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Drinking wine, committing murder.
But killing is never something that brings true pleasure.
At least, that was how it felt to Fei Qian.
After finishing their drinks with Wang Yi, the next day was devoted to killing.
In truth, the act of killing felt like standing inside a slaughterhouse. No matter how cleanly the ground was scrubbed, how white the walls, or how neat the workers' uniforms, that thick, greasy, nauseating sensation clung to every sense like glue.
The sound of liquid leaking through cracks in a heavy leather water bag was blood gushing from opened abdomens and chests…
The faint whistling of wind through treetops and leaves was the high-pressure spray from severed carotid arteries…
The blade striking human flesh, splitting skin and cracking bone, sounded exactly like a butcher in the market chopping a pig's leg into sections—thud after thud.
One stroke.
Another stroke.
They were killing Baibo men.
Yet many people were watching: the rescued civilians, Fei Qian's troops, the soldiers from Xihe Commandery, and even some Xiongnu Hu—all stood as spectators.
It felt like a grand public gathering.
All Baibo officers above the rank of squad leader—those so-called lesser commanders, leaders, and the Taiping Dao envoys who had acted as preachers among the Baibo—were marked for execution.
Only the lowest-ranking soldiers were spared.
At Hangu Pass, Zhang Liao had executed one in every ten soldiers. Fei Qian's ratio was not quite so harsh, but the method was the same.
The executioners were the captured Baibo soldiers themselves.
This was to create a certificate of surrender.
Wooden stakes stood planted in the ground, with former Baibo leaders and commanders bound to them. The rest of the Baibo soldiers were formed into lines. When it was their turn, a knife was pressed into their hands and they were ordered to deliver one cut.
Blood had to be drawn. No blood meant it didn't count.
If a second attempt still produced no blood, or if the man couldn't bring himself to strike, it was not the bound prisoner who died—but the ordinary soldier holding the knife.
Once the man on the stake was hacked to death by multiple blades, the corpse would be cut down, the head severed with one final stroke, and carried slightly northward to be added to the growing mound of severed heads.
Among these Baibo soldiers, the strong and fit would be selected to become professional fighting men, mixed and reorganized into new units. The younger but weaker, or the older ones, would become the first group of military colonists for Pingyang County. These men, long accustomed to a lawless life and stained with blood, might still harbor dangerous thoughts even if they appeared old or frail.
Thus, raising a mound of heads was also raising a rule.
After all, most of those left in Pingyang were illiterate. Talking to them about national law, issuing proclamations, or similar measures would be useless. No matter how much was said, they probably wouldn't remember it. A visible mound of heads was the most direct warning.
The severed heads looked like bloody fruits, piled one upon another until they formed a small hill. Since they had been cut off after death, there was not much fresh blood at the neck stumps. Instead, a dark red sauce-like fluid, resembling black-red jelly, trembled and dripped slowly from the white windpipes and exposed bones.
A little further north from the mound of heads stood a wooden platform, upon which Fei Qian and Wang Yi now stood. Below the platform, soldiers guarded the black-robed elder from the Hedong Wei clan and his surviving personal guards, whom Yufuluo had delivered.
Killing always required witnesses.
Moreover, if one killed without anyone watching or knowing, the act lost much of its meaning.
Fei Qian turned to Wang Yi, offered a brief apology, then descended from the platform and walked slowly toward the black-robed elder. He looked the old man up and down. The elder was disheveled, his face covered in filth, his clothes stained with dirt and dust. Standing close, one could smell a sour, rancid odor.
The black-robed elder stared blankly ahead with a foolish grin, exactly the same mad act he had put on when Fei Qian visited him last time.
For the sake of the Wei clan, this old man was truly going all out.
Fei Qian stared at the wrinkles on the elder's face, at the exposed neck, then glanced at the old man's bound hands…
A martial artist.
Fei Qian had originally considered tying this old fellow to one of the stakes to scare him. But seeing the scars on his face, the still-powerful neck despite his age, and the calluses at the base of his thumbs…
A man who practiced martial arts had seen much blood and possessed a firmer will. Since Fei Qian could not actually kill him, he would have to use another method.
"Bring them forward!" Fei Qian ordered.
The elder had originally brought twenty personal guards. Several had been lost, leaving just over ten still alive. They were now dragged forward and made to stand face-to-face with the elder.
Fei Qian fixed his eyes on the old man's and said, "Going mad is not the most terrifying thing. Death is not the final destination. On the battlefield, both sides use every means at their disposal—winning or losing is one thing, but being unable to accept defeat and resorting to shameless tricks is a matter of character, a flaw in a family's teachings!"
Fei Qian deliberately spoke in plain language so more people could understand. "Am I right, Elder of the Wei clan?"
In the chaotic times about to descend, what kind of person inspired greater awe and better suited the customs of the north?
A gentle scholar who constantly quoted classics, or a ruthless man with an iron fist?
This was the image Fei Qian needed to project in public—at least enough to leave the impression that he was not someone to be trifled with. Otherwise, in this martial, fierce region, he risked being seen as a soft target.
Fei Qian stared into the Wei elder's eyes. "If you come to your senses, you may stop this at any time…" With that, he turned and walked back to the wooden platform.
Huang Cheng, who had been guarding behind Fei Qian, made a gesture. Immediately, soldiers below the platform kicked the leftmost guard in the knee hollow, forcing him to kneel before the elder. Then they raised their ring-pommel sabers. With a sharp crack—like chopping a radish—the guard's head flew off.
A full chest of blood erupted like a broken fire hydrant, spraying in a powerful jet that drenched the Wei elder's face and body.
The elder had never expected Fei Qian to act so decisively without further words. Struck by the hot blood, his foolish grin faltered for the first time as crimson streams ran down his face…
The executioners did not pause. They kicked down the second guard and severed his head. The head bounced on the muddy ground like a sand-filled ball, rolled twice, and stopped at the elder's feet.
Then the third…
The fourth…
Before the elder could fully react, five men had already been butchered like vegetables. Their spurting blood covered the old man from head to toe.
Finally, one of the younger guards could no longer endure. With a sob in his voice, he cried out, "Grandfather!"
The elder's face twisted as if slapped hard. His previously raised eyebrows drooped. Trembling, he watched the young guard kicked to the ground. Unable to maintain the act any longer, he shouted desperately, "Stop!"
Fei Qian chuckled, turned to Wang Yi, and cupped his hands. "Since the man is not truly mad, we can negotiate. I will trouble Lord Wang with the rest…" After all, pressuring the Hedong Wei clan was something both of them needed to do. Inviting Wang Yi to participate was only proper. If Fei Qian handled everything alone, Wang Yi might not feel grateful and could instead view him as overly arrogant, harming future cooperation.
Wang Yi laughed heartily. "Lord Fei truly has excellent methods! Very well, allow me to take over the remaining matters!"
Fei Qian had shown a bit of his edge and deliberately let Wang Yi watch the killings—partly to establish authority. Young men… still young after all…