Chapter 554: Capital, I, Zhu Ping’an, Have Returned

After leaving Ma Family Village behind, Zhu Ping’an continued northward without pause. By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, staining the distant sky with fading crimson, he finally arrived at an official relay station outside a county town.

In the Great Ming, official rank was the finest travel permit one could possess.

The relay station master did not dare show even the slightest negligence toward a sixth-rank capital official like Zhu Ping’an. To men of his status, someone of Zhu Ping’an’s rank was practically a heavenly figure descended among mortals. Though the station master technically managed the relay post, his own position did not even qualify as a proper ranked office—he had not so much as reached secondary ninth rank.

So the moment he verified Zhu Ping’an’s credentials, his attitude became almost reverential.

Food, wine, lodging—everything was prepared with utmost care, as though entertaining an honored ancestor.

However, after noticing Zhu Ping’an’s poor complexion and obvious lack of interest in conversation, the station master wisely refrained from lingering too long. Once the servants had delivered a full table of dishes and cleaned the finest room in the relay station, he politely excused himself and withdrew.

Zhu Ping’an indeed looked unwell.

Even facing a table laden with steaming dishes, he found himself with little appetite.

His thoughts were still trapped in Ma Family Village.

More specifically—

In the sound of those two bodies sinking beneath the water.

Although according to Ming law, a husband who caught adulterers in the act had the legal right to kill them immediately, and drowning them was considered permissible…

The experience still weighed heavily upon him.

This had been the first case he had ever “judged.”

And that very first judgment had ended with two lives cast into a river.

It felt rather like a new recruit experiencing battle for the first time. Many fresh soldiers, upon witnessing fields littered with corpses, would vomit, tremble, or lose their composure.

Zhu Ping’an’s current state was not all that different.

Mercy cannot command an army.

The old saying truly made sense.

And governing officials were much the same.

Especially local magistrates and prefects responsible for ruling the people directly. They wielded authority that combined the functions of administration, judiciary, and prosecution all at once. They governed, judged, and sentenced.

To preside over justice was, in many ways, like commanding soldiers.

Excessive softness could not be allowed.

If a magistrate became too compassionate—even unwilling to harshly punish murderers—then the dignity of the law would collapse. Crime would flourish unchecked within the jurisdiction, and in the end, ordinary people would suffer the most.

So…

His temperament still required tempering.

Zhu Ping’an sighed quietly.

After forcing himself to eat a simple supper, he personally cleared away the leftovers. Then he spread out brush, inkstone, paper, and ink upon the table.

Grinding the ink slowly, he dipped his brush and began to write.

“The Zhao warrior wears a tasseled cap,
His Wu-hook sword gleams bright as frost.
Silver saddle shining on white horse,
He rides swift as a shooting star.

In ten steps he kills a man,
Across a thousand li he leaves no trace.
When all is done, he brushes off his sleeves,
Hiding both body and name.”

It was Li Bai’s The Gallant Swordsman.

At first, Zhu Ping’an’s heart remained restless. His brushstrokes lacked steadiness, his thoughts drifting repeatedly back toward the river at Ma Family Village.

But gradually—

As black ink spread across the white xuan paper…

An image slowly formed within his mind.

A lone wandering swordsman.

Carrying a blade across the world.

Rescuing the weak.

Punishing evil.

Establishing merit beneath Heaven.

Little by little, Zhu Ping’an’s turbulent emotions settled.

Chinese calligraphy truly possessed a mysterious elegance cultivated over thousands of years. The interplay of dark and light ink, the sharpness of iron-like strokes and silver hooks, the flowing balance between strength and restraint…

It was more than writing.

It was cultivation of the self.

By the time he finished writing The Gallant Swordsman, his heart had finally become completely calm.

Afterward, Zhu Ping’an practiced a while longer.

Only when the moon had risen halfway into the night sky did he finally put away the brushes and inkstone. He stepped outside and requested a bucket of hot water from the relay station attendants.

Once the water was brought into his room, he took a brief hot bath, extinguished the lantern, and went to sleep.

He slept deeply until dawn.

When the sky had only just begun to brighten, Zhu Ping’an rose, packed his belongings, bade farewell to the relay station, and once more embarked upon the northern road.

Wind and dust for meals.

Rain and dew for lodging.

Riding hard through storm and shine alike.

At last, on the nineteenth day since leaving home, he finally arrived before the capital.

The capital.

I, Zhu Ping’an, have returned.

He gazed at the majestic city walls looming in the distance and smiled faintly to himself.

“I refuse to believe black and white can truly be reversed forever.”

The towering capital city stood beneath the heavens like an ancient beast crouched upon the earth.

Zhu Ping’an urged his horse forward toward the gates.

The capital was bustling beyond imagination.

The flow of people resembled a vast ocean.

Commoners carrying shoulder poles streamed endlessly toward the city gates like fish crossing a river. Delivery carts rattled one after another over the stone roads. Wealthy merchants dressed in luxurious robes leaned from carriage windows discussing the latest business opportunities.

Several official sedan chairs, escorted by yamen runners, bypassed the long queue and entered directly.

Young nobles on horseback galloped arrogantly into the waiting crowd, scattering commoners aside like burning irons plunged into snow.

