Chapter 229: Moving the Blade to Behead

Moreover, these craftsmen and helpers had no objection to Zhao Jin's rule that no one could leave the brewery for three years. They had been working day and night without rest and hadn't left He Village for many years anyway. With food and lodging provided and wages so high, who cared if it felt stifling? At worst, they could just bring their wives and children over.

There was another reason He Village was accepted so smoothly. Just after the first lunar month ended, officials and documents arrived in Xuzhou from Nanjing, bringing a decree from the central authorities in the capital: the cultist heretics were to be executed immediately by beheading.

According to Great Ming custom, even if the decree ordered immediate beheading, the execution was usually carried out in autumn. This was called harmonizing with the seasons — autumn brings death and severity, so executions and beheadings are conducted then, while spring brings forth life and growth, so killing should be avoided lest it disrupt farming. But this time the decree was very clear: no mercy, immediate beheading.

No news could ever be kept secret in the yamen. After the Prefect entertained the superior official at a banquet, the servants who attended them spread the word.

The reason for pressing the immediate beheading this time was Shandong. Shandong had suffered a severe drought the previous year, with unrest breaking out everywhere, though it could still be largely suppressed. From the officials down to the common people, everyone had hoped to catch their breath after the new year. But there had been almost no snow all winter, and now everyone understood — this year would likely be another great disaster, and worse than the last.

The despairing people no longer dared to stay in their homes. In years like this, even if you survived the spring famine, you would still starve to death. Better to move while you still had some stores left, go beg for food in places untouched by disaster — that way there was still a chance to live.

Starving people from every village gathered and went to the great households to beg for food and survival. But the great households had either been destroyed in the disaster or had fortified their strongholds to protect themselves, determined not to let the refugees and starving take the slightest advantage. Some stockade earthen walls were breached by the starving, and the people inside were swept up into the tide of refugees. Other refugees and starving masses dashed their heads bloody against these stockade walls and could only move on to the next target.

As in past famines, the afflicted people began converging on the cities. But the county and prefectural city gates were all tightly shut, and no one dared let them in. The disaster victims could at first receive some limited relief around the city walls, but as more and more gathered, even those distributing relief no longer dared to come out.

The famine was still developing and had not yet reached its peak. The vast majority of the starving stopped at the county seats, hoping the cities would bring out some grain and the officials would provide relief.

In these days of ever-deepening despair, just as in past famines, some began preaching about rebirth in paradise, about an earthly Buddha-land and the Eternal True Home. Some incited and stirred up trouble, some organized and led. The disaster victims began transforming into a disaster themselves. Small-scale riots broke out frequently. Had the city's militia not been vigilant, one county seat in Laizhou Prefecture would have been breached by the victims. The authorities even received intelligence that refugees everywhere were making contact with one another, and someone seemed to be organizing them behind the scenes.

Even with the authorities' usual dullness, they could deduce exactly who was doing the organizing. Whenever famine years came, these sects always saw it as their opportunity — those with small ambitions recruited followers, those with great ambitions dreamed of changing dynasties.

It was precisely because of this context that the great cult case of He Village reported by Xuzhou was treated with such gravity. Especially since He Village had also been hoarding weapons and armor — implements of war and state, clearly meant to prepare for rebellion. Xuzhou was the hub between north and south, a place every strategist had to contest. If it fell into the hands of cultist rebels, then Henan, Shandong, and South Zhili would all descend into chaos.

Therefore, against such budding threats, the heaviest laws and harshest punishments had to be applied to warn others. They had to be immediately beheaded and their heads displayed to intimidate those petty villains harboring treacherous thoughts.

Xuzhou Prefect Tong Huaizu's merits and faults canceled each other out this time. Cracking a major case was a great merit, but allowing heretics to grow powerful under his jurisdiction was a grave fault. However, according to Adviser Wang, Prefect Tong had actually come out ahead. Word was spreading that Prefect Tong had acted decisively, nipping the seeds of rebellion in the bud, and was fit for greater responsibilities.

With so many heads about to fall, the busiest man was Zhao Zhentang. Those connected to the case, those whom Zhao Jin had pinned with related charges — nearly a hundred people sat in the great prison. That meant nearly a hundred heads to be chopped off.

Zhao Jin's name now commanded awe, and Zhao Zhentang naturally rose with the tide. No one dared to rush him; they simply asked Constable Zhao to make his own arrangements.

After father and son discussed it, Chen Sheng and Ji Xiang decided to temporarily serve as executioners to help out. Chen Sheng volunteered, but Ji Xiang was less than willing. Chen Sheng's advice to Ji Xiang was blunt: "Your blade work is too erratic right now. An opportunity to wield the blade this deliberately is rare — it will help you settle and steady yourself."

In early February, the public execution was held in the marketplace. In the past, for a spectacle this grand, passersby and idlers would have crowded around layer upon layer to watch the excitement. Some would even bring flatbreads and steamed buns to dip in the blood, believing it cured consumption. But this time it was eerily quiet, because Zhao Jin had given word in advance: all idle persons were to keep clear.

At the execution, the supervising official sent from Nanjing was rather surprised by the sparse crowd. And the young men standing in solemn silence before the execution platform made him deeply uneasy — they didn't look like law-abiding citizens at all, but more like men here to storm the execution ground. Yet seeing that the local judge was utterly unsurprised, he kept his silence.

