all.”

His tone was sincere, face filled with compassion, eyes radiating righteousness—clearly a man determined solely to rid the people of evil.

At his words, the crowd erupted in fury.

“Kill the Scorpion! Kill this flesh-eating beast!”

They surged forward, voices terrifying, as if their hatred could take form and tear the Scorpion apart.

“That’s right—the bandits of Scorpion Gorge have committed every atrocity. Every last one deserves to be chopped to pieces.”

“Kill him! Kill him!”

Hatred and rage filled the air; the crowd’s cries rose in waves, each louder than the last, desperate to see the Scorpion torn limb from limb.

“...”

As the crowd shouted, Tukesulu, expressionless, slowly drew his dagger.

His hand moved slowly to his waist, rough fingers brushing the cold blade, eyes icy, face devoid of regret—only the resolve to carry out orders.

The Scorpion’s screams came as expected; shards of flesh rained down, and the townsfolk cheered wildly.

The Scorpion’s agonized shrieks echoed through the sky, blood and flesh splattering onto the muddy earth.

The people watched with morbid delight, cheers rising in waves, eyes gleaming with twisted excitement.

Compared to a professional executioner, Tukesulu’s crude, rage-fueled method was clearly lacking.

His brows knotted, teeth clenched, he hacked without technique—only brute force, clumsy and brutal.

After fewer than a thousand cuts, the Scorpion’s upper body reduced to a skeleton, he was already dead.

The Scorpion had long since lost the will to live; his screams grew weak and feeble, then faded as he took his final breath, eyes wide open in death.

Jiang Mingyu waved his hand listlessly: “Dump him outside the city. Let the stray dogs get a meal.” His face showed no mercy; he dismissed the corpse as if discarding a dead dog.

Tukesulu, his white cloak now stained crimson, asked coldly: “My lord, what of the remaining hundreds of bandits?” Blood spattered his body; his tone was calm, merciless, awaiting orders.

Jiang Mingyu replied coldly: “I’d planned to let them live a few more days. But now, it’s unnecessary.” His eyes were icy, voice absolute and cruel—he had lost all desire to spare their lives.

“Bring them out. Execute them publicly. Avenge the dead civilians.” His order was delivered flatly, cruelly, showing not a trace of mercy.

As Jiang Mingyu left Qiuchuan Town, his cart of spoils now carried over a hundred more heads.

The cart was piled high with lifeless heads, hollow eyes staring skyward—chilling, and a testament to his merciless ruthlessness.

The people, avenged, escorted Jiang Mingyu’s army far down the road, reluctant to part.

They cheered passionately, filled with gratitude, trailing the convoy, unwilling to leave.

Watching the distant town, Jiang Mingyu exhaled deeply: “The bandit threat is ended. My heart is lighter.” His brow relaxed, voice carrying ease and relief.

“Issue orders. March back to Shangmu as soon as possible. We have much to do.” He regained his vigor, commanding faster progress toward the city.

After three days of marching through wind and snow, Jiang Mingyu’s troops finally entered Shangmu City.

Jiang Mingyu stormed into the county yamen and immediately summoned Wu Xiao: “Any unusual developments in the city?”

He strode into the yamen, voice urgent, brows furrowed, face grim, sweat dripping from his temples.

Wu Xiao thought a moment: “Three days ago, the Inspector sent a messenger to summon you to the provincial yamen for a meeting.”

He stroked his white beard, recalling slowly, voice cautious yet tinged with worry, eyes sunken and dark.

Dammit, Jiang Mingyu’s heart skipped a beat: “Did they say what it was about?”

His face paled, pupils contracting sharply, voice rising in panic, sweat instantly beading on his forehead.

Wu Xiao shook his head: “No details. Only that it was urgent—asked you to go to the provincial capital immediately upon returning.”

His white beard swayed with the nod, voice calm and certain, yet his eyes betrayed concern.

