Chapter 12: A Gentleman Draws His Sword, Blood Spattering Three Feet!

Sure enough, by the time the servants finished speaking, Wei Mingde’s face had gone completely dark.

“Good! Good! Good! I never imagined you wretch really did harbor such filthy ambitions!”

He slammed the table, rose and took a sword from the wall at the side of the hall. Coming back to Wei Nisheng, he kicked him as casually as if it were a habit. Caught off guard, Nisheng fell. With a clang, Mingde threw the sword down in front of him.

The hall fell deathly silent. Lady Cui covered her mouth. Wei Shouzheng’s eyes lit up. Wang Rong nearly laughed aloud.

Mingde stood over Nisheng, his face full of disgust. “Can’t you behave yourself? A few years ago, you were obedient enough in the side courtyard. You stayed there quietly, caused no trouble and brought no shame on us, so I kept you under my roof.

“Why stir up trouble? Why say such things? Your brother has always been kind to you. How dare you think of competing with him for the heir’s place?

“You wretch, born backward and bringing death to your kin! Must you embarrass me? Must you ruin your brother’s future before you’re satisfied?”

He pointed at the sword. “If I were you, I’d pick it up and kill myself now. Then I’ll consider that I never had a son like you. From this day on, I, Wei Mingde, have only two sons: Shouzheng and Shoucheng!”

Nisheng had started to rise. He stared at the sword, stunned. Mingde had already turned his back. Returning to his seat, he addressed Shouzheng. “Wang Rong is your servant. How do you think this should be settled?”

Shouzheng was taken aback, then wild with delight. Suppressing a smile, he pretended to consider. “Father, this wret… ahem, my younger brother has done wrong, but he’s still my brother. I couldn’t bear to punish him too severely.”

He looked at Wang Rong. “Wang Rong was struck and naturally feels aggrieved. Let him go over and give my brother two slaps and spit on him three times. Then the matter can end. What do you think?”

Wang Rong was overjoyed, though he feigned hesitation and looked at Mingde.

“What are you looking at me for, slave? Didn’t you hear your master? Go!”

With the head of the household’s permission, Wang Rong sprang up. His back to the others, he grinned triumphantly and strode toward Nisheng. Shouzheng smiled, Lady Cui watched the show, and Mingde lifted his teacup without looking over.

Nisheng remained on his knees, staring at the sword. Wang Rong’s footsteps drew nearer, but Nisheng seemed not to hear them.

“Obedient…” he murmured.

He thought of the past ten years, more than three thousand days and nights. He had not cried or made a fuss, had caused no one trouble. He had not competed or fought for anything, simply stayed in his side courtyard. When winter was cold, he wrapped his quilt tighter. When summer was hot, he fanned himself. When hungry, he ate the thin porridge Wei An brought. When ill, he endured it.

He hadn’t avoided trouble because he didn’t want to fight. He had been too small, too powerless to resist. But things were different now.

A gentleman in the strength of his youth could not be humiliated!

……

“So this is what being obedient gets me…”

Nisheng laughed. Wang Rong stopped, bewildered.

“What are you laughing at?” Shouzheng demanded.

Mingde set down his cup and looked over. Nisheng stopped laughing and looked at everyone in turn: his father, stepmother, elder brother and Wang Rong. Then he lowered his gaze to the sword, reached out, gripped the hilt and rose, drawing the blade.

“I’m laughing at myself. At how I thought I could stay alive if I caused no trouble. At how I still had a little hope for any of you.”

Wang Rong stepped back instinctively. “Second Young Master, you…”

“Shut up!” Nisheng fixed his gaze on him. “You. Come here.”

Wang Rong didn’t dare move. Sword in hand, Nisheng walked toward him, one step at a time.

“I am a legitimate son of the Wei family. I told you, you have no right to insult me.” His voice was quiet, every word clear. “My grandfather Wei Zheng rose to Grand Secretary of Wuying Hall and was given the posthumous title Wenduan.”

Wang Rong went pale and backed away.

“My mother was a virtuous wife honored by the court! You, a servant…”

Nisheng reached him and looked into his terrified eyes. “How dare you insult me?”

A gentleman drew his sword, and blood flew.

Wang Rong’s eyes widened. Clutching his throat, he made a choking sound. He had never expected Nisheng to dare kill him. Blood poured between his fingers, splashed onto the floor and spread to Nisheng’s feet, staining his shoes red.

Shock gripped the hall. For a moment no one spoke.

“M-murder!” Lady Cui cried.

Shouzheng’s legs gave way and he fell to the floor, lips trembling, unable to speak. Mingde was pale, his lips shaking. He wanted to shout for help, to rage, but his throat felt as though someone had seized it.

Only Nisheng remained standing in the pool of blood, gripping the dripping sword, breathing hard. He wiped the spray from his face with the back of his hand and turned to Mingde.

“Father, you just said you no longer had me as a son. Fine! From today, I no longer have you as a father.”

Sword in hand, he walked toward the door. No one dared stop him. At the threshold he paused and looked back at the three people in the hall.

“What a fine, honorable family. What fine Wei family principles. Wei Mingde, you let a servant insult your son, and you forced your legitimate son to kill himself! You have more reason than I do to be ashamed before Grandfather and my mother.

“Didn’t you tell me to kill myself? Fine! I agree. I’ll go to the ancestral hall now, kneel before Grandfather’s and Mother’s tablets and kill myself to atone. Then let’s see who at the court of Great Zhou will dare employ Wei Mingde, the man who let a servant insult his son and drove his own child to death!”

He turned and strode toward the ancestral hall. Mingde stood frozen for an instant, then understood, his face changing completely. If Nisheng really killed himself before the Wei ancestors, the story of a legitimate son driven to death, his blood spilled in the ancestral hall, would reach all the capital by tomorrow. The censors, the upright officials… He dared not imagine what would follow.

Mingde ran out as if mad. “Quick! Stop him! Don’t let him reach the ancestral hall!”

The servants finally came to their senses and pursued him. But with Nisheng carrying a sword, who dared actually stop him? They followed at a distance; no one came close.

Mingde caught up and spread his arms in front of him, panic on his face. “Nisheng! Nisheng, listen to me…”

Nisheng stopped and looked at him, his gaze frighteningly calm. Seeing the blood dripping from the blade, Mingde dared not approach. He backed away, shouting, “Wang Rong deserved it! He deserved to die! You were right to kill him!

“I… I wrongly accused you! I shouldn’t have believed that slave! Put down the sword first. We can talk this over, father and son!”

He saw Shouzheng and Lady Cui still standing blankly at the hall entrance, pale and motionless. He rushed over and slapped Shouzheng across the face.

Crack!

“Idiot! What are you standing there for? Go and persuade your brother! Otherwise the Wei family really will be finished!”

Shouzheng held his cheek, stunned. Lady Cui finally came to herself and stumbled forward, her voice breaking. “N-Nisheng… good child, please don’t do anything rash. We can talk…”

Shouzheng ran over too. “Y-yes… I was wrong. I shouldn’t have believed that slave…”

The three surrounded Nisheng, afraid to come close and afraid to let him leave. He stood in the courtyard with the sword, watching them. He neither put it down nor went to the ancestral hall. He simply watched their panic, fear and pleading as though it were a play.