Amid all this prosperity and movement, Zhu Ping’an looked utterly unremarkable.

After days of rough travel, he was covered in dust when the weather was dry and caked with mud when it rained. Walking beside his horse, he resembled nothing more than a down-and-out scholar who had failed the examinations.

Those without privilege all had to line up outside the city gate.

And the queue was very long.

Naturally, once people became bored, they began gossiping to pass the time.

Since the capital was already within sight, Zhu Ping’an was in no hurry. Leading his horse leisurely along with the crowd, he casually listened to the conversations around him to catch up on the latest news.

There was no shortage of gossip in the capital.

A certain idle prince had allegedly been reported for secretly storing armor.

Rumors spread about an old woman on Imperial City Street supposedly returning from the dead.

The Eastern Depot and the Jinyiwei had apparently gotten into a violent brawl inside a tavern.

And Drunken Flower Pavilion had recently produced a talented courtesan skilled in poetry, song, and dance, attracting crowds so large the streets became empty elsewhere.

But among all the gossip, nothing drew more attention than the scandals surrounding the Yan Residence.

Everyone spoke as though they had witnessed events personally.

The most sensational story concerned the “Little Chancellor” Yan Shifan taking yet another concubine—

A married woman.

According to rumor, the woman had originally been the wife of one of Yan Shifan’s subordinates. During one of Yan Shifan’s “work inspections,” he had seduced her. After repeated visits, the subordinate one day returned home early and discovered the Little Chancellor personally “inspecting” his wife atop their marital bed.

Yet the subordinate was apparently an extraordinary creature himself.

Not only did he fail to become angry—

He actually felt honored.

Instead of interrupting them, he obediently stood guard outside the door to keep watch for Yan Shifan.

After half a year of this, the subordinate supposedly even worried that traveling back and forth for these “inspections” was too exhausting for the Little Chancellor.

So he voluntarily presented his wife to Yan Shifan as a concubine.

The crowd erupted with both laughter and disgust while recounting the tale.

The people of the capital paid close attention to the Yan family.

Even dung carriers at the city gates had endless stories to tell.

Some claimed the Yan estate was more magnificent than the imperial palace itself.

Others said they dined from gold and jade, used ivory chopsticks, hosted endless banquets of song and dance, spent hundreds of taels on a single meal, and that Yan Shifan himself supposedly indulged in women at least three times every day.

The more people envied the luxury and decadence of the Yan family—

The more hatred they secretly harbored toward Yan Song and his son.

Though the Yan clan currently stood at the height of power, resentment against them was quietly taking root deeper and deeper within the hearts of the people.

Zhu Ping’an listened silently while moving slowly forward with the crowd.

“Hey, move aside! Let my young master pass first!”

Just as it was nearly Zhu Ping’an’s turn to enter the city, someone behind him suddenly shoved at his shoulder, demanding he make way.

The man had clearly forced his way through the queue already, bullying aside several people before reaching Zhu Ping’an. Those previously pushed aside had all swallowed their anger after seeing the servants’ luxurious clothing—it was obvious these people were either wealthy or noble.

Cutting the line was one thing.

But acting proud about it?

That annoyed Zhu Ping’an most of all.

If they had spoken politely, perhaps he might not have cared.

But this arrogant, overbearing attitude instantly soured his mood.

Zhu Ping’an merely smiled faintly, brushed the hand from his shoulder, and stood firmly in place while holding his horse’s reins.

Not even the slightest intention of moving aside.

“You—!”

The servant looked both shocked and furious.

“Do you even know who our young master is?!”

His expression made it seem as though Zhu Ping’an had committed some unforgivable crime merely by refusing.

From behind, a young noble inside a sedan chair impatiently lifted the curtain and glanced over.

“Wang Gui, are you useless or what?” he complained lazily. “Tell him I’ll pay his city entrance fee. I’m in a hurry to get to Drunken Flower Pavilion to discuss poetry with Little Peach Red.”

“Entrance fee?”

Zhu Ping’an laughed.

Then he turned toward the young master and said casually:

“A few copper coins and you expect me to move? If you offer one hundred taels of silver, then I’ll gladly step aside. Otherwise, stop pretending to be some great wealthy lord.”

The surrounding crowd burst into laughter.

They had long been unhappy with the line-cutting.

The young master’s face immediately turned red with embarrassment.

“You… just you wait!”

Unable to endure the crowd’s mocking laughter, he tossed out a bitter threat before retreating back into the sedan chair.

Clearly, he was not willing to spend a hundred taels merely to save face.

Zhu Ping’an chuckled softly and continued forward with the line until he reached the gate checkpoint.

From within his robes, he produced his slightly wrinkled official credentials and handed them over.

The gate guard had initially assumed Zhu Ping’an was merely a poor scholar. Seeing the credentials, however, he blinked in surprise and looked Zhu Ping’an up and down twice more.

Then, without even inspecting his baggage, the guard waved him directly through.

“Hey! Hey!”

The servant Wang Gui immediately protested from behind.

“Why don’t you inspect his luggage? Why doesn’t he have to pay the entrance fee?”

The gate guard lazily glanced at him.

“If your master is also a sixth-rank official,” he replied indifferently, “then he can do the same.”