The big black umbrella was like a black lotus, drifting away in the rain and fog of Chang 'an.
Sangsang loosened her grip on the sleeve, looked up, and asked with a frown, "Young master, what were you talking about with Xiao Mang in the Princess Mansion? I saw that those nannies and palace maids looked terrible. "
Looking at the little girl who pretended to be calm, Ning Que could not help but think of the scenes that often happened in Min Mountain. At that time, he carried her on his back and climbed from one perilous peak to another. At that time, he was busy exploring the way and telling fairy tales to the little girl in the basket. He was so busy that he could not help but smile and rub her head. He said, "Telling fairy tales … You know I'm good at it."
Sangsang asked curiously, "Which one? Cinderella or the Three Little Pigs? "
"The little prince."
Sangsang frowned and asked seriously, "The little prince? Can he understand it? "
Ning Que was stunned and thought that it was indeed a problem.
In the drizzle of late spring, the master and the handmaiden chatted all the way to the north. They passed through Tongxiao Lane and returned to the Eastern City. They did not walk into Lin 47th Street, but went around it and went deeper into the Eastern City. The Old Brush Pen Shop was closed for the day. Sangsang quietly came back with a podao tightly wrapped in cloth. There were slight raindrops on her shoulder.
The rain gradually became heavier. The pedestrians on the streets of the Eastern City were forced to return to their homes or workshops. Ning Que and Sangsang walked to a remote poor square in the Eastern City and stopped. They stood under the eaves of a dilapidated Haotian Divine Attendant Temple with a big black umbrella. They looked into the square and listened to the faint sound of forging in the rain.
Sangsang said quietly, "The iron shop will be closed soon. The young masters will be busy sorting out today's orders. Chen Zixian will go back to the backyard to rest. I heard that he rarely hammered in these years. At that time, he would be the only one left in the yard. It's convenient for him to do that since it's raining today."
Ning Que looked at the dark clouds in the sky and silently calculated the time. He estimated that it was almost time. He handed the big black umbrella to Sangsang and told her to wait for him. Then he took out a bamboo hat from behind and put it on his head. He walked toward the west of the square, passing through two alleys in the increasingly heavy rain and approaching the backyard of the blacksmith's shop in the square.
The tough soles of his boots stepped on the bumpy stone path and made light splashes in the puddles. it was not noticeable in the rain at all. Ning Que looked at the simple wooden door not far away and slowly walked forward. His left hand holding the podao became tighter and tighter, and he silently recalled all the information of the second name.
The names on the oilpaper were the important figures in the massacre of the Xuanwei General's Mansion and the massacre of the village in the Yan territory. They were the results of Zhuo Er's investigation when he was a spy in the Military Ministry under Xiahou's command. They were the information he exchanged with his sweat and life.
Chen Zixian, 47 years old, the former deputy general under the command of the Xuanwei General. He was rewarded by the imperial court for leading the Xuanwei General Lin Guangyuan to commit treason. Later, in the fourth year of the Tianqi era, he was stripped of all his meritorious service and expelled from the army because of his reckless provocation. After that, his family suffered a series of disasters. His wife divorced him and returned to their hometown with their two young sons. However, he stayed in Chang 'an and became a master in a blacksmith's shop in the Eastern City of Chang' an. He was so poor that he could not bear to talk about it.
After the massacre of the Xuanwei General and the massacre of the village, except for two or three high-ranking officials who still enjoyed the high nobility and reputation, the rest of the people on the oilpaper list were very poor. The censor who had died in his hands lived a depressed life, some lived in fear, and Chen Zixian, who was behind the courtyard door in the rain, lived a miserable life.
Ning Que could not figure out why. According to the usual inference or common plot lines in novels, when the people who had harmed the loyal and good and conspired to betray their master began to take revenge, they would be in a mess of arrogance and joy. Only then would they feel a natural sense of justice and pleasure. However, this was not the case. Those who he swore to take revenge and kill did not seem to be living better than him.
He vaguely guessed that it should be the work of His Majesty, but he could not confirm it. He did not want to think about it anymore. Today, it was raining heavily and coincided with the summons from the Princess's Mansion. It was the best time to kill and take revenge. No matter how the government investigated in the future, they would not suspect or dare to suspect him. This was more important.
He slightly lowered his head to look at the rainwater dripping from the edge of the bamboo hat. He slowly moved closer to the door.
The surface of the peeling wooden door was slightly wet, and his fingers felt cold as he pressed on the door. He listened carefully to the sounds coming from the blacksmith workshop in the front of the courtyard. As he listened to the sound of the heavy hammers hitting the anvil, he slowly raised his left hand that held the cloth wrapped podao and pushed the wooden door open with his right.
The old door axle that had been moistened by the rain made a soft whimpering sound. Wearing the bamboo hat, Ning Que held the knife and entered. He calmly walked down the broken stone steps and looked at the old man squatting outside the woodshed in the courtyard. He said, "Chen Zixian?"
Outside the woodshed, the old man was wearing an old, thin coat. The corners of his sleeves had burn marks from years of fire, and a few blackened cottons were sticking out of the cracks in the brittle cloth. He looked miserable. The old man's white hair was tied messily together. His thick iron hands held an axe and a piece of wood. He was chopping firewood.
The old man raised his head, and a strange look flashed in his murky eyes. He looked at Ning Que who had pushed open the courtyard door. He looked at the shadow under the bamboo hat, trying to see his face clearly. After a moment of silence, he said, "I am."
