Chapter 91 Murder in the iron workshop and woodshed
The big black umbrella is like a black lotus, slowly flowing away in the rain and fog of Chang'an City.
At some point, Sangsang loosened her grip on the corner sleeve, raised her face and frowned and asked: "Master, what were you and Xiaoman talking about in the princess's mansion earlier? I saw those maids and ladies in the palace.
His face looks ugly."
Ning Que looked at the little girl's pretending to be calm, and couldn't help but think of the scenes that often happened in the Min Mountains in those years, when he carried her on his back as he climbed from one dangerous peak to another, and stole from one cottage to another.
, I was busy exploring the way, and I was busy telling fairy tales to the little girl in the basket to coax her. I was so busy that I couldn't help but smile and rub her head, and said: "Tell fairy tales... you know me
This is my specialty."
Sangsang asked curiously: "Which one are you talking about? Cinderella or the Three Little Pigs?"
"little Prince."
Sangsang frowned and asked seriously: "Little prince? Does he understand?"
Ning Que was startled and thought that this was indeed a problem.
In the drizzle of late spring, the master and the servant chatted all the way north, passing through Tongxiao Fang and returning to the East City. They did not enter Lin 47 Lane, but walked around the alley and walked deeper into the East City.
Lao Bizhai was closed for rest today. At some point, Sangsang quietly picked up a plain knife tightly wrapped in cloth, with slight traces of rain on her shoulders.
The rain gradually became heavier, and pedestrians on the streets of Dongcheng were forced to return to their homes or workshops. Ning Que and Sang Sang stopped outside a remote slum in Dongcheng, holding a big black umbrella and standing next to each other.
I was sitting under the eaves of the dilapidated Haotian God's Temple where incense was burning. I looked into the square and silently listened to the faint sound of forging in the rain.
Sangsang quietly said softly: "In a while, the iron shop will be closed. The young masters will be busy packing today's orders, and Chen Zixian will go back to the backyard to rest. I heard that he has rarely dropped hammers in person in recent years. At that time
He is the only one left in the courtyard, and it just so happens that it rains today, which is convenient."
Ning Que looked at the dim light of the lead clouds in the sky and silently counted the time. He estimated that the time was almost there, handed the big black umbrella in his hand to Sang Sang, said wait for me, and then took out one from behind.
Wearing a hat on top of his head, he walked towards the west direction of the square, passing through two lanes in the increasingly heavy rain, approaching the backyard of the blacksmith shop in the square.
The soles of the tough boots stepped on the uneven stone road, making a soft popping sound when stepping on the stagnant water. It was not noticeable at all on a rainy day. Ning Que looked at the simple wooden door not far away and walked forward slowly.
, the left hand holding the cloth-wrapped knife became tighter and tighter, silently recalling all the information about the second name in his heart.
The names on the oil paper were important figures in the massacre of families in General Xuanwei's Mansion and the massacre of villages in Yanjing. They were obtained from Zhuoer's investigation when he was a spy in the military under Xiahou. They were earned with his sweat and life.
data of.
Chen Zixian, 47 years old, was a former deputy general under General Xuanwei. He was commended by the court for being the first to commit treason against General Xuanwei, Lin Guangyuan. Later, in the fourth year of Tianqi, he was deprived of his meritorious service and expelled from the army for initiating a war indiscriminately.
The latter family suffered another disaster, and his wife divorced him and returned to his hometown with his two young sons. However, this man stayed in Chang'an City and became a master in a blacksmith shop in a slum in Dongcheng. He was so poor that he couldn't bear to talk about it.
Among the people on the oil paper list, after the massacre and village massacre, except for two or three high-ranking officials who still enjoy good titles and good names, the rest of them are doing very badly. The censor who has died in his hands
Some people live in despair, and some people live in fear, but Chen Zixian, who is behind the courtyard door in the rain in front of him, lives in despair.
Ning Que couldn't figure out why. According to common inferences or common plots in storybooks and novels, when the revenge of those who had killed Zhongliang's conspiracy sellers began, they must have been in a mess of arrogance and joy when their revenge began.
Only in this way can people seeking revenge have an innate sense of justice and pleasure. However, this is not the case. Those whom he is determined to revenge and kill do not seem to live better than him.
He vaguely guessed that it should be the method of His Majesty the Emperor, but he could not confirm it, and he did not want to think about it anymore. Today happened to be a heavy rain, and it coincided with the summons of the Princess Palace. It was a good time to kill and take revenge. No matter how the government investigates in the future, it must be
You won't doubt him, and you won't dare to doubt him. This is more important.
He lowered his head slightly and looked at the raindrops dripping from the edge of his hat. He moved slowly and got closer to the door.
The surface of the peeling wooden door was slightly damp, and his fingers felt a little cold when he pressed it on the door panel. He listened carefully to the sound coming from the iron workshop further in the courtyard, and the sound of the heavy hammers hitting the anvils became louder and louder.
Focusing on it, he slowly raised his left hand holding the cloth-wrapped knife, and pushed the wooden door open with his right hand.
The old door hinge moistened by the rain made a soft cry like a whimper. Ning Que, who was wearing a hat and holding a knife, walked in calmly and walked down the broken stone steps. He looked at the old man squatting outside the woodshed in the courtyard and said
: "Chen Zixian?"
The old man outside the woodshed was wearing an old thin coat, with marks on his shoulders and sleeves that had been scorched by years of fire. A few blackened cotton sticks protruded from the cracks in the brittle cloth, and he looked miserable.
