Chapter 299: Hello Chang'an
Chapter 299: The Source of Injustice
For a time, the skies above Luoyang were shrouded in a deepening gloom—slaughter, retaliation, flight, cursing, interrogation, suppression… all the chaos and clamor melded into a river of blood.
In Luoyang and the surrounding prefectures, officials of various clans and origins were swiftly purged and seized. Li Xian moved with brutal efficiency, leaving no leeway, sparing no consequence, caring neither for gain nor loss. He had but one purpose—to fulfill the Holy Empress’s decree and annihilate the gentry clans of Luoyang.
That day, as dusk fell, Li Xian, wearing armor and carrying his blade, stepped out from an ancient, deep-walled three-courtyard mansion. Behind him came the faint echoes of screams and furious curses.
“A mere lowborn commoner—how dare you, upon rising to power, slaughter the noble clans of scholars!”
“Such lawless tyranny, defying Heaven’s way and human order!”
“Whether we have erred or not should be judged by the law of the realm—how dare you act wantonly, butchering as you please!”
“The principles of governance and order have been upheld by our class for centuries—should you sever the bloodline of the gentry, you sever the destiny of the Da Sheng Dynasty, and cut off the heritage of mankind!”
“That demoness on the throne courts her own doom!”
“When a nation is near its end, monsters always emerge!”
“You servants of a wicked ruler will be punished by Heaven… Heaven’s wrath will come upon you!”
“...”
Li Xian descended the stone steps, sneering to himself. “Whether the Da Sheng Dynasty falls, whether we perish—all remains uncertain. But one thing is certain: your kind, who have long deemed yourselves above all others, your time of death has truly come.”
He looked down at the blood pooling beneath his boots. This was not the end. Luoyang was merely the beginning.
Before mounting his horse, he bent down and picked up a pale pink petal floating in the blood. Straightening, he examined it carefully.
“What a pity—the peonies this year were beautiful.”
There was a trace of regret in his eyes, yet a smile soon followed. “But next year, they will bloom even better.”
With the blood of the scholars nourishing the soil, next spring’s peonies in Luoyang would be the most splendid of all. He would be there to admire them.
“Don’t kill me, don’t kill me…!”
“Please, spare me! It was all the scheme of the clan chief and the traitor Xu—I knew nothing of it!”
A man in long robes, drenched in blood, stumbled out from the mansion gate, falling to his knees as soldiers with raised blades pursued him.
Raised in a family of scholars, taught to stay far from butchery and violence, he had never even seen a chicken killed—let alone such carnage.
His father, who had cursed their attackers, had his head severed before his eyes. He had fainted in terror, only to awaken in a vision of hell.
Li Xian turned back with mild interest and stayed the soldier’s hand. “He has not resisted. Do not kill without cause. Take him to the dungeon for judgment.”
The man, trembling, kowtowed repeatedly. “Thank you… thank you, General Li!”
Li Xian’s smile widened. “I am merely performing my duty.”
Hearing that laughter, the man looked up in terror. Li Xian stood above him, eyes glinting with cruel amusement. Every hair on the man’s body bristled with fear.
He was quickly dragged away.
“What a pity,” Li Xian murmured again. “It’s a pity Grand General Cui is not in Luoyang—he would have enjoyed such delightful scenes.”
He gazed at the plaque above the mansion gate—this was the ancestral home of the Cui clan, a house famed for its integrity and defiance, so proud it dared to look down even upon imperial authority.
The world knew them as untouchable paragons. Yet none knew how easily they quaked at the sight of blood. Many had knelt before him, begging for mercy, pleading for a scrap of compassion.
He was glad to grant it. After all, only those who stood above others had the right to dispense mercy.
Mounting his horse, Li Xian took up the reins. The petal between his fingers was crushed into powder by the rough leather.
…
The prisons of Luoyang were now filled with the so-called “criminals” of the scholar clans seized by Li Xian. These families had taken root in the city for centuries, spreading like great trees. If not for the recent mass execution of heavy offenders, there would scarcely have been room to hold them all.