Jiang Mingyu sighed silently: “Understood. Go.” His brows remained knotted, expression heavy, voice low. After watching Wu Xiao leave, he sighed again, face lined with sorrow.

As Wu Xiao faded into the distance, Jiang Mingyu murmured anxiously: “The Prince of Qi must have learned everything about Shangmu.”

He whispered to himself, face grim, voice tense, fingers tapping restlessly on the table.

“This trip of mine is likely fatal. The outcome is impossible to predict.”

His eyes dimmed, face shadowed with dread—as if he’d already accepted despair. A faint, bitter smile tugged at his lips.

But Tukesulu shrugged: “My lord, are you overthinking this?”

He smiled, attempting reassurance, voice soothing, yet his eyes held hidden worry.

“The Inspector is under He Xiang’s command. He Xiang and the Prince of Qi are enemies—you’ve said so yourself.”

He reminded Jiang Mingyu, expression calm, trying to ease his fears—yet his fingers clenched tightly around his sleeve.

Jiang Mingyu shook his head: “What if this is the Prince of Qi’s scheme to use the Inspector to kill me?”

His brows tightened, gaze heavy, voice laced with dread, fists clenching unconsciously.

“What if he plans to have the Inspector kill me, then use it to strike at He Xiang? Doesn’t that explain everything?”

His speech quickened, tone urgent, analyzing the possible conspiracy—eyes flashing with sharp insight.

“The struggles of these great men—every move is deadly, unpredictable.”

His expression darkened, voice sorrowful—as if defeated by the machinations of power. His lips twitched suddenly.

“Perhaps killing me is just a side benefit for the Prince of Qi—like swatting a fly while gathering grass.”

He gave a self-deprecating laugh, realizing he was merely a pawn in the game of power.

He knew, better than anyone, the power the Prince of Qi wielded.

Jiang Mingyu exuded a heavy aura, fully aware of the monstrous opponent he faced.

Tukesulu fell silent, then finally asked: “What do we do now?”

His eyes were complex, voice low—he sensed the gravity of the situation, body trembling slightly.

Jiang Mingyu paced slowly, then hardened his resolve: “Fate cannot be avoided. If it’s fortune, it’s fortune. If it’s disaster, it’s disaster.”

He drew a deep breath, voice resolute, showing calm acceptance—yet his eyes carried a tragic resolve.

“Tomorrow morning, I’ll head to the provincial capital. Let’s see what schemes the Prince of Qi has cooked up.”

His gaze was firm, voice charged with determination—ready for a life-or-death struggle, fists clenched, knuckles white.

He kept one thought unspoken: If pushed too far, I’ll turn against him.

Jiang Mingyu clenched his fists inwardly, a cold glint flashing in his eyes—prepared to fight the Prince of Qi to the death, lips curling into a faint, bitter smile.

Tukesulu’s face darkened with concern: “Going to the provincial capital alone? That’s far too dangerous!” His bushy brows snapped together, eyes wide, voice urgent and anxious.

“Even if I have some skill, I can’t possibly protect you in such a vast city.” He shook his head helplessly, voice low, admitting his limits. His flat nose flared weakly, lips pressed into a straight line.

“If anything happens to you, what becomes of Shangmu? The people are still counting on you to crush the Xixia.” He raised his voice, speaking faster, trying to stir Jiang Mingyu’s sense of duty. His eyes darted, tone stern.

Dangerous? Jiang Mingyu gave a hollow laugh: “What can I do about danger?” He twisted his lips in self-mockery, eyes dim, voice filled with despair, pale fingers limp on the table’s edge.

“All under heaven belongs to the Son of Heaven. Even if I fled, where could I run?” He asked bitterly, knowing escape was no solution, shoulders slumping helplessly.

Tukesulu looked deeply reluctant: “But—” He wanted to argue, but the words died on his lips, brows furrowed, eyes filled with sorrow, fists clenching and unclenching.

Jiang Mingyu cut him off with a wave: “My decision is final. No more persuasion.”