Zhao Jin had brought all his household guards to witness the punishment. Most of them had never been on a battlefield or killed anyone, so they would first watch killing and see blood. He also brought Zhou Xuezhi along.

He had expected it to take some effort, but unexpectedly, after a word was passed, the head jailer simply swapped Zhou Xuezhi with a prisoner who had died of disease in custody and delivered the man straight out. Zhao Jin had never imagined the yamen runners could be so utterly lawless.

On the platform, the blade fell again and again, heads tumbling one after another. After the first dozen or so heads hit the ground, the supervising official was invited away by Judge Zhou to drink tea — there was no need for a superior official to stand there freezing in the wind.

The condemned behaved in all manner of ways. Some wailed, some collapsed limp, some cursed furiously, some struggled with all their might. But none could escape that single blade on the platform.

The household guards below also reacted in all manner of ways. Some forced themselves to watch, some vomited violently from the very start, and some closed their eyes slightly. Those who closed their eyes were soon met with a lash of the whip — every guard had to watch with eyes wide open through the entire process.

Zhou Xuezhi wanted to close his eyes from the very beginning, but a dagger was pressed against his back. The moment his eyes began to close, he would be pricked. Many of those being beheaded on the platform were his acquaintances, and as their heads were chopped off one by one, Zhou Xuezhi's body trembled like a winnowing sieve, his face utterly bloodless.

Especially when the condemned prisoners, brought onto the platform, looked around wildly before death — some spotted Zhou Xuezhi below. Their eyes met. Why did he get to live? Why was he even standing among the spectators? Such a contrast drove men to madness. Every time their eyes met, Zhou Xuezhi's body convulsed violently. He wanted to vomit but couldn't. The ground before him had been covered with several layers of fresh soil, beneath each layer his own vomit. The reason for such fastidiousness was that he stood beside Zhao Jin.

"Watch carefully. There's no turning back for you. Whenever treacherous thoughts arise, remember this day." Zhao Jin had watched the entire process in silence from beginning to end. Before it started, he had spoken these words to Zhou Xuezhi.

Zhou Xuezhi was very useful. Through him, everything in He Village could be taken over completely. He had also handled much of He Weiyuan's dealings with figures from all walks of life and had rich experience in the ways of the underworld — a man Zhao Jin also lacked. However, a surrendered man like this was ultimately unreliable and needed to be cowed by thunderous measures.

As for winning hearts with generosity or moving men with benevolence — Zhao Jin's experience in such things was not deep. He simply chose to use ruthless methods to thoroughly terrify the man.

A good executioner or headsman needed only one stroke to behead. But that single stroke required no small amount of strength. After chopping off seven heads in a row, everyone needed to rest a while before taking up the blade again.

Zhao Zhentang and Chen Sheng managed nearly one head per stroke, clean and efficient. Ji Xiang, however, needed two or three strokes at first to achieve the result, covering himself in blood. But with practice, he too could behead with a single stroke. During the rest intervals, Zhao Jin's household guards also rotated shifts — after all, the sentries posted everywhere could not be abandoned.

Nearly a hundred heads fell in a single day. News of this slaughter quickly spread throughout Xuzhou. If anyone in He Village still harbored treacherous thoughts, hearing this news, they were now terrified into submission. That bloody example was simply too soul-shaking.

Riding the intimidation of the execution, Zhao Jin smoothly took over He Village. Perhaps the slaughter this time was so shocking that even the whole Xuzhou region fell quiet in its wake.

One might say that when Zhao Jin and his brothers fought the massed bandits — ten men killing a hundred — and then raided He Village, the heads lost in that series of killings were even more numerous than this time. Yet the shock was nothing compared to this. After all, a public execution at the execution ground is staged precisely for all to see, meant from the start to terrify and awe.

Cloud Mountain Temple made no response whatsoever. Sorghum continued to be delivered in a steady stream. The various local powers of Feng County, Xiao County, Pei County, Dangshan, and nearby Pi Prefecture all took the initiative to extend goodwill to Zhao Jin. A young hero of such caliber — they truly could not afford to offend him.

On the tenth day of the second month, under the escort of household guards, the five craftsmen of City-Aroma Brewery brought their entire families to He Village. Once these five arrived at He Village, the He Village brewery would also be sealed off, because once City-Aroma Brewery's brewing process was implemented, secrecy became imperative.

Business matters proceeded in an orderly fashion, and the expansion of production capacity was just around the corner. Zhao Jin and his companions devoted all their attention to learning to ride horses. Zhao Jin was physically strong and agile, and martial training and combat had honed his sharp reflexes. Yet even so, he was thrown several times while learning to ride, his body covered in bruises. If it was like this for him, the others fared even worse. The sole exception was Chen Sheng. He had chosen a fierce horse, but under his handling, the beast was remarkably docile. The group all snickered in secret, saying he was so fat and heavy that he had crushed the horse into submission.

The household guards also suffered badly from falls. Three of them broke limbs, injuries that could well mean lifelong disability. However, Zhao Jin paid out the silver without the slightest hesitation. The men recuperated at the goods yard with everything provided for — so no one had any real worries.