Chapter 61: Nothing Special

Zhao Zhentang had already sheathed his blade. He wiped the blade with a cloth, then clasped his fist toward the overseer, turned, and stepped down from the execution platform.

At the instant of the beheading, everyone's body jolted. No matter how much they had come just to watch the excitement, witnessing a killing with their own eyes still shook them.

The moment the blade fell and the head was severed, Zhao Jin hadn't yet reacted. Blood sprayed, the headless corpse toppled, and only then did he realize the execution was already over. Nothing special. Zhao Jin had never seen a real bloody scene, but he had seen countless fake ones. Coupled with his mature mind, his tolerance was inherently strong. Though he didn't take it to heart, his instincts still felt shock and fear.

Zhao Jin felt the hairs all over his body stand on end, his heart pounding hard several times, his body trembling. But he took a deep breath and quickly adjusted. Even without those experiences, five years of tempering his body and diligently training in martial arts was enough to steel his courage.

Only then did Zhao Jin sense that someone had been watching him the whole time. He followed the gaze back and saw his father, Zhao Zhentang, who had just stepped down from the execution platform, looking over with concern. A warmth spread through Zhao Jin's heart. He gave a slight bow toward his father. When he straightened up, he saw a trace of gratification on Zhao Zhentang's face. His father nodded, then turned and left.

Looking over at Chen Sheng, his face was a little pale but he was still composed. Wang Zhaojing showed no abnormality whatsoever and seemed perfectly normal. Sun Dalei and Liu Yong, however, were actually clutching each other's hands, standing there frozen, too scared to move. The two of them had truly been terrified out of their wits.

With a roar, the scene finally returned to normal. Many spectators rushed toward the execution platform, pulling out steamed buns and flatbreads they had prepared long ago to soak up the blood on the platform. Someone there was shouting loudly: "The more ferocious and evil the criminal, the more potent the blood from his severed head! It can not only cure consumption but also turn your luck and attract wealth."

Many people, right after soaking up the blood, began eating ravenously on the spot, their mouths full of fresh blood, their faces glowing with excitement.

Zhao Jin could endure the beheading scene itself, but he could not stand the sight of people devouring blood-soaked buns. He felt his stomach churn, utterly disgusted. Unwilling to stay here a moment longer, he turned and left.

Zhao Zhentang's son, Zhao Jin, was watching a beheading again. Everyone knew about the last time he had nearly been scared to death. The yamen runners who had come here this time all saw him, and quite a few others had been watching him the whole time. No one expected that Zhao Jin's expression would remain exceptionally calm from start to finish — even calmer than those adults who were long accustomed to such sights.

Such a performance was very surprising and, combined with the rumors of Zhao Jin's martial prowess, forced them to believe those rumors.

Zhao Jin walked in silence toward the goods yard. He had walked an entire street before Chen Sheng and the others caught up from behind. Aside from Wang Zhaojing, the breathing of the other few was somewhat unsteady; clearly, they had not yet recovered from the shock.

Usually, when the youths walked together, there was always an endless stream of topics to discuss. Today, everyone was silent. It was Wang Zhaojing who spoke first: "Uncle Zhao's blade was truly fast. When I watched executions in the capital, none of the executioners handled their blades so cleanly."

"You've watched executions before?"

"My father took me to watch a few times. The first time I went, I was terrified. I had nightmares for several nights after returning home," Wang Zhaojing said with a smile.

Hearing this conversation, Zhao Jin also found it strange, thinking to himself that the Wang family's method of instructing their younger generation was truly unique.

As they talked, everyone finally relaxed. Chen Sheng made a chopping motion in the air with his empty hand and said admiringly, "Uncle Zhao's strike left me utterly entranced. I wonder how long I'll have to train to reach that level."

Now, Chen Sheng no longer used a wooden saber in sparring matches, but a long saber with its scabbard on. According to him, to use a saber, one must be familiar with it. A wooden saber is too light; using it for too long causes problems with both strength and judgment. One must hold a real saber at all times.

"Practice makes perfect. After killing that many people, you're bound to get good at it," Zhao Jin replied with a laugh. But he knew his father's strike was so clean and decisive not merely because of practice, but because it was backed by martial skill — something he could tell from the way his father chopped at the wooden stakes at home.

