Chapter 81: Proper Yet Laughable

Two hundred taels of silver was no small sum, but He Cuihua quickly wrapped it in a cloth bundle and brought it out, which greatly surprised Zhao Jin — he'd never imagined his own household actually had this much money.

"Mother, don't open the door for anyone except my father and me. If someone tries to force their way in, shout as loud as you can. There are plenty of wealthy families nearby; no one would dare act recklessly." After giving a few more instructions, Zhao Jin took the silver and hurried out the door. Nearly twenty jin was no light weight, but even so, Zhao Jin did not forget to bring his long spear.

Though he stayed alert and cautious the whole way, no blind fool of a bandit would offend a martial man walking with a long spear, and he reached the yamen without incident.

Because of the official business of reporting cases and investigating crimes at night, the arrest bureau had a separate small door for coming and going. Zhao Jin, knowing the way well, entered through it. At this hour it would normally be dark and empty, but now it was brightly lit.

Someone stood outside the building door. Spotting Zhao Jin, he asked a wary question, then, recognizing a familiar face, said, "Your father's in the lockup," and let him straight in.

The lockup was in a corner of the arrest bureau — actually a place for temporarily holding prisoners. Anyone not yet convicted and sentenced was kept here. In practice, it was also the torture room where the constables beat confessions out of criminals.

Zhao Jin walked in carrying the silver. Just as he entered the building, he heard shriek after miserable shriek coming from not far away. A constable came out carrying a water bucket and froze when he saw Zhao Jin. This man was surnamed Liu, a regular constable on the yamen payroll. Zhao Jin usually called him Uncle Liu.

"Xiao Jin, wait here. I'll go call your father out." Before Zhao Jin could speak, Constable Liu set down the water bucket and spoke.

Constable Liu turned and headed toward the lockup. After a few steps he looked back and added pointedly, "Wait here. Don't come in."

In no time at all, Zhao Zhentang strode out. Zhao Jin saw that his father's forehead was covered in sweat. He was wearing an old black robe. Seeing Zhao Jin, he nodded and said, "Did you bring the silver?"

Zhao Jin hurriedly handed over the bundle. As the two drew close, Zhao Jin's brows furrowed and he sniffed twice — he had caught a thick smell of blood.

"You little brat, kill two men and now you can pick out the smell of human blood. With that kind of talent, how'd you faint from fright watching an execution back then!" Zhao Zhentang noticed Zhao Jin's reaction and mocked him.

Talk about bringing up the one thing he least wanted mentioned — amid this smell of blood and the screams, Zhao Jin had no idea whether he ought to laugh or not.

Zhao Zhentang, however, began shooing him away: "Go home and rest well. Don't let your mind run wild. After a night's sleep, everything will be fine."

With that, Zhao Zhentang picked up the bundle and turned to go back, but after two steps he looked back and said, "You think about things too simply. Sooner or later you'll suffer a big loss for it. Go home first. Tomorrow morning I'll explain things to you."

Though Zhao Zhentang spoke lightly, Zhao Jin noticed the deep worry on his father's face.

Seeing this, Zhao Jin suddenly felt that this matter probably wouldn't be resolved as easily as he had judged.

After leaving the yamen, a cold wind blew straight into his face, and the pervasive smell of blood from the arrest bureau vanished. Zhao Jin realized he didn't find the smell all that repulsive. He'd been steady when killing that afternoon, and smelling it in the arrest bureau had felt quite natural.

From the smell of blood, Zhao Jin couldn't help but think back to the afternoon's fight, to that instant when he had burst forth and stabbed to kill. In that very moment, Zhao Jin suddenly felt a churning in his chest and stomach and threw up with a "Blaaargh."

Two lives lived, and this was his first time killing. The reason it only hit him now was not because he was tough, but because he'd been numbed by the shock and hadn't felt a thing the whole time.

Thinking of the moment his long spear pierced the enemy's throat, of the process of the light fading from the enemy's eyes, of the piercing, acrid smell of blood — Zhao Jin had nothing left to throw up, and only then did he manage to straighten up with difficulty.

"Damn it, overestimated myself!" Zhao Jin spat out a vicious curse, wiped his mouth, and walked quickly toward home. This time he wasn't used to it; he probably wouldn't feel so bad in the future.

Zhao Jin had gone to rescue someone without eating dinner. After the fight came interrogation and making arrangements, then leading the girl home and going to the yamen to deliver silver. He'd been running around half the night without a single bite to eat, and after all that vomiting just now, his stomach was completely empty. He was ravenously hungry, so much so that he couldn't even walk fast.

