Chapter 11: The Sword at the Waist Still Reeks of Blood

"Father, may I accompany you?" Zhu Biao looked at Zhu Yuanzhang with a touch of concern.

He had spent an hour with his father in the Wuying Hall, reading the correspondence from Liao Yongzhong's residence. The contents had made his heart race and his blood boil with rage. Liao Yongzhong and his associates were truly audacious—their actions were utterly intolerable.

"Biao'er, there is no need. Go and get some sleep; it is already well past midnight. Do not stay up too late; it is not good for your health. Your father can handle these matters; I shall not be driven to any harm by mere anger. Rest assured, your father is stronger than you think," Zhu Yuanzhang said with a smile.

No matter how furious he was, Zhu Yuanzhang could always temper his temperament when facing his son. Originally, his plan had been to seize the evidence and immediately confront Liao Yongzhong to settle the matter, without bothering to look at the letters at all. He already knew exactly what they contained. However, after some reflection, he changed his mind and invited Biao'er to review a portion of them with him.

In his previous life, although Biao'er never voiced it, Zhu Yuanzhang could sense that his son disapproved of his purges of the Great Ming's founding heroes. As time went on, the invisible divide in their ideologies had become increasingly pronounced. Zhu Yuanzhang believed that one significant cause of this was that he had shielded Biao'er too well. There were dark truths he did not want Biao'er to touch, preferring to handle the dirty work himself to clear every obstacle, so that his son could be a peaceful monarch.

In his past life, Zhu Yuanzhang had seen nothing wrong with this approach. But during the fifteen years he spent living in the modern era, the more he pondered it, the more he realized it was flawed. Biao'er was destined to be the Emperor. Human strength has its limits; each generation has its own tasks and its own dilemmas. No matter how hard he tried, he could not resolve all the challenges of the Great Ming for the future. Once Biao'er ascended the throne, he would inevitably have to witness the darkness of the human heart. Since that was the case, he might as well allow Biao'er to encounter some of it selectively.

Firstly, it would temper his character. It would ensure that when Biao'er faced similar situations in the future, he would not be caught off guard and suffer, or have his inner beliefs shattered by the shock. Secondly, it would reduce the misunderstandings and estrangement between them. Judging by Biao'er’s reaction, this idea was proving quite effective. He believed that with persistence, Biao'er would eventually understand his painstaking efforts and recognize that raising the butcher’s knife was the right thing to do.

As for telling Biao'er to go and rest, that was a decision Zhu Yuanzhang had made after deep reflection. Over his fifteen years in the modern world, he had analyzed the cause of Biao'er’s death. He concluded that the primary cause was not the cold that had afflicted him, but rather the long-term, dual exhaustion of body and spirit that had severely compromised his immune system. He had long been in a sub-health state, his constitution weakened, which was why a simple cold had taken his life.

In his previous life, he had measured others by his own standards. He thought that if he could feel energized after two hours of sleep, Biao'er, who was much younger, should be fine with three hours. It was only after arriving in the modern era that he realized people with his level of extraordinary vitality were a rare minority. He was the anomaly. Now that he had been granted a second life, he could not let the tragedy repeat itself.

"Father, it is fine. I am not tired. I am in the prime of my youth. If you are not tired, how could I be, being twenty years your junior?" Zhu Biao, with dark circles under his eyes, shook his head.

"Go to sleep, Biao'er. Your father is different from most men; I am naturally a light sleeper. You cannot compete with me on this. From now on, make sure you get four hours of sleep. Do not hold yourself so tautly. There is still a long road ahead. Life is a succession of events; do not think that if you push yourself hard enough to resolve one, there will be no others following. Life is a marathon, not a sprint. Your body is the capital of the revolution. Moderation is key."

Zhu Biao had intended to argue further, but after hearing these words, he fell silent and accepted his father’s kindness.

***

Watching his father depart with the attendants from the Imperial Guard, a smile appeared on Zhu Biao’s face. He did not linger and went back to sleep. He was certain it was not an illusion: his father was truly different now. His father still loved him as deeply as ever, wanting only the best for him, but he had become more nuanced and capable of considering issues from his son’s perspective. Zhu Biao even felt a sense of something akin to equality, something that had never existed before. This feeling was undeniably wonderful, yet it also left him deeply puzzled. It was not just the change in how his father handled affairs, but also the shift in his speech. "The body is the capital of the revolution"? The phrase sounded strange at first, but upon reflection, it felt profound and full of hidden truth. What had happened to his father? Why did he seem to have changed so suddenly?

***

Inside the dim and damp prison of the Directorate of Palace Servants, Liu Ying, the Left Commander of the Imperial Guard, bowed to Zhu Yuanzhang. Zhu Yuanzhang nodded. Liu Ying had been tested by history and was absolutely loyal to him, unlike Cao Xiu, who was a treacherous, short-sighted man. It was for this reason that Zhu Yuanzhang had sent him to guard Liao Yongzhong, never leaving his side.

