Three Steps: From Assassin to Empress - Chapter 28
Chapter 28: The Gentry Kneel Before Me
Ying Xiu’s fingers twitch, instinctively reaching for the token hidden in his robe—the one Xie Zhou gave him. Although Xie Zhou is a client of the prime minister, the prime minister is in Jiankang, thousands of miles away, and appears to not favor Xie Zhou. Ying Xiu worries about getting Xie Zhou into trouble and hesitates, his fingers tightening around the jade token.
The soldiers with their spears are already surrounding him. The crowd grows more restless, and many people from the Jianxia district shout for their “little benefactor.” A group breaks through the soldiers’ line, embracing the wooden tubs on the carts, shielding Ying Xiu.
The white rice inside the tubs sways, almost spilling, and the people carefully scoop it up, holding the tubs close.
“You rabble! Are you rebelling?” the junior officer shouts, his face a mix of rage and panic. He never expected the people, who had silently watched their food being dumped into the river, to rush forward and protect this young man. Who is this youth, and why is he so popular with the people?
“Seize all of them! Hurry and dump the grain into the river! We can’t be delayed!” the officer yells. They can’t afford to waste any more time; if word of this reaches the capital, the emperor might find out. The officer can’t bear the thought. He grabs a ceremonial horsehair whisk from a priest and rushes forward, raising it to strike a child who is clinging to a tub.
Swoosh!
The long whisk cuts through the air, sounding like tearing silk. It would surely leave bloody welts on the child’s body. But a slender, flexible hand shoots out and seizes the whisk. With a gentle tug, the young and strong officer stumbles and nearly falls.
He scrambles up, looking up at the youth who had been in the crowd. Unbeknownst to him, the boy has slipped past the people and is now in front of him, holding the whisk in one hand. The youth looks down at him, his expression neither pleased nor angry, but with the cold detachment of one looking at a dead person.
The officer shivers. He is terrified by the young man’s imposing presence. His legs tremble, and he puts a hand on the ground, trying to regain his footing.
Without another glance at the officer, Ying Xiu tosses the whisk into the Yuan River. The symbol of gentry authority falls into the flowing water and is gone in an instant.
Out of courtesy, Ying Xiu helps the officer up. The officer stands, looking at him with suspicion, unable to understand what this handsome youth is doing. The situation has escalated, and there is no going back. The officer bites his lip and retreats, shouting at the soldiers behind him, “What are you waiting for? Seize all of them!”
If all the grain is dumped into the river, there will be no evidence. But the soldiers, who are also common people, hesitate to strike their own. They and the crowd stand in a stalemate.
“Soldiers of the Southern Dynasty, you won’t fight the Qiang people, but you will raise arms against your own,” Ying Xiu says. “Is this the way your officials govern?”
His rebuke is not loud, but it is sharp and pointed. The soldiers turn their heads, unable to face the people. In their hearts, they too care for the common people.
“…He’s spreading fallacies! This is all nonsense!” the officer mutters. This youth, who looks so young and handsome, has a sharp tongue that is making his soldiers disobey orders. He must be dealt with today, or there will be trouble later.
“You have disrupted a sacred ceremony and should be branded,” the officer offers. “I will overlook your mistakes and give you the rice, as long as you hand over this youth who is leading you astray.”
The little girl, Chang’an, interrupts, “You’re a bad person! Everything you’re saying is a lie!”
The girl’s voice is drowned out. Some in the crowd begin to waver. Although they feel they would be betraying their little benefactor, he is so capable that he can surely handle things himself. Ultimately, a few people step out and join the soldiers. But the rest of the crowd remains, holding the tubs, standing by Ying Xiu’s side. They look ready to fight the government to the very end.
Ying Xiu’s heart pounds. When he saw some people leave, he wondered if he had made a mistake, if the people didn’t need him after all. But the majority stayed, surrounding him, looking to him as their leader. Like tiny fireflies, they had gathered to light up the long night.
