Chapter 243

Pan Yun smiled: "Feeding insects, don't you know this forest has so many corpses it's teeming with bugs? From my observations, there are centipedes, horseflies, ticks—oh, and poison ants. You've fed them well these past few years; they're long familiar with your scent. I wonder—do they prefer the blood and flesh of corpses, or plain steamed buns… or living human flesh?"

Song Bei's muscles trembled involuntarily, his lips pale. "Pan Sanzhu, I've done you no harm—why are you so cruel to me?"

Pan Yun crushed the steamed bun in her hand without expression. "Who said we have no grievance? You killed my compatriots, plundered my brothers and sisters—this great national hatred lies right here, and you pretend not to see it."

Song Bei sneered: "Seven or eight out of ten of your country's pirates are Great Ming people. You don't hate those big powers—you come after us, the small ones. Clearly, you're bullying the weak and fearing the strong."

Pan Yun: "That's our internal affair—what business is it of yours, an outsider?"

Pan Yun looked down at him, her voice a low warning: "Mind your own affairs. Don't meddle in others'. Don't try to take advantage of their misfortune, break into their homes to steal, then seize their houses. Beware—do this, and you'll face eternal ruin."

With that, she turned to leave.

A chill swept over them.

Including Song Bei, every Japanese pirate stripped bare wore only a small cloth loincloth; now the cold wind struck, freezing them to the bone.

Song Bei hurriedly called out to her. After several shifts in expression, his face softened. "Please, Master Sanzhu, give me a set of clothes to keep out the cold."

Pan Yun turned back, glanced at him, then laughed. "I forgot—you're terrified of chills, aren't you? After all, catch a cold, and you'll die."

In the Ming era, though medicine had advanced, the death rate from colds remained high—especially in Japan.

Japanese medicine? If a citizen caught a cold, they were essentially waiting to die.

Pan Yun went to his cart, retrieved a bundle, and tossed it beside him.

But he was bound all over; he could barely lift his upper body, let alone move—his hands were tied behind his back, and when he strained to reach, he couldn't grasp it.

Pan Yun squatted beside the bundle. "Master Song Bei, let's chat. I ask, you answer. If I feel your replies are sincere, if you tell the truth—I'll give you a garment. How about that?"

Song Bei looked at her. "Master Sanzhu doesn't seem like a Great Ming person at all."

Pan Yun nodded. "I know. Most Great Ming commoners are kind and forgiving—even when they hate Japanese pirates, they still feel pity when they see you in distress. Too bad—I never inherited that virtue. In cruelty and ruthlessness, I resemble you."

"No—you're shameless," Song Bei said calmly. "I thought though we had national conflicts, between you and me personally, there was some rapport."

"When you first entered the city and were harassed, I warned you. When we met again at the Peaceful Inn, I cared for you. No matter how I treated others, I treated you well—truly, sincerely, I wanted to cooperate with you."

"You used money stolen from my home to hire me to deliver weapons—then used those weapons to kill my kin and plunder my property. Do you think paying money means I should be grateful to you?"

Song Bei was speechless.

Beside them, Zhu Zixun heard this, collapsed onto the ground in utter despair, limbs limp, staring blankly at the sky.

Pan Yun's words made him question himself—had he truly been wrong? So terribly wrong?

Pan Yun opened the bundle, pulled out an undergarment. "Ten breaths to decide. Answer me, and we continue. Refuse, and I leave—I'm busy."

She smiled lightly. "Just a cold breeze—it won't necessarily give you a cold. Why not take the gamble, Master Song Bei?"

She looked up at the clouds, swaying her head. "A north wind howls all night—I've calculated with my fingers—tonight, a fierce north wind is coming~~"

With that, she began counting: "Ten, nine…"

Song Bei clenched his fists tightly. If this were anyone else, he might have pretended compliance, spun lies later—but she's a Daoist Priest, and one with real cultivation and magical skill.

She recognized him as a Japanese at first glance. He didn't think his disguise was flawed—this was metaphysical.

So he dared not gamble. He felt clearly: if he agreed, there would be no turning back. No lies. No easy escape.

"Six, three…"

Song Bei's eyes widened. "Where are five and four?"

Pan Yun looked at him with a half-smile, continued counting—and sped up: "Two, one…"

"I agree," Song Bei's voice merged almost exactly with her "one."

Pan Yun snorted. "Too bad—you snatched it. I just remembered: your Gray Robes aren't mute—they're just pinned and bound. You don't speak? I can ask them too."

"Not everyone is so steadfast they can endure cold and insect bites."

