Chapter 691: A Hamstrung Scorched-Earth Strategy

Assistant Commander Zhang, though eager to advance, was no fool who couldn't read the situation. He frowned and said, "Could it be that everything that man just said was true?"

"That man may not necessarily be some local commoner who can't stand watching any longer — he might well have been sent by someone — but his words were true. I've vaguely heard of some of these matters," a centurion said in a deep voice.

The room fell silent for a moment. Though the Brocade Guard relied on the imperial court and the law of the land — anyone who dared provoke them was guilty of rebellion and treason — that was fine when dealing with ordinary commoners or run-of-the-mill jianghu figures. The Brocade Guard's constables could move in groups, fully armed and armored, and had nothing to fear. But dealing with a colossus like Zhao Jin was another matter. Even if the court later dispatched a grand army to encircle and annihilate him, wiping out Zhao Jin and all his subordinates to the last man, by then everyone here would already be dead at Zhao Jin's hands. Once dead, all is finished — glory, wealth, and rank would be meaningless, everything gone. What point would there be in that?

Everyone could figure out this crux of the matter, and their faces all darkened. Assistant Commander Zhang was especially agitated. He racked his brains but could find no solution. Ma Chonghao was determined to see this through, and he was doing it with such great fanfare — changing course was utterly impossible. And when he thought of that "Superintendent Ma's" methods, and those northern toughs under his command, those were people they couldn't afford to offend either.

"What are you standing around for? Aren't there plenty of people waiting outside? Hurry up and call them in!" Zhang Haoliang shouted at the constable by the door.

The constable had a strange look on his face as well. Hearing this, he hastily bowed and reported, "Sir, just moments ago there were quite a few people outside, lurking indistinctly in the corners, waiting and watching. But when we escorted that man out just now, the streets were completely deserted — not a single person in sight. Even the runners the county yamen sent to stand guard have vanished."

Everyone was stunned. The clerk tried to pick up the writing brush from the table, but his hand was trembling. He fumbled and failed to grasp it, and it fell back onto the table. When he spoke, his voice was shaking too. "Zhao Jin wouldn't be that brazen, would he? This is broad daylight, and everyone knows we're men of the Brocade Guard, the Emperor's Own..."

Silence fell over the room again. More than one person muttered curses under their breath. Assistant Commander Zhang could only slap his forehead and say, "They wouldn't dare come in here. That would be tearing off all pretenses — outright rebellion and treason. It would certainly alarm the imperial court. Zhao Jin has gone to such lengths to cover things up; he wouldn't make a mistake over such a trivial matter."

Ma Chonghao had made these points very clear to every squad sent out. Among these men from the Nanjing Brocade Guard, some knew too much about Zhao Jin and were too terrified to come, while others knew little and came swaggering in, eager to throw their weight around. To both types, Ma Chonghao had spoken bluntly — reassuring the former and warning the latter not to act too recklessly.

Everyone understood this reasoning. But they weren't three-year-old children; they also knew that some principles were just fine in theory.

"Tonight we stand watch in shifts. Have the gongs and drums ready. If anything really happens, beat the gongs and drums and raise a huge commotion. Would they actually dare to storm in and kill us? The law of the land still holds here!" Assistant Commander Zhang said gruffly.

The weather was still cold. After stepping outside, the middle-aged informant had put on his hat, covering his head and face tightly. The sky was dark and dim, and no one could clearly make out his features.

The middle-aged man walked out the back door and, by the light of the lanterns, swept his gaze over the street. He spotted seven or eight figures, most of them hiding in corners, keeping well apart from one another, all with hats or scarves concealing their heads and faces. Though the Brocade Guard had arrived, the Zhao Camp was still here too. Everyone had to be careful — they couldn't afford to be recognized.

The middle-aged man chuckled inwardly and walked briskly off to one side. He didn't look at the people by the roadside. They were all taking risks to do this work; why make things awkward for each other?

After a dozen or so steps, he reached a corner. Someone stepped out from the roadside. The informant assumed it was someone hurrying to go in and paid no attention, even stepping aside to make way. But as they brushed past each other, that person stopped, grabbed the middle-aged man by the shoulder. The man instinctively struggled, but couldn't break free — that hand was like an iron clamp.

This was bad. Anyone scraping a living on the streets of Qingjiangpu held a deep-seated fear of the Zhao Camp. And coming here to the Brocade Guard's station, doing work precisely aimed against the Zhao Camp — his conscience was guilty.

The middle-aged man instinctively tried to scream, but just as his mouth opened, before any sound came out, someone stuffed a rag into it. Then a heavy punch landed in his gut. His whole body curled up, all ability to struggle gone. Like a dead dog, he was simply dragged away.

The scene couldn't be seen from the front door, but the others on the road could see it clearly. They all froze — for an instant, no one reacted. The next moment, they saw two of the "informants" who had just been skulking about moments ago now standing to the left and right of the doorway.

By now, what was there not to understand? Everyone's first reaction was to turn and run. The Zhao Camp's people were far too bold — the Brocade Guard had come precisely to find evidence of rebellion and treason, and yet they still dared to seize people right outside.

The back door and back street were relatively secluded, but it was still a public street. The informants who had come were all fairly capable fighters. But as they fled the street, they saw every intersection around them blocked — a horse cart parked sideways, men holding lanterns, several big fellows standing there with cold sneers.