“When cornered, one finds a way out. Perhaps a chance still remains.” He forced a smile, trying to summon hope—its bitterness plain.

The cold, pale-faced Tukesulu said nothing more: “Understood. I’ll prepare at once.” He fell silent, expression blank, voice icy, merely nodded, turned, and walked away—stiff-backed.

As he turned to leave, Jiang Mingyu said calmly: “You won’t be coming with me to the provincial capital.” His tone was calm, yet firm, eyes sorrowful but unshakable.

Not coming? Tukesulu froze: “My lord, what do you mean?” He spun around, face pale, eyes wide with shock and confusion, voice trembling.

Jiang Mingyu gave a quiet laugh: “I mean I don’t want to drag you into danger. You have no reason to risk your life with me.” He smiled bitterly, gaze warm yet sorrowful, deep wrinkles around his eyes.

But Tukesulu, who had always revered him, walked away without looking back: “Tomorrow morning, I’ll wait for you at the gate.” His voice was firm, unyielding, back straight and resolute, striding away.

Watching his retreating figure, Jiang Mingyu’s lips moved for a long time—but no words came. His eyes were complex, words unspoken, silent as he watched Tukesulu depart, eyes slightly lowered.

Nothing more needed to be said. Jiang Mingyu sighed wearily, knowing fate was set—words could not change it, hands listlessly brushing the table.

Though his heart churned, life went on. He drew a deep breath, reminding himself he had greater duties—could not sink into despair now, eyes regaining their steady light.

After brief thought, Jiang Mingyu summoned Wu Xiao: “Take men to Scorpion Gorge immediately. Mine iron ore. Zhuge Yu will accompany you.” His tone was firm, gaze resolute, issuing orders. Lips pressed tight, brow set with determination.

“This is critical. Bring me the iron ore as quickly as possible.” He emphasized the urgency, hands clasped behind his back, shoulders rigid.

“Also, tell Liu Dagang at the coal mine to speed up extraction. I need it urgently.” His pace was steady, each instruction delivered precisely. Eyes focused, meticulous in arrangement.

“Recruit all blacksmiths in the city. Have them stand by in the City Defense Camp. As soon as Zhuge Yu delivers the ore, begin smelting and forging weapons.” His gaze was fixed, face expressionless, mind entirely on deployment.

“Order the City Defense Camp to prepare. All troops stand ready. Await my command.” His voice was low, tone severe, radiating unchallengeable authority. Lips tight, edge sharp.

“Any who slack off—every last one of them—will not escape my military law.” The final words were enunciated clearly, brimming with warning. His eyes shot out chilling killing intent, his tone cold and cutting.

To prepare for every possible emergency, he had to make all necessary arrangements. Jiang Mingyu frowned deeply, his gaze heavy with gravity; he knew the situation was dire and must be planned for in advance. His lips twitched as he clenched his fists inward.

Should Prince Qi reveal his true intentions, the fifty thousand troops of the city defense camp would be Jiang Mingyu’s only recourse. He clenched his fists tightly—fifty thousand soldiers were his final leverage. His fingernails dug deep into his palms, blood trickling down.

Seeing Jiang Mingyu issue so many orders in rapid succession, Wu Xiao could not help but ask in bewilderment: “My lord, what’s happened?” He looked alarmed and confused, his thick brows knotted, his eyes darting uncertainly.

“Why are you so tense? Are the Western Xia troops here?” he asked, trembling with fear, his voice shaking. He hunched his neck into his shoulders, as if sitting on needles.

Jiang Mingyu had no patience to explain: “You’ll understand later. Go now.” He waved him off irritably, his brows furrowed, unwilling to say more. His eyes were gloomy, radiating agitation.

Just as Wu Xiao was about to leave, a guard outside the door suddenly reported: “My lord, Miss Liu has arrived.” The guard’s voice rang from beyond the door, and Wu Xiao froze mid-step. His footsteps halted abruptly, his body stiffening.