Sensation. The old man's gray hair was tied randomly in one place. His long and thick iron-like hands held an ax and a piece of wood respectively, and he was chopping firewood.
The old man raised his head, a strange color flashed in his cloudy eyes, and looked at Ning Que who pushed open the courtyard door. He looked at the shadow under the hat, trying to see his face clearly. After a moment of silence, he said: "I
yes."
Ning Que stopped, raised his head slightly and glanced around the simple courtyard, confirming that all the apprentices were indeed in the front yard and that there was no one in the courtyard. He turned around and closed the courtyard door, untying the hat on his neck with his right hand.
Then he slowly grasped the front handle of the cloth-wrapped sword and continued walking towards the old retired officer.
The hat fell on the rainy ground.
Chen Zixian blinked slowly. His left hand, whose nails were covered in black mud, let go of the firewood and wiped it on the front of his clothes. Then he reached behind his waist and held a knife. At the same time, he raised his right hand holding the axe.
Looking at the pale young man walking out of the wind and rain, he said hoarsely: "We're finally here."
Ning Que's knife has arrived.
The sharp blade, which had been sharpened with rice water for more than ten days at Laobi Zhai in Linsi 47 Lane, was pulled out from the sheath with lightning speed, and easily cut through the old cloth wrapped tightly outside the sheath, cutting through the wind and rain, and moving forward indomitably.
Cut to Chen Zixian's neck.
Chen Zixian raised his sword, and when the two swords intersected, they made a crisp buzzing sound, and drops of rainwater splashed out from the blade.
At this moment, there was a rapid sound of blacksmithing in the ironworks ahead, covering up all the sounds of knives in the yard.
Dang, dang, dang, next to the red-hot stove, the apprentices numbly held the red-hot thick iron and struck it again and again with heavy hammers. The sound of wind and rain outside the workshop was loud, but they heard nothing.
There was a hissing sound, the thin robe was cut open, the ax was knocked down, the wrist was cut off, a muffled sound was heard continuously in the wind and rain, the pile of firewood outside the room was scattered on the ground, and in a moment Ning Que chopped out seventeen
Knife, and Chen Zixian blocked the first sixteen knives.
Then the sound of the knife disappeared, leaving only the sound of wind, rain and the thunder of hammering on the chopping board.
Chen Zixian fell down next to the firewood pile. His body was covered with mud and water stains. There were a few drops of blood on his old and dark face. There were countless cuts in the thin coat between his chest and abdomen. The gray cotton was stretched out everywhere.
The gash in the middle was extremely deep, reaching deep into his bones. Blood and other colored bodily fluids were constantly coming out of his internal organs.
Rain dripped from the eaves onto the firewood pile, onto his gray hair, onto the sad wrinkles on his forehead, and then trickled down his dark cheeks, quickly washing away the few drops of blood.
Ning Que lowered his head and slowly put away the knife. He looked at his rapidly rising and falling chest and the extremely dangerous ax mark on his chest. He couldn't help but frown. He never thought that an ordinary general in the Tang Dynasty would be suffering at the bottom of the city.
After so many years of hardship, he still has such a strong fighting ability.
Chen Zixian's eyes were cloudy and weak as he looked at the young man in front of him. He made several whooshing noises in his throat as if there was a lot of phlegm. He coughed several times in great pain and coughed up two mouthfuls of bloody phlegm. He said weakly: "I thought I had been forgotten by this world a long time ago."
Already."
"You are indeed the most forgotten person among those people. I think it is probably because you are a person who betrays the Lord and seeks glory. No one in the court dares to use you boldly. I don't know if you have regretted it in these years.
"
Ning Que wiped the cold rain from his face, looked at the dying old man and said: "But it is precisely because you have been forgotten by the world, so I think killing you will not cause too much trouble. In addition, I will pass the exam
Academy, killing you is regarded by me as an essential part of the celebration, like flowers and doves."
Chen Zixian's old and weak eyes were full of confusion, and he whispered: "Just give it a try."
"It's still very early, and it will take a long time for your poor apprentices to complete today's orders."
Ning Que raised his head and glanced at the sky. The rain clouds were hanging like bead curtains, and he couldn't see where the sun was at all. But he knew that he still had a lot of time, so he said softly: "As for things like happiness, you have let me know over the years.
I'm very unhappy, so don't expect a happy death."
"I have a poem to read to you." He looked at the dying old man in the woodpile, without any expression on his face, and said calmly: "I come from the mountains and rivers, I come from the grassland Yanjing, I come from the general's mansion
Come and take your life."
Upon hearing the words "General's Mansion", Chen Zixian's cloudy eyes suddenly brightened, and the expression on his face gradually became relieved. His trembling hands subconsciously scratched the wet pile of firewood, staring at Ning Que's childish face.
He said in a trembling voice: "That's it, it turns out... the general's son is still alive, you... you said... you got admitted to the academy, it's great... it's great, I have lived so tiredly these years, I can know before I die...
…The general’s son is still alive…and doing well…I can really rest in peace.”
"Who is not tired from living?" Ning Que lowered his head and looked at the potholes in front of his feet that had been hit by countless yellow splashes from the rain, and whispered: "I have to learn calligraphy, Mathematical Olympiads, piano and painting, every weekend.
I have to sit on the back seat of my mother's bicycle and run around. In the end, the children's palace becomes more familiar than home. Do you think I am tired?"
Chen Zixian didn't understand what he said. He covered the bleeding wound and shook his head in pain.