Chapter Thirty-Two: The Shen Clan

With a thunderous shout, Liu Tan stepped onto the Taiji pattern beneath his feet, his speed increasing as he charged into the inner quarters. A scream echoed, “Spare me—” but was abruptly cut off, for Liu Tan’s sword had already pierced the boy’s back.

The victim was a small boy, seven or eight years old, his face still cherubic, but now his eyes stared wide open in death, unable to find peace. He could never have imagined such calamity would befall him. Yet, there was no room for “what if.” In the frenzy that gripped Liu Tan, the Imperial Guards slaughtered everyone in the courtyard within moments, just like the executioners in those television dramas of his previous life—rushing in, killing and burning without mercy.

Was this cruelty? Were these people innocent? Even the child—just seven or eight—what could he possibly understand? If one looked from another angle, Liu Tan had never invited this upon himself; why should he be targeted for assassination? Without the Empress to shield him, he would already have become a laughingstock.

Staring at the corpse of the boy at his feet, Liu Tan understood: without formidable strength, he too would someday be like this child—at the mercy of others, a lamb to the slaughter. If one wished to wield the knife, one had to become strong—not only in outward power, but with an unyielding spirit within. If even killing a man made one tremble, made one’s heart race, what hope was there of becoming truly mighty?

With this thought, Liu Tan gradually regained his composure.

“Have someone clear this place. It now belongs to me… Move to the next location!” With that, he departed.

Lin Youzhi pointed at two Imperial Guards, “You two stay and clean up. The rest, follow us!” He immediately caught up with the Emperor.

The second target in the city was the residence of Shen Tu, the assassin. By the time Liu Tan arrived, the courtyard was deserted. He touched the teapot on the table—it was still warm. Clearly, they had fled at the first sign of trouble.

Liu Tan waved his hand. “To Shen Manor!”

Once more, they mounted their warhorses. Together with Pang Bo, commander of the Imperial Guards, they rode out of Chengdu in grand procession.

At the Minister’s residence, Li Yan lifted a cup of tea, took a small sip, and asked, “Did anyone intervene in His Majesty’s actions today?”

A servant shook his head. “No one intervened, just as you instructed us to avoid His Majesty these days when he leaves the palace. I imagine the Prime Minister has given similar orders.”

Li Yan pondered. “His Majesty has truly been frightened—perhaps only by eradicating the assassin clan can he find peace. Yet, when can all assassins ever be wiped out?”

At the Prime Minister’s residence, Zhuge Liang was studying a campaign map, lines of arrows and circles drawn across the vertically placed parchment. Behind him, a young man tended to the tea.

A soldier burst in and knelt. “Prime Minister, His Majesty has slaughtered the entire Shen family in the city and has now left for Shen Manor.”

“I see. You may go.” Zhuge Liang waved him away and continued to stare at the map, brow furrowed in thought.

The young man frowned and could not contain himself. “Father, has His Majesty not been a bit too active of late?”

Zhuge Liang frowned. “Zhan’er, are you overthinking things? It is a good thing the Emperor is changing. Had he remained as before, the empire left by the late sovereign would soon fall.”

“But—” This was Zhuge Zhan, son of Prime Minister Zhuge Liang—a square-faced man, with thick brows, large eyes, a mustache, and standing seven feet tall. He wanted to speak further, but Zhuge Liang cut him off sternly.

“Zhan’er,” Zhuge Liang shook his head, his gaze deep as he looked at Zhuge Zhan. “Never speak such words in my presence. I, Zhuge Kongming, live by loyalty and righteousness—loyal to the late sovereign, loyal to His Majesty.” He paused, then continued, “Look across the land—who else has been honored by an emperor as a father, given the sword of command? Not even the late sovereign dared! Yet His Majesty did. The world says he is weak, unfit for greatness, but I disagree. This act alone allows me to affirm that our emperor is indeed a man of true talent.” With that, he returned his attention to the map.

Zhuge Zhan sighed and said no more.