He slowly made his way back to his own neighborhood. Passing the Wang family's front gate, Zhao Jin couldn't help glancing over. Wang Zhaojing must have gotten home long ago. He wondered if his family knew he'd killed someone, and how they would treat him.

Zhao Jin walked past the Wang family gate, but he didn't hear the Wang household servants behind the door murmuring in low voices: "Has the young master still not eaten dinner?"

"What dinner? He's still kneeling in the study!"

"The master has only this one precious son. He really has the heart to be so harsh."

"Didn't you see? When the young master went out he was carrying a sword, and when he came back there was blood on his clothes. He might have gotten into big trouble outside…"

Wang Zhaojing, who had gotten home earlier than Zhao Jin, still hadn't eaten by now. He was kneeling in his father's study.

The Wang family study was nothing remarkable. From the furniture and decor, it even looked a bit shabby. The bookshelves were crammed with books of all kinds. Only someone truly knowledgeable could discern the Wang family's wealth from these books — these fine block-print editions and even rare volumes were no cheaper than their weight in gold and silver.

A lamp was lit in the study. At the desk sat a middle-aged man reading. This was Wang Zhaojing's father, Wang Youshan.

Although his sobriquet was Old Man of Gazing-at-the-Mountain, he was only in his early forties this year. But scholars and literati valued an air of dignified gravity, so Wang Youshan's manner was more like that of a man in his fifties or sixties.

Wang Zhaojing knelt beneath the bookshelves. He had already changed clothes and scrubbed away the bloodstains, but after all, he'd fought fiercely and hadn't eaten, so his complexion looked terrible.

Only father and son were in the study. Wang Youshan paid absolutely no attention to his kneeling son, merely leafing through the book with concentration, occasionally jotting down notes.

Finishing a book, Wang Youshan set it down, rubbed his eyes, and without turning around, spoke: "I let you learn martial arts to strengthen your body, not so you could cause trouble and kill people, and certainly not so you could play the hero and act recklessly. Your body, hair, and skin are received from your parents. To be so careless with yourself is a grave act of unfiliality!"

At the end, Wang Youshan's tone turned stern. Wang Zhaojing, with a pained expression, kowtowed and said, "Father, your child knows he was wrong."

Wang Youshan shook his head and said coldly, "You're about to sit for the provincial examinations, and yet you act so outrageously. Do you think your reputation among the scholarly circles doesn't matter?"

"Father, at the time your child was desperate to save someone and didn't think that far." Wang Zhaojing couldn't help explaining.

"Nonsense! You knew where the bandits' den was — why didn't you go to the authorities and request official constables to make the arrest? Instead, a few youths had to go play hero by yourselves!" Wang Youshan scolded again.

Wang Zhaojing knelt on the floor and explained quietly, "Brother Zhao said that Miss Mu's matter wasn't convenient to let the authorities know about, so…"

"Not convenient? It's just that she's connected to those heretical cult demons… I told you to go make more friends so you could expand your network and find a few friends who could help you in the future. And now look — a proper scholar-seed, reduced to being the follower of a bailiff-executioner's son. Truly absurd and laughable." Wang Youshan sneered and continued his reprimand.

Seeing the unconvinced look on Wang Zhaojing's face, Wang Youshan went on: "You're always going on about how capable this Brother Zhao of yours is, yet tonight's affair was riddled with holes, and you still thought it was proper. If his father's cover-up falls short, tomorrow he'll be thrown in prison and convicted."

"Father…" Hearing this, Wang Zhaojing looked up in alarm. He had barely spoken when Wang Youshan cut him off. Wang Youshan picked up the book at his hand again and said leisurely, "He is your friend, and his family counts as our neighbors. I will help in this matter. But I want to see if he has the boundless sense of honor you claim he does — whether he takes all the blame onto himself at the yamen. There's still food staying warm in the kitchen. Go eat quickly. Tomorrow you are forbidden to leave the house!"

Hearing the dismissal, Wang Zhaojing did not get up. Instead, he kowtowed heavily and said urgently, "Father, your child feels that Brother Zhao's arrangements were very proper. Could there really be hidden dangers?"

"Proper? How naive. Just a bunch of children who think they've grown up." Wang Youshan smiled and offered this unhurried comment, then waved his hand, signaling Wang Zhaojing to leave.