Song Bei fell silent. The Gray Robes tied nearby could only stare at Pan Yun, their eyes pleading—but their glances were too complex; she couldn't read them.

She let out an "Ah!" and laughed. "I just thought of a fun game. I'll seal their hearing—make them unable to hear us. After I finish questioning you, I'll question them. Then I'll know who lied and who told the truth. Those who speak truth—I reward with clothing, spare them from insects. Those who lie—I cut a wound on them and drop in a bug. How's that?"

The more she spoke, the more she liked the idea. She pulled out the insect-attracting powder made by Miaohe, and called toward a tree: "Pan Xiaohei, how much longer are you going to hide up there?"

Pan Xiaohei strolled slowly from behind the leaves, leapt down with a few bounds, and watched her calmly.

Pan Yun handed him the powder. "I've never met a cat more afraid of death than you. Take this—lure some insects. Remember: only poisonous ones."

Pan Xiaohei stared at the powder with clear disgust. But he'd hidden through the entire battle—so he felt guilty. Still, he picked up the packet and trotted into the forest.

As soon as he left, Pan Yun smiled sweetly at Song Bei. "Master Song Bei, shall we continue?"

Song Bei's face was blank. "Ask."

"My question is simple—just casual chat. This undergarment? I want to know your real name and lineage."

Song Bei paused, then said: "I am Kikuchi Wu Bei. My Kikuchi clan is a powerful family in the Muromachi shogunate…"

Pan Yun's face remained expressionless as she listened. A true powerful family would come here as Japanese pirates?

Even if they were, they'd be a fallen one, surely?

The Kikuchi clan really had fallen.

!. Read

Since Ashikaga Yoshimochi's death, Japan has remained in semi-chaos—each power transition brings conflict.

Fifteen years ago, Ashikaga Yoshimochi died of serious illness. After his death, the Kikuchi clan joined the political struggle—and lost. They were purged.

At twelve years old, Kikuchi Wu Bei fled Kyoto, forced to become a ronin.

He crossed the sea to Great Ming that winter.

"I've been here fifteen years. I've come to see this as my second homeland," Song Bei said. "After all, I've spent more time here than in my homeland. I never imagined that after all these years, I still can't earn the recognition of these people."

Pan Yun: "You plunder me—and still expect me to recognize you as a compatriot? I'm a normal person."

Pan Yun was satisfied with his answer. Though she knew he'd omitted many crucial details, it didn't matter—she had time, and plenty of hostages. She could interrogate slowly.

She tossed the undergarment onto him.

Song Bei shifted his body, realized he couldn't reach the garment, let alone wear it, and looked at Pan Yun. "Master Sanzhu—could you untie my hands just long enough for me to put on the clothes?"

"Fine, but that's another price," Pan Yun said with a smile. "To get it, tell me: where are these broadswords, firelocks, and gunpowder you bought being sent?"

After a pause, Song Bei said: "We sold them to other pirates, Third Bamboo. We rarely raid. Ask Ah Xin—he's a man of loyalty and kindness. If I raided, why would he follow me?"

He said: "I only do smuggling."

Pan Yun watched him silently, her face full of disbelief.

"Truly," Song Bei hurried to look at Ah Xin, afraid she wouldn't believe him. "Ask Ah Xin—we have travel permits, household registrations, everything. Most of the men in our caravan are from Great Ming. We have money—we buy goods outright, then sneak them onto the sea to trade with others."

Though heartbroken that he was a Wa, Ah Xin still nodded. "Yes, sometimes we take things—but only at sea, from merchants and imperial court ships. We never raid inland or steal from ordinary civilians."

Pan Yun smiled at Ah Xin. "You didn't lie."

Then she turned to Song Bei, lightly prodding his forehead with her sword, forcing him to lie flat on the ground. She smiled sweetly. "Naughty. Why lie to me? The karmic debt on you won't wash clean even if you soaked in the ocean for a hundred years. Who does business like this? Even smuggling doesn't work like this."

Song Bei didn't dare move, his head pressed tightly against the ground, terrified the swordtip would pierce straight through his skull.

Seeing sweat bead on his forehead and neck despite the cold, Pan Yun finally withdrew her sword and looked at his forehead. "It's broken. I'll send a horsefly to suck the blood later."

Song Bei: …

Pan Yun said: "If you won't answer that question, fine. Let's move to the next—"

After a moment's silence, Song Bei said: "Most of it was shipped back to the homeland. Some is stored on a large island."

Pan Yun laughed. "Now you're being honest. What's your rank?"

Song Bei fell silent again. After a long while, he said: "Three."

(End of Chapter)