Within the cells came the cries of women and children, the curses of men still defiant. When Li Xian appeared, those curses grew louder, echoing through the cold iron bars—but he paid them no heed.
He went straight to the torture chamber. There, bound to the rack, was an old man with graying hair, his robes stripped away, his undershirt soaked in blood.
“Still refuses to name his co-conspirators?” Li Xian asked softly.
The old man hung his head, silent, half-conscious—yet his frail body trembled under the weight of pain.
“Truly a man of hard bones, as your style name declares.” Li Xian smiled faintly. “When I was young, growing up in Luoyang, I used to copy your calligraphy. Alas, I could capture its form, but never its spirit.”
“Base, barbarous wretch! You dare speak of learning my father’s art?”
A middle-aged man, just brought in, spat with disdain.
Li Xian turned, his smile unbroken. “It has been years, Young Lord Yuan. Though you look wretched, your spirit remains unchanged.”
The man gave a bitter laugh, even as he was forced to kneel. “So this is Heaven’s justice—when monsters rule, the world rots!”
Li Xian chuckled. “Like father, like son—unyielding to the end. Admirable, truly.”
Then his gaze shifted behind the man, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. “I wonder—does the youngest of your line possess the same courage?”
At that, the man’s expression changed sharply. He twisted around in panic.
A boy of barely ten years was being dragged in. Despite his small size, he struggled fiercely, refusing to yield.
“Let me go!” he shouted.
The child’s strength was feeble; how could he possibly resist the soldiers? In an instant, they had forced him to the ground.
Li Xian strode toward him.
“Li Xian! What do you think you’re doing!” the man cried out, struggling wildly against his bonds.
Li Xian came to stand before the boy and pressed his boot down upon the boy’s right hand.
“I vaguely recall,” he said slowly, “when your son and I were of the same age, Luoyang held its grand Peony Festival each spring… That year, I picked a single Luoyang Brocade blossom out of curiosity. You, Young Lord Yuan, flew into a rage.”
He smiled faintly at the memory. “You said that peony belonged to the Yuan family—that a lowborn wretch like me had no right to touch it. What a disgrace I was, you said.”
He had tried to flee, but was dragged down and beaten by the boys who sought to flatter the Yuan heir. Some of them even urinated on him while laughing—though they made sure to do it far away, so as not to sully Young Lord Yuan’s sight.
His aunt had already entered the palace by then. She had borne imperial twins, but rather than being favored, she was deemed ill-omened. His family background was humble—his mother a mere sister to a concubine, his father a minor military officer.
It was that day he truly learned what it meant to be born low. The gulf between scholar and commoner was as vast as heaven and earth.
The glory of Luoyang had never belonged to people like him. The great clans monopolized all—wealth, rank, learning—and regarded the lowborn as filth unworthy even to breathe the same air.
Years later, fortune turned. His aunt rose higher and higher, her favor growing until their family was summoned to the capital. He had thought himself free of the Yuan clan, but upon reaching the capital, he realized that compared to the true Four Great Aristocratic Families, even the mighty Yuan clan was nothing.
In court, nearly every powerful office was held by those same four surnames. Their influence stretched across the empire. They had wealth, prestige, and the monopoly on learning and governance. They ran private academies to educate their sons and barred all others from advancement. For generations, they ruled the empire from behind the veil of propriety.
Their names were Cui, Lu, Zheng, and Wang.
And foremost among them—the Cui clan.
Even the Emperor treated them with deference.
When his aunt became Empress, and later, the Holy Emperor herself—when his father was ennobled as the Marquis of Han—even then, the Cui clan’s arrogance did not waver. They despised him, and more than that, they feared him.
Yet the Emperor, though fully aware of their disdain, still appointed Cui Jing as the new Commander of the Xuanzhe Army—because she needed the Cui clan’s power to counterbalance the other noble houses.