Liao Yongzhong, bound tightly to a pillar, opened his eyes at the sound of movement. He appeared sober now. "This subject pays respects to the Sovereign. I am a criminal and cannot perform the full rites; I beg the Sovereign’s forgiveness." He emphasized the word "Sovereign"—a special title reserved only for those few who had followed Zhu Yuanzhang since the early days of carving out the empire.

"Little Liao, do you know your crimes?" Zhu Yuanzhang stood before him, his voice calm. Yet, that very calmness was what made it truly chilling.

"Sovereign, I know my crimes. I was momentarily confused; I had too much to drink and began spouting nonsense!" Liao Yongzhong’s attitude had shifted one hundred and eighty degrees.

Zhu Yuanzhang shook his head. "You do not 'know your crimes'; you know that I have raided your home, and you know you are about to die, which is why you claim to know them. One does not speak nonsense after drinking; the truth is what spills out after a few cups!"

Liao Yongzhong’s heart sank. Why were Zhu Yuanzhang’s words so terrifying?

"Sovereign, I truly know my crimes! I will never dare to commit them again! I beg the Sovereign to give this subject one more chance..."

"There are no more chances. I have given you enough. I also know that even if I had given you another chance, you would not have been grateful, nor would you have repented. You would have hated me to the core and continued on your own path." Zhu Yuanzhang shook his head.

Liao Yongzhong was drenched in cold sweat, his heart sinking to the abyss. What had happened to Zhu Yuanzhang? He was not playing by the rules at all. Could he really intend to kill him? How could he dare?

"Sovereign! My Chaohu Naval Fleet fought alongside you through blood and fire. Uncle Yu, Brother Yu, Zhang Desheng, my own brother—they all died in battle! Of the two thousand men who followed you at the start, only one hundred and nine remain alive! Sovereign, you cannot slaughter the donkey after the millstone is broken! You said you would not be like Liu Bang!"

*Slap!*

Zhu Yuanzhang’s expression broke its calm, and he struck Liao Yongzhong across the face, drawing blood from the corner of his mouth.

"I truly do not want to be Liu Bang! But you, time and time again, have forced me into becoming him! You push me to this point and then turn around and blame me for becoming him! You want all the good for yourselves, yet leave all the infamy to me!" His eyes reddened as he roared at Liao Yongzhong, his presence overwhelming. The cleared-out dungeon felt as if the depths of winter had descended.

"Sovereign! If you are angry, do not take it out on me alone! The group from Huaixi, your own fellow countrymen, have done far worse! I am not the only one who has been corrupt. Why do you focus only on me? If you were truly fair, you would kill them all! If you did that, I would respect you as a man who truly cares for the Great Ming! But you wouldn't dare, would you? You see that the Chaohu Fleet does not form factions and that I am the only leader left, making me easy to deal with, so you pick the soft persimmon!"

Seeing that pleading was useless, Liao Yongzhong turned defiant, dragging the many Huaixi nobles down with him. He spoke this way partly out of genuine resentment, feeling the Emperor was being unfair, and partly to goad the Emperor, hoping to make him hesitate. He was convinced that after saying these things, Zhu Yuanzhang would be forced to spare him.

Zhu Yuanzhang smiled. In the next moment, he suddenly drew the Emperor’s Sword and thrust it through Liao Yongzhong’s chest. Liao Yongzhong’s eyes widened in utter disbelief. He was the Duke of Deqing! A founding hero of the Great Ming! In all these years, Zhu Yuanzhang had never killed a noble. How could he dare to do this now? Was he not afraid of a rebellion from the other nobles?

"You... you are killing me to silence me?" he gasped, forcing out the words.

"It is not to silence you; it is because you deserve it! As for those in Huaixi, I will not spare those who deserve to die! Go to the afterlife and wait for them there." Zhu Yuanzhang’s voice was low, filled with a dense, unshakable murderous intent.

Liao Yongzhong froze, wanting to say more, but he lacked the strength. As he opened his mouth, blood gushed out. A moment later, he went still, though the mocking expression on his face remained piercingly sharp.

Zhu Yuanzhang withdrew his sword, and a spray of blood erupted from Liao Yongzhong’s chest. Zhu Yuanzhang did not dodge; he let the blood drench his face and hair. The pungent scent of blood enveloped him, and even his vision turned a deep, crimson red. The mockery on Liao Yongzhong’s face seemed even more glaring.

Zhu Yuanzhang knew what that look meant. It was mocking him for only daring to strike at him, mocking him for becoming Liu Bang, and mocking him for the saying, "When the birds are gone, the good bow is put away." It was mocking the idea that his promise to deal with the Huaixi nobles was a lie.

"Rest assured, I keep my word. None of those who deserve to die will escape," he said, staring at the corpse. His voice was hoarse, as if he were making a promise to Liao Yongzhong, or perhaps to himself.

With that, he turned and walked out of the dungeon. The Emperor’s Sword hung low, blood dripping from it one drop at a time. A moment later, a hoarse voice drifted through the air, mingled with the scent of blood:

"A million soldiers slaughtered in the south, the sword at my waist still reeks of blood. The mountain monk knows not the hero’s face, but keeps pestering me for my name!"