No one wanted to be caught without a fight. Turning back was out of the question — people were blocking that way. Some actually tried to scale the walls and climb over. The whistle of arrows suddenly split the air — a man on the wall screamed and plummeted straight down, an arrow lodged in his thigh. They'd even brought bows and arrows. And with only lantern light in the darkness, their aim was this accurate!

The man struck by the arrow lay on the ground howling in pain, shouting for help. Everyone knew the situation was dire now. To be seized by the Zhao Camp right after informing — there was no need to guess what fate awaited them.

They shouted, but not a single person dared come over. Clearly there were constables guarding the Brocade Guard's front door, yet no one came to investigate. In the pitch-black night, all they could hear were screams and furious roars from places beyond their sight. The constables themselves were trembling with fear. Their orders from above were to investigate a case, not to seize people...

"Song Bangzi, spare us the pleas for mercy. Spill everything you know, and we'll give you a quick end. Hold back a single thing, and — you've always had your ear to the ground, so you know our methods well enough." In a room on the east side of the Zhao Family Martial Hall, several big men stared down at the middle-aged man on the floor.

The middle-aged man who had performed so emotionally before the Brocade Guard now lay prone on the ground, just trembling. He bore no visible wounds, but the screams from next door reached his ears clearly. No torture instruments were visible in the room, but the short blades at the big men's waists and the bamboo splinters scattered on the floor were enough to make his heart quail with terror.

In a small room by the gate of the Zhao Family Martial Hall, Liu Yong sat waiting. He shared something in common with Lei Cai back in Nanjing — both looked relatively haggard, with dark circles under their eyes.

Liu Yong was somewhat agitated, pacing back and forth in the room. After a short while, Wei Mugen announced himself and entered. He approached and said in a low voice, "The ones we caught are all street riffraff. Someone found them, gave them silver, and told them to go inform at the Brocade Guard."

"The interrogations on my side yielded the same result. Several parties behind the scenes are fanning the flames, but none of them want to be the first to step forward," Liu Yong said with a dark expression, nodding.

After Liu Yong finished, Wei Mugen asked, "What about these few men?"

As he spoke, he made a gesture. Liu Yong shook his head and said, "Send them to Xuzhou. We need to be careful here right now — don't let those constables get anything on us. Xuzhou has experts at interrogation."

Wei Mugen had just acknowledged the order when Liu Yong suddenly slapped his hand in frustration and said glumly, "We moved too hastily. We should have waited longer, let all those with ideas show themselves!"

"Master Yong, we just need to keep an eye on the Qingjiang Grand Market. See who stops coming to do business, whose shops don't open. It's already the second month — anyone who does that is definitely up to something!" Wei Mugen said gravely.

At these words, Liu Yong merely gave a cold laugh and said, "On that front, we won't see a thing. No one will close their shop. Who would pick a fight with silver?"

Around the twentieth of the first month, the Nanjing Brocade Guard arrived in Qingjiangpu and began investigations and evidence-gathering, claiming that Zhao Jin of Xuzhou was suspected of rebellion and treason. By all rights, a heaven-shaking capital crime like this — punishable by the extermination of an entire clan — once brought into the open, should have caused an immediate mass exodus and total collapse. Yet in Qingjiangpu, at most one could say there were undercurrents stirring; on the surface, everything continued as normal.

After the Lantern Festival, the Qingjiang Grand Market was set to reopen. By the twenty-fifth of the first month, no more shops would close for the holidays. None of this changed in the slightest — everything proceeded as usual.

Everyone still used the carts of Cloud Mountain Carting, still purchased their liquor through the Zhao Camp network. Even the various fees for the Qingjiang Grand Market this year were paid without a moment's delay — everyone scrambled to pay in full.

As for the brothels, gambling dens, and similar establishments around the Grand Market, besides paying their customary dues, the bosses running those operations came in person to pound their chests and vow they would keep their men strictly in line and absolutely cause no trouble for the Zhao Camp. Whatever help was needed, they said, just say the word.

The reasoning was clear to anyone. The Grand Market was open, and everyone inside was making a fortune. Why pick a fight with silver? Nowadays, more and more places across the Great Ming relied on the Qingjiang Grand Market to set commodity prices. To be able to operate within this Grand Market meant untold daily profits. Cutting off one's own source of income — wasn't that just foolish?

As for the claim that the Zhao Camp was plotting rebellion and that everyone here might be implicated — which of the great merchants operating in the Grand Market didn't have an official of at least the third rank backing them? Quite a few could even pull strings reaching the eunuchs of the inner court. If Zhao Jin wasn't rebelling, then everyone kept making money. If the charges were substantiated, then everyone would simply carve this place up among themselves. Trying to frame people with false crimes? That was a joke — it wasn't even clear who would end up dealing with whom!

As for the figures of the jianghu, they understood even better. The time had not yet come when the tree falls and the monkeys scatter. If their own side made any suspicious moves, or were even suspected by the Zhao Camp of making suspicious moves, that would be a catastrophe of utter annihilation — no survival, all talk pointless. The current situation might seem safe, but in truth it was fraught with deadly peril.

The man in charge of handling matters related to the Brocade Guard here in Qingjiangpu was Liu Yong, with Wei Mugen carrying out the specific arrangements. However, both felt rather uncomfortable. Though the Brocade Guard had done nothing beyond putting out word, Liu Yong and Wei Mugen still felt hamstrung at every turn.

Thank you, everyone.