So from early on, Li Xian had known one truth:
The aristocratic clans were the root of all injustice.
He despised every one of their sons—and most of all, that one among the Cui clan who shone brightest above all others.
He could not help it. He loathed the man who, though younger and less accomplished, was born to stand over him—a position that not even the passing of ten years under an Emperor’s reign could change.
If he wished to destroy that injustice, there was only one way—
He must erase the system that birthed it.
The aristocracy must die.
And heaven had granted him this chance. What he did now was not cruelty in his mind, but the fulfillment of his lifelong will. From this day forth, the ancient order of the great clans would vanish—under his hand.
Li Xian lowered his gaze to the boy beneath his boot. For a fleeting moment, he thought he saw himself—helpless, humiliated.
No.
This boy, though trembling, still clenched his jaw and met his gaze unflinching.
Li Xian moved his foot away, crouched down, seized the boy’s small hand, and drew a dagger from his belt.
The blade caught the lamplight. The boy’s eyes widened with terror. He struggled frantically.
“Li Xian, don’t you dare touch my son!” the father roared.
“My boy is but a child! Even when the Changsun clan was condemned, the court spared all children under fourteen—you cannot harm him!”
Li Xian sighed. “I do not wish to harm a child either. But your patriarch refuses to confess. For interrogation’s sake—there is no other way.”
The dagger flashed. Blood splattered across the floor. Two fingers fell to the ground.
“Ahhh—!”
The boy screamed, convulsing, held down by the guards.
The father’s eyes bulged with horror. “Li Xian! You slaughter and torture as you please—where are the rites, where is the law?!”
“Rites?” Li Xian sneered. “Were they not the very tools your noble clans invented to enslave the rest of us?”
He caught the boy’s bleeding wrist again, smiling faintly. “It seems Young Master Yuan is not so made of iron after all… or perhaps, his bones are harder elsewhere?”
His gaze slid over the trembling child, lingering with cold mockery.
The boy’s face was pressed against the floor, cheeks swollen and red with tears, yet his voice quivered out—
“I am not afraid! You may break my body, but not the will of the Yuan clan! Do your worst!”
He hardly understood his own words—only that his father had always taught him and his sister: A gentleman’s spirit must never be broken.
But his father, hearing that cry, broke instead.
“Stop! Please stop!” Eldest Master Yuan kowtowed fiercely toward his bound father. “Father, forgive me! Your son is useless, unfilial!”
The old patriarch trembled, eyes closing tight. Then, in a faint, rasping voice, he said—
“…It was the Zheng clan.”
Li Xian’s brows lifted. “Zheng clan? From Xingyang?”
“Yes.”
At Li Xian’s gesture, a scribe hurried forward with a prepared confession scroll.
The old man looked at him steadily.
Li Xian smiled. “Ah, I had the confession ready all along. I already knew it was the Zhengs. Whether you admitted it or not, I could have severed your hand and used it to sign.”
He leaned close, voice dripping with amusement. “But I wanted to see it for myself—the moment when the proud bones of the Yuan clan finally shattered. Truly delightful.”
The old man closed his eyes again. Then suddenly, with what little strength remained, he hurled himself forward—head first into the spiked wooden post.
“Father!”
“Grandfather!”
Li Xian clicked his tongue, turned away, and left.
Behind him, wails filled the air.
The patriarch’s body was dragged away. The boy, missing two fingers, was thrown back into the cell.
That night, fever overtook him. Half-delirious, he murmured over and over—
“Ah Jie… don’t come back. Ah Jie, don’t come back…”
The woman holding him wept silently.
Outside, the rain kept falling.
But the hunt continued through the alleys and backstreets of Luoyang—
the purge of every last surviving noble soul.
In a narrow alley, a slender figure trembled in the dark. Then—someone tapped her shoulder from behind.
“Good night, The tone has grown heavy lately, but the rise and fall of the aristocratic clans is an essential thread of this story. It cannot be avoided, and to gloss over it would make it hollow. So I must write it as it is.”
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