The officer’s face is pale, but he pretends to be calm and shouts at the hesitant soldiers, “Anyone who disobeys orders will be executed!”
Under his constant shouting, the soldiers slowly start to move, weapons in hand. They walk toward the people, their heads down.
“I have a token right here—”
In the daylight, a cold, brilliant white flash is startling. Ying Xiu holds up the white jade token and shouts, “Who dares to move?”
The seventeen-year-old youth looks calm, but he is incredibly nervous. He doesn’t distrust Xie Zhou, but he fears this act will cause him trouble. He didn’t want to use the token unless absolutely necessary.
The Southern Dynasty has a system of official tokens; the emperor gives them to an official, who can then execute any official below a certain rank without consulting the court first. It’s an authority to execute first and report later.
The gentry and officials of Jiangzhou have never seen a token given by the emperor, but a few sharp-eyed people recognize the lifelike dragon and phoenix carvings. The warm jade from Khotan is clearly not an ordinary object.
This is… an item from the imperial family!
Someone immediately kneels and shouts, “We bow to the Envoy with the Token!”
The first to kneel is an old priest. The priests who survived the massacre of priests and the destruction of monasteries in the first year of Yongning were cunning and knew how to adapt. Since the old priest knelt, the younger ones, though confused, quickly follow suit, forgetting their graceful bearing. Their feathered fans and whisks fall to the ground, and no one dares to make a sound, even if they are hit.
The gentry and officials of Jiangzhou stare in disbelief, watching the arrogant priests kneel before the young man. The officials stare at the token. When they hear the priests call him “Envoy,” their faces change, and they quickly kneel as well, shouting to the young man.
The two junior officers do not kneel at first, but their legs are trembling. No one dares to question if the token is fake. No one would dare to impersonate the Emperor Zhaosu unless he wanted his whole clan to go to hell.
With a thud, the older officer kneels, his head bowed. He is relieved that he didn’t clash with the Envoy. The young officer, however, remembers trying to whip him and his face goes pale. If he had known the boy had an imperial token, he would rather have offended the entire gentry of Jiangzhou than the Envoy.
It’s too late for regrets!
The soldiers at the front don’t recognize the token, but they hear the aristocrats shouting. They turn and see that the officials, and even their own commanders who ordered them to strike the people, are all kneeling, their backs bent like bridges.
For a moment, the soldiers are confused. Should they also kneel to these common people? Without a second thought, they throw down their weapons and kneel before the young man and the common people at his side.
The tense common people are baffled by the sudden turn of events. They look at the kneeling gentry, then up at Ying Xiu holding the token. They start to kneel, imitating the nobles.
“Get up!” the youth shouts.
The common people jump and straighten their backs. They are bewildered by these kneeling gentry. They have always been the ones who had to kneel. No one has ever told them to stand up and accept the worship of the nobles. They know this could lead to brutal retaliation.
The most embarrassed are the few people who were originally with Ying Xiu but sided with the officials. They are stuck in the middle, neither with the people who are standing nor the gentry who are kneeling.
Ying Xiu’s hand is trembling slightly. The token feels like a thousand pounds, pulling his arm down. Xie Zhou told him it was his, not the Xie clan’s. But how could a mere client have an imperial token?
Now, Ying Xiu has no way out. He can only watch as the arrogant officials and gentry kneel on the dam, their feathered robes and white gowns a dirty white on the ground.
A thought crosses the young assassin’s mind: Is this what power feels like? Is this what people crave, what they live and die for?
On the dam, the owls continue to fly back and forth over the river, carrying rice and scattering it to the people. Ying Xiu had spent days arranging to borrow these owls. He had planned to use their own tactics against them—using the divine to make them return the grain.
But all of that careful planning and scheming was nothing compared to a small token. The assassin is dazed. He can almost hear the soft voice of the man in white, filled with a strange prescience:
“You must use what I’ve given you… Do you understand?”
Only by using it will he truly understand the taste of power.