Chapter Forty-Nine: Calamity Descends from the Heavens

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The Winter Solstice, also known as "Counting Nines" or "Winter Festival," is not only a significant solar term but also a traditional festival of the Chinese people, its importance rivaling that of the New Year.

In the Guanzhong region, there is a custom of eating dumplings on the Winter Solstice. Not only does each family partake, but they also invite neighbors to join in, believing this practice accumulates virtue and fosters harmony among neighbors.

As the saying goes, when in Rome, do as the Romans do. On the day of the Winter Solstice, Li Zhao also prepared a feast, but his guests were not merely his immediate neighbors—they were all the villagers of Qianlong Ridge.

Qianlong Ridge had over four hundred households, with more than two thousand men, women, and children. Organizing a banquet for so many people was no easy feat; it required formidable organizational skills. Fortunately, Li Zhao possessed just such abilities.

He first summoned masons to build thirty large stoves on an open ground in Qianlong Ridge, then invited thirty master chefs from the city's finest restaurants.

Chickens, ducks, fish, meat, grains, and vegetables were all procured from nearby markets, carts hauling them in one after another. Even wild game from deep in the mountains was brought out.

Finally, over two hundred banquet tables were set on the open ground, with men and women seated separately, ten to a table—enough to accommodate everyone.

By mid-morning, all was ready. At Li Zhao's command, the feast began.

"Today is the Winter Solstice, everyone! Eat and drink your fill—there's plenty of food and wine. Don't go home until you're drunk!"

"Thank you, young master!"

"May the young master live a long life and enjoy boundless wealth and fortune!"

The banquet was lavish. Though there were no rare delicacies from mountains or seas, chicken, duck, fish, meat, pickled vegetables, nuts, and pastries were all served freely. The finest Erguotou liquor was brought out in jars.

People drank heartily and ate to their hearts' content, bustling with joy. Even in the depths of winter, they sweated profusely from merriment. Some robust fellows even started singing boisterously, unafraid of catching a chill.

As excitement peaked, Li Zhao himself raised a wine cup and made the rounds, toasting each table in turn, drawing thunderous cheers.

But as the saying goes, calamity strikes without warning.

Just as the festivities were at their height, a squad of constables in black uniforms burst in like wolves and tigers—thirty or forty strong, armed with iron rulers, chains, and shackles.

Leading them was a burly middle-aged man with a face full of coarse flesh and large bovine eyes—clearly not a gentle soul.

"Who is Li Zhao?"

"I am. What business have you here?"

"Hmph! I am Deng Kai, the county's head constable. By order of the magistrate, I am here to arrest the murder suspect Li Zhao. Men, seize him!"

"Yes, sir!"

Two constables lunged forward to bind Li Zhao, but the little demon at his side was outraged and bit savagely at their calves. The two constables collapsed, clutching their bleeding wounds and howling in pain.

"Protect the young master! Protect the young master!"

"Anyone who dares lay a finger on the young master will have to go through us first!"

At once, the villagers surged forward, arming themselves with sticks, stools, or rocks, forming an impenetrable three-layered wall around the constables.

Ever since Li Zhao had taken charge of Qianlong Ridge, he had done countless good deeds for the villagers.

For example, Qianlong Ridge was surrounded by mountains, connected to the outside world by only a narrow, treacherous path. Li Zhao had spared no expense to build a broad, smooth road, making travel much easier for everyone.

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Qianlong Ridge was remote, making education for children difficult. Literacy rates were abysmally low, and few had prospects for success. Yet Li Zhao funded the construction of a school, hired teachers, and provided free education and meals for the children.

He also reduced land rents to a mere token—just one percent, and even that was voluntary. If a family could pay, they did; if not, it didn't matter.

And there was more—too much to recount.

Kindness begets kindness; the villagers were deeply grateful. Now that Li Zhao was in trouble, how could they stand idly by? They were ready to fight, even kill if necessary.

"Daring Li Zhao, do you mean to resist the law? And you unruly peasants—are you planning to rebel?"

"Hmph! Enough with the accusations. I am a scion of the imperial clan, descended from phoenix and dragon. You are mere lowly constables—how dare you shackle me? Who here truly knows the law?"

"Well..."

Constable Deng Kai was arrogant, but Li Zhao was even more so. He patted the green fish pouch at his waist, signifying his royal lineage.

Tang law was clear: Imperial clan members were of exalted status. Even if suspected of crimes, local authorities could arrest but not shackle them, and could interrogate but not torture. After questioning, the accused, testimony, and evidence were all to be sent to the Imperial Clan Court in Chang'an, where the verdicts were typically lenient.

Even in cases of capital crimes, imperial clan members could not be executed publicly like commoners. Instead, they were given poisoned wine or a white silk cord, allowed a whole corpse, and buried with honor.

And these were just a few of their many privileges.