Ning Que stopped and slightly raised his head to look around the shabby courtyard. He confirmed that all the apprentices were indeed in the front square and there was no one in the courtyard. He turned around and closed the courtyard door. He used his right hand to untie the tie of the bamboo hat around his neck. Then, he slowly held the front handle of the cloth wrapped podao and continued to walk towards the old retired officer.
The bamboo hat fell to the ground in the rain.
Chen Zixian slowly blinked his eyes. His left hand that was full of black mud let go of the firewood and wiped it on the front of his clothes. Then, he reached behind his waist and grabbed a knife. At the same time, he raised his right hand that was holding the axe. He looked at the pale-faced lad who walked out of the wind and rain and said hoarsely, "Finally."
Ning Que's knife came.
The sharp blade, which had been sharpened with rice water at the Old Brush Pen Shop on Lin 47th Street for more than ten days, was pulled out of the scabbard with lightning speed. It easily cut through the old cloth that was tightly wrapped around the scabbard. It cut through the wind, the rain, and the past, heading straight for Chen Zixian's neck.
Chen Zixian raised his knife. When the two knives met, there was a clear hum, and the rainwater on the knife's blade sputtered.
At this moment, there was a rapid sound of iron striking in the iron workshop in front, covering all the sounds of knives in the courtyard.
In the heavy rain, Ning Que held the knife with both hands and moved forward expressionlessly. He cut the neck, beheaded the head, and cut the abdomen. The podao stirred the wind and rain, and the knife and axe in the old man's hands rubbed against each other coldly.
Dang, dang, dang, dang. Beside the red stove, the apprentices numbly held the red-hot iron and waved their heavy hammers to hit it again and again. They did not hear anything because of the loud sound of wind and rain outside the workshop.
With a tearing sound, the thin robe was cut open, the axe was shaken off, and the wrist was cut off. Muffled groans sounded in the wind and rain, and the pile of firewood outside the room was scattered on the ground. In a flash, Ning Que had chopped seventeen times, and Chen Zixian had blocked the first sixteen.
Then the sound of knives disappeared, leaving only the sound of wind, rain, and the thunder of hammering on the chopping board.
…
…
Chen Zixian fell beside the pile of firewood. His body was covered in mud and water, and there were a few more drops of blood on his old and dark face. The thin jacket between his chest and abdomen had countless cuts, and the gray cotton was sticking out in all directions. The cut in the middle was extremely deep, so deep that it went all the way to his bones. Blood and other colored body fluids kept flowing out from his internal organs.
The rain dripped from the eaves onto the pile of firewood, onto his gray hair, onto the sad wrinkles on his forehead, and then flowed down his dark cheeks, quickly washing away the few drops of blood. Ning Que lowered his head and slowly sheathed his knife.
Ning Que lowered his head and slowly sheathed his blade. He looked at his rapidly rising and falling chest and the extremely dangerous axe mark on his chest. He could not help but frown. He did not expect that an ordinary deputy general of the Tang Empire could have such a strong combat power after suffering in the bottom of the market for so many years.
Chen Zixian looked at the lad in front of him with turbid eyes, and there seemed to be a lot of phlegm in his throat. He painfully coughed a few times, and coughed out two mouthfuls of bloody phlegm. He said weakly, "I thought I had long been forgotten by the world."
"You are indeed the most powerful person among those who have been forgotten. I think it is probably because you betrayed your master for glory, so no one in the imperial court dared to use you. I don't know if you have regretted it all these years."
Ning Que wiped the cold rain off his face, and looked at the dying old man and said, "But it is also because you have been forgotten by the world that I think killing you should not cause too much trouble. Besides, I have been admitted to the Academy, and killing you is an indispensable part of my celebration, just like flowers and pigeons. "
Chen Zixian's old and weak eyes were full of confusion, and he said in a low voice, "Give me a quick death."
"It is still early, and it will take your poor apprentices a long time to finish today's orders."
Ning Que raised his head and looked at the sky. The rain was like a curtain of beads hanging from the clouds, and he could not see where the sun was. But he knew that he still had a lot of time, so he said softly, "As for the pleasure, you have made me very unhappy all these years, so don't expect to die too happily."
"I have a poem to read to you." He looked at the dying old man in the pile of firewood, and there was no expression on his face. He said calmly, "I came from the mountains and rivers, I came from the grassland, I came from the Yan territory, I came from the General's Mansion to take your life."
Hearing the words "General's Mansion", Chen Zixian's turbid eyes suddenly became bright, and his expression gradually became relieved. He subconsciously moved his trembling hands on the wet firewood, and stared at Ning Que's young face, and said in a trembling voice, "I see, it turns out … the General's son is still alive, you … you said … you have been admitted to the Academy, it is so good … so good, I have lived such a tiring life these years, and I can die knowing … the General's son is still alive … and living well … I can really rest in peace."
"Who is not tired of living?" Ning Que looked down at the potholes in front of his feet, which were hit by the rain, and said in a low voice, "I have to learn calligraphy, Olympiad math, piano, and painting, and I have to sit on the back seat of my mother's bicycle every weekend, and finally I am more familiar with the Children's Palace than my home. Don't you think I am tired?"
Chen Zixian did not understand what he said, and he covered the bleeding wound and shook his head in pain.
…
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