Dawn of the Empire

Chapter 14: Interrogation

Huang Qianzong turned and kicked open the door that Liu, the neighborhood head, had just closed with a loud “boom,” bellowing, “What are you, a murderous scoundrel, hiding in there for? You’re supposed to treat your own men—do you really expect the scholar to do the work for you?” Before Ouyang arrived at Anxi Garrison, the garrison’s senior military officers were divided into two factions. One faction consisted of Huang Dexia and Liu Chenyong, who were part of the military establishment. The other faction consisted of six men led by Song Wenmu, whose backgrounds were in the civil service or commerce. Liu Chenyong had earned military merits and was considered a likely candidate for promotion to company commander at any time. With the backing of Huang Dexia, the town’s current company commander, he held a firm advantage over Song Wenmu, who had more supporters. As a result, he consistently displayed a volatile temper, and others found it nearly impossible to deal with him. However, military men regard orders as absolute, and since Huang Qianzong is both his superior and a constant source of support, his words must still be heeded. Besides, Liu Chenyong wasn’t actually as overbearing as he appeared; he had been eavesdropping on their discussion from behind the door the whole time. Ou Yang’s proposal clearly suited Liu Chenyong’s tastes, and the final outcome was also very satisfying. Naturally, this wasn’t the time to give anyone the cold shoulder. Liu Paijia scratched his head with an awkward smile as he stepped out of the room and said to Ou Yang, “I’m a rough-and-tumble sort of man; please don’t take offense, Ou Paijia.” With a sharp “hiss,” Song Wenmu let out a cold laugh through clenched teeth. Every scholar in the Empire had studied a bit of medicine. Although this subject wasn’t part of the provincial examination curriculum, the saying “If you can’t be a great statesman, be a great physician” was very popular these days, and medicine was considered one of the major disciplines in higher education. When scholars gathered to exchange ideas, being completely clueless about medical practices would invite ridicule. This was especially true for the soldiers stationed at the frontier, where injuries—and even death—were not uncommon. To avoid losing their lives needlessly, knowing how to treat even simple wounds was essential knowledge. As for the Di Yi, whose level of civilization lags far behind, their understanding of the term “medicine” mostly remains at the level of “shamanistic rituals.” Although in this plane where magic exists, “shamanistic rituals” aren’t necessarily completely useless, magic itself is firmly grounded in a wealth of knowledge. Ouyang believed that the Empire’s technological level surpassed that of its neighboring nations by at least two centuries. As for the Empire’s mastery of magic, it was no problem at all to leave Di Yi far behind. So when the Di Yi soldiers saw their “masters” actually deigning to personally tend to the wounds of those useless cripples, they felt for the first time that they weren’t merely fighting for survival under harsh laws and military regulations, but rather that they were “willing to die for a true patron.” Wukeshan nudged Heheli’s shoulder with his elbow and whispered, “Our masters are truly kind.” Heheli nodded. “Our lives are bound to get better and better from now on.” Ou Yang claimed he’d learned a little medicine, and that was truly all there was to it. He merely used the needle and thread from the standard medical kit issued to low-ranking imperial officers to stitch up the gaping wounds of the soldiers (Heheli felt that the Plate Armor Master’s suturing skills were far inferior to those of his own wife) and then offered a small flask of strong liquor from his personal supply to disinfect the wounds. Two men from the 8th Armored Unit died this time—one had his neck snapped by a jackal-man, and the other was struck squarely in the forehead by a bone arrow. There were five others wounded, including Takurai, who’d taken two arrows in the arm. One of the wounded had been slashed by an axe blade, nearly having his abdomen ripped open. Ou Yang had no tools for a blood transfusion, so after stitching up the wound, he could only leave the man to fend for himself. Takurai’s injuries were relatively minor. As soon as the battle ended, he hastily bandaged himself and set out to search for his wife and children. In the end, he found none; all the child slaves in the Di-Qiang tribe were newly captured. According to Ding Zhuang, a slave who had just been rescued, those green-skinned men tortured several women to death every day, and those two wolves even ate people. Within just a few days of being captured, all the women and children from his own tribe had vanished. Furious and with bloodshot eyes, Takurai wanted to hack down a few captives to avenge his people, but he dared not kill Dingzhuang, for he was his master’s property. Instead, he fixed his gaze on a few elderly Shengdi men who had been cast aside and left unattended. These old rogues were clan chiefs and elders; frail and feeble, they were of no use for labor, so their masters would certainly not keep them. When the time came, he would plead with Pai Jia for mercy—if his master’s heart softened, he would surely be allowed to carry out the execution. Takurai wasn’t the only one staring at these shivering old men. The Yi slaves, freshly released from the dungeon, were all glaring at them with murderous intent. There was no doubt about it: as soon as the Han gave the order, they would be sliced up like slices of lamb for hot pot. And if they didn’t do something, the Han would be only too happy to issue such an order. A Di-Qiang elder, on the verge of a nervous breakdown, struggled to his feet and waved his arms, shouting at Huang Qianzong and his men, “I have vital military intelligence to report! You must not kill me!” However, the Han officers paid him no heed. The Di-Qiang chieftain, on the other hand, showed no mercy. Sitting on the ground, he kicked the elder in the back of the knee, knocking him down, and then snarled, “Haven’t you disgraced yourself enough? Have you forgotten what you swore when you pledged allegiance to the prince?” ” Perhaps fearing the Han men might overhear, he deliberately lowered his voice, but the tribal elder no longer cared. He retorted loudly, “You tricked us into coming here! You said we were pledging allegiance to the Di people’s own great empire—but where is its greatness? Even the caravans that have passed through numbered only a few dozen people in total!” This tribal elder had originally been the chief of another small Di-Qiang tribe; he had recently led his people to merge with this tribe, initially believing he had found a good home for his tribe’s children, but now he deeply regretted his decision. The chieftain of another small tribe that had pledged allegiance felt the same way. They had been lured by the Di-Qiang elder’s promises of a bright future and had dared to repair their fortification walls so close to the Han people. But they hadn’t enjoyed a good life for even a few days before their entire group was wiped out. The old man let out an inhuman screech and lunged at the elder, flailing his arms and legs. To everyone’s surprise, the elder was surprisingly agile; he rolled aside to dodge the attack and kicked the off-balance old man flying with a single blow. The elders of his own tribe swarmed the unfortunate man to beat him senseless, while the chief of the other small tribe led the elders of his two clans in a counterattack, even managing to form a somewhat proper triangular offensive formation. A group of decrepit Di and Qiang elders began fighting with their bare hands, kicking up a cloud of dust. Huang Qianzong watched with great interest, as if enjoying a grand spectacle, before patting his son on the shoulder and ordering, “Go find out what’s going on. Don’t kill them all—we need to keep a few as evidence to send back to Lu Li.” Huang Qianzong’s eldest son, Huang Junxian, was only 18 this year—a bit younger than Ou Yang. But this was clearly not his first time carrying out such brutal torture and killings. He drew his broadsword and walked over to the group of old men; without a word, he thrust the blade straight at one of them. An elderly Di-Qiang man clutched his abdomen, let out a agonized scream, and collapsed. Huang Junxian stepped on his neck and, with a slight pressure, crushed his cervical vertebrae. The chilling sound of cracking bones sent a wave of terror through the entire group of Di-Qiang elders. A savage grin spread across the young man’s face as he stared at the former chief of the small Di-Qiang tribe, who was trembling uncontrollably, like a hungry tiger fixated on its prey. “Tell me, what’s going on?”