By the time they returned to the goods yard after the execution, it was already late, past noon. Some of Zhao Jin's peers had gone to busy themselves earning a living, others to diligent study and hard training. Only a bunch of children remained, laughing and roughhousing. They were imitating the sparring matches Zhao Jin and his friends held, but without any real martial skill or prizes — just pure wrestling and play.

After a few casual words, within Zhao Jin's small circle, those who hadn't gone to watch the execution were all rather regretful. Training in martial arts and tempering their bodies day in and day out, with a bellyful of sharp spirit and nowhere to vent it, they most wanted to see such bloody scenes. But saying so was one thing, and looking forward to it was another — the feeling after actually watching it was a different matter entirely.

Everyone chatted idly for a few moments, then dispersed and went home. Zhao Jin hesitated at an intersection, then turned and walked toward his second uncle's house. No one lived there anymore.

Several streets separated the residences of Zhao Zhentang and Zhao Zhenxing. One of those streets was lined entirely with commercial shops and storefronts. But over these past few years, aside from two general stores supplying the surrounding households, all the rest had closed for good. Weeds grew thickly along the roadside, and the place was deathly quiet. Every time he passed through here, Zhao Jin could keenly feel Xuzhou's decline.

When he reached the gate of his second uncle's house, the gate was locked tight, with a strip of black cloth hung upon it — also part of the mourning customs.

Zhao Jin took out the key, unlocked it, and then pulled down the black cloth. Walking into the courtyard, Zhao Jin closed his eyes and stood for a moment. He had spent four years here. Every time he stood in this spot, his second uncle Zhao Zhenxing would urge him on. The moment his mind wandered, a rattan switch would come lashing down.

I cannot slack off. Zhao Jin opened his eyes, strode into the house, and brought out that long spear. Only by training relentlessly, growing stronger with every session, could he live up to his second uncle's expectations.

During Zhao Zhenxing's grave illness, he had wanted to find another master for Zhao Jin, but Zhao Jin refused. He knew his second uncle feared he would slack off without someone to supervise him. But Zhao Jin also had confidence in himself. He knew his goal, and he would not slack off.

Horse stance, strength training, and only lastly, spear technique. No wonder Zhao Zhenxing had worried — these drills were all monotonous and tedious. Training alone with one's head down, especially for a young man with many interests, it was very easy to get distracted and grow lax.

But Zhao Jin was different. He could sink into deep focus without the slightest slackening. The long spear in his hands thrust out again and again.

Ever since he had pierced through the courtyard wall, Zhao Jin had stopped using the wall as a target. If this continued, the wall would eventually be stabbed into collapse. Now he used a wooden stake as thick as a fist, as tall as a person, with red paint marking the throat and chest positions. He practiced thrusting at it every day.

Zhao Jin had already stabbed through and broken dozens of such stakes. His hands had developed thick calluses.

Just as he was focused on his training, he heard someone knocking at the gate. Zhao Jin paused, wondering who would come here now. As he walked over, he heard someone outside call out: "Brother Xiaojin, it's me."

It was actually Mu Shulan. After paying her respects, the little girl hadn't shown up for several days. Zhao Jin still couldn't figure out Mu Shulan's pattern of comings and goings. Anyway, he saw her often enough and didn't pay it much mind. But her coming here today was a bit strange.

He went over and opened the gate. The little girl ran in cheerfully; she was already very familiar with the place.

Mu Shulan wore her hair in double looped buns and was dressed in men's clothing, carrying a small bundle in her hand. She looked exceptionally handsome and pretty. By all rights, a girl her age shouldn't be out showing her face in public, yet Mu Shulan always loved coming to the goods yard, mesmerizing the whole group of youths until they were utterly spellbound.

Others thought this girl didn't know the rules and was overly lively, but Zhao Jin knew Mu Shulan didn't come of her own accord. The little girl herself only wanted to stay at Zhao Jin's home. Yet from the occasional stray words Mu Shulan inadvertently let slip, it seemed her father was the one sending her.

When he heard that, Zhao Jin truly didn't know what to say. To have such an eccentric father — perfectly normal in that other life, but in this era of strict separation between men and women, it was utterly unimaginable.

Zhao Jin found it strange himself, but he also knew it wasn't his place to pry into other

people's family matters. After coming in, the little girl closed the gate herself, sat down with practiced ease, let out a long breath, and said, "My father and my uncles started arguing. It was scary staying there, so I came to hide out with you, Brother Xiaojin."