Chengdu stood upon the Chengdu Plain, and though called a plain, the land undulated. In ancient times, mankind had little power to alter nature, so once Liu Tan left the city, it was as though he entered a world of green. This was nothing like the depictions on television—for two thousand years of development in his previous life had long since erased such landscapes.

Beyond the city, the world was a tapestry of green, rich with towering trees, the only discordant note being the farmland carved out by human hands. It was early autumn, the rice stalks already tinged with yellow—a few more days, and the harvest would begin.

Down the main road, dust swirled and hoofbeats thundered—it was Liu Tan and his seventy riders. His learning was swift, and by now he could gallop with skill.

Shen Manor lay over a hundred li from Chengdu, a one-hour ride on horseback.

Shen Manor was a village with a history of over four centuries, home to a hundred households, most bearing the Shen surname.

At this moment, more than four hundred residents were gathered at the threshing ground, packed in layer upon layer, a sea of heads.

At the east end of the ground stood a wooden ancestral hall. In front of it, a woman clutched a child and sat collapsed on the earth, a man beside her—if Liu Tan and his men had been present, they would have recognized him as the clerk from the rice shop.

In front of the three knelt an old man, his hair pure white, his face etched with deep wrinkles, his voice hoarse with the weight of years.

“Alas, our family creed forbids us from meddling in imperial affairs. Why did your husband not listen? Now he has brought calamity upon our clan—what are we to do…” He repeatedly struck his cane against the ground, his heart filled with anxiety and worry, coughing uncontrollably.

“Clan chief, what should we do now? Give us an order—if we’re to fight, we’ll fetch our weapons. If we’re to flee, we’ll gather our things!” someone shouted from the crowd.

“Yes, clan chief, just say the word and we’ll follow you!”

“Yes…” others echoed.

But some voiced doubts: “Fight? With just our spades and hoes? Against the imperial cavalry—even if only fifty ride in, a few charges will crush us. And as for fleeing—how can our feet outrun their horses?”

“Then what is to be done?”

“Are we simply to bare our necks for the slaughter?”

The dissenting voice continued, “The only way is to give up Shen Tu’s family and beg for the Emperor’s mercy—perhaps he will show clemency!”

Hearing this, the woman hugged her son and wept even harder.

“No, how can we hand over our kin?” someone protested.

“Hmph! He broke the family creed, meddled in the imperial struggle, and brought ruin upon us. Such a man should be cast out! Our Shen family has produced talent every generation, yet we survived four centuries and many chaotic times only because we followed our creed and lived quietly. Countless other families have perished, but we endured. Now, one man’s error brings disaster to all—such a breach of the creed deserves no sympathy.”

Others who shared this view soon joined in, and the crowd quickly split in two—one side advocating surrendering the culprit and seeking forgiveness, the other insisting they must not abandon their own.

The shouting grew ever louder, so much so that even the old clan chief, shouting at the top of his lungs, “Enough! Enough!” could not be heard.

Suddenly, with a crash, the old man toppled the ancestral statue with his cane.

At last, the crowd fell silent.

The clan chief spoke, “What use is this arguing? Put yourselves in the Emperor’s place—would you spare the one who tried to kill you? I would not. If I had the power, I would not leave a single enemy alive. The Emperor’s authority is not something people like us can challenge!”

At this, the crowd’s spirits collapsed. The clan chief was right—the Emperor’s power could be defied only by those with overwhelming might: rebels like Dong Zhuo, warlords like Cao Cao, capable ministers like Zhuge Kongming—but not by them.

One after another, their faces were clouded with worry.

The old clan chief turned, knelt before the ancestral hall, and cried, “Ancestors, our family faces disaster again. We have always followed your creed, living as farmers, but now, only by using the forbidden secrets of our forebears may we hope to survive.”

He kowtowed three times. By then, the sound of galloping horses was already audible in the distance. Trembling, the old man rose and turned, his voice cold, “No one is to speak out of turn. Whoever does will be cast out of the Shen clan!”