"We were unaware of your distinguished status, Young Master Zhao. Please forgive our offense. However, the magistrate's warrant is here—we must ask you to accompany us to the yamen."

Constables were known for bullying the weak and fearing the strong. Deng Kai no longer dared to be arrogant but was still determined to take Li Zhao away, producing a red-lacquered warrant inscribed with "Magistrate of Wuan County."

The fire-sealed warrant authorized the arrest of suspects in the name of Tang law.

"I have always observed the law and harmed no one. Why has the magistrate ordered my arrest? If you cannot explain clearly, I will not comply."

"Young Master Zhao, you know the Black Whirlwind—Li Dayong? You fought him just yesterday, sent him fleeing in defeat?"

"That's right."

"This morning, someone reported to the yamen that Li Dayong is dead."

"What? Dead?"

Li Zhao was shocked. He had given the Black Whirlwind a beating the day before but had been careful not to cause any fatal injury—at worst, the man would be sore for a few days.

How had he died overnight?

"How did Black Whirlwind die?"

"I'm not entirely sure... but I do know a little of the inside story, though it's slipped my mind for the moment."

"Hmph. White Bun!"

"Here!"

Constables were also notoriously greedy. At Li Zhao's signal, White Bun handed over a hefty silver ingot—at least twenty taels.

With the silver in hand, Constable Deng's memory miraculously improved:

"This morning, a group of ruffians carried Black Whirlwind's corpse to the yamen, reporting that yesterday noon they had clashed with workers from the Renyi Chang Distillery. In the fight, Black Whirlwind was severely wounded by Young Master Zhao. They carried him home, but at the fourth watch last night, he suddenly convulsed, vomited blood, and died soon after."

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Black Whirlwind's wife, Madam Sun, filed a formal complaint at the yamen. Thus, the magistrate personally issued the warrant, summoning Young Master Zhao to the county hall to clarify the matter. Right and wrong would be determined in court." Constable Deng recounted the events, leaving everyone present in shock.

This was a serious affair. How should they respond? All eyes were fixed on Li Zhao.

"I am blameless and unafraid of the authorities. I will go to the magistrate's court and set the record straight." After a moment's thought, Li Zhao decided to accompany the constables.

First, the magistrate had issued a fire-sealed warrant. Refusal would mean open defiance of the law—a grave offense.

Second, Black Whirlwind's death was highly suspicious and involved himself; he had every reason to investigate.

"Young master, you mustn't go! The yamen is no safe place—you may never return!"

"That's right, young master! Why not simply kill these lackeys and feed their bodies to the wolves? No one would ever trace it back to us."

The villagers tried to stop him, even suggesting murder, which terrified Constable Deng and his men.

In these mountain regions, the people were fierce; even the women and children could fight, and if they threatened to kill, they would not hesitate to act.

"No! I have a clear conscience. Killing these constables would only trap us in a dead end—that would be the height of folly."

"Young master!"

"Stand aside. The yamen is a place for justice—I will be fine."

"Yes!"

After pacifying the villagers, Li Zhao left Qianlong Ridge with the constables, heading straight for the county yamen. White Bun and White Day Rat, unwilling to let him go alone, followed with a dozen skilled hunters.

The county yamen stood at the heart of Wuan County, a rectangular complex with twelve courtyards and over two hundred rooms, sprawling across a vast area. Its layout was meticulous—main gate, ceremonial gate, grand hall, second and third halls, and the magistrate's residence all aligned along the central axis.

The offices of the assistant magistrate, registrar, scribe, constable barracks, clerks' quarters, and prison were arrayed evenly on both sides, each with its own function.

By rights, the trial should have taken place in the grand hall, but the constables brought Li Zhao to the prison behind.

"Head Constable Chen, what is the meaning of this?"

"Today is the Winter Solstice—most of the officials are on holiday, so we cannot hold a trial. Young master, you'll have to spend the night in a cell. Tomorrow morning, the magistrate will convene court, and the truth will come out. Rest assured, I will speak to the wardens to prepare a large, clean cell for you. How does that sound?"

"If that's the case, very well."

According to the Tang "Holiday Decree," the government closed for a day on the Ghost Festival, Winter Solstice, Cold Food Festival, and Laba Festival.

Thus, Constable Deng's words were beyond reproach.

Still, Li Zhao sensed something was amiss—he feared he had been ensnared in a plot. As to the mastermind, that remained unclear; he could only take things one step at a time.

Just as he was about to enter the cell, White Day Rat slipped over and, taking advantage of the constables' distraction, secretly stuffed two flatbreads and a small flask of Erguotou into Li Zhao's arms.

"Young master, there's likely danger in the cell. Don't touch the food or water they give you, and don't sleep tonight. Please be extra careful!"

"Don't worry. I will be vigilant."

Li Zhao nodded, then followed the wardens inside.