HNYWEF -Chapter 118 The Account He Wants

In the fourth year of Zhenguan, the nineteenth day of the eighth month.

Early court session.

In the Taihe Hall, all officials stood in solemn silence.

Li Shimin sat on the imperial throne, his face showing no expression at all.

Below him knelt three men—the Wa kingdom envoy, the unarmed escort who had not made a move, and a thin man who was tightly bound and pressed to the ground.

The Minister of Rites stood among the ranks, sweat sliding down his forehead, not daring to wipe it away.

After the inner attendant finished reading out the details of the “Wa delegation assaulting the Grand Duke Consort of the Great Tang case,” the hall fell silent for a few breaths.

Li Shimin spoke.

His voice was not loud, but every word was crystal clear.

“Ministry of Rites.”

The Minister of Rites stepped forward and knelt.

“This subject is here.”

Li Shimin said, “The delegation entered the capital, and your ministry was responsible for reception. The delegation went out privately, and you knew nothing. The delegation harmed someone, and you were unaware.”

He paused slightly.

“You have done your job very well, Minister.”

The Minister of Rites pressed himself to the ground, not daring to lift his head.

Li Shimin continued, “You are demoted by one rank and fined one year’s salary!”

The Minister of Rites knocked his head to the ground.

“This subject thanks Your Majesty for your mercy.”

Li Shimin no longer looked at him.

His gaze shifted to the three Wa men.

“The escort injured someone, framed others, and fabricated accusations. Even if this were done to ordinary citizens of Great Tang, such behavior cannot be tolerated. According to Tang law, what punishment is due?”

The Minister of Justice stepped forward.

“Reporting to Your Majesty, according to the law, they should be executed.”

Li Shimin nodded.

“Then execute them!”

The thin escort struggled violently, shouting something incoherent, but two Imperial Guards pinned him down tightly.

Li Shimin did not look at him.

Instead, he looked toward the outside of the hall.

“Is Zhou Xiong present?”

Near the hall entrance, a figure stepped forward.

Zhou Xiong.

He was still wearing that slightly worn dark robe, not court attire at all, looking no different from an ordinary commoner on the street.

He walked through the ranks of officials, step by step, until he reached below the imperial steps and stopped.

Then he raised his head.

And looked at Li Shimin.

Li Shimin looked back at him.

Li Shimin said, “The attackers are from the delegation. The one injured was your son. I have judged the Ministry of Rites and the criminals, but this man—”

He pointed at the thin escort.

“should still be handed over to you for judgment.”

The hall instantly fell silent.

All eyes turned to Zhou Xiong.

Zhou Xiong stood there, unmoving.

He looked at Li Shimin.

Staring straight at him.

For three breaths.

Then his hand moved.

He raised it, palm open, toward the side.

In that direction stood Cheng Yaojin.

Cheng Yaojin froze.

He looked at that hand, at the open palm, at the face that showed no expression at all.

He understood.

He wanted a blade.

Zhou Xiong was asking him for a knife.

Cheng Yaojin’s throat moved.

But he did not move.

Zhou Xiong’s hand remained extended.

Just like that, held out.

Cheng Yaojin stood frozen in place.

The hall was so silent that one could hear their own heartbeat.

Li Shimin let out a faint sigh inwardly. As expected, it was exactly as he had anticipated.

Suddenly, Cheng Yaojin took a step forward.

He stood in front of Zhou Xiong, blocking that hand.

“Bear Fool.”

Zhou Xiong did not speak.

Cheng Yaojin looked at him.

“Calm down!”

Still no response.

Zhou Xiong kept looking at him, that hand still extended.

Cheng Yaojin lowered his voice so only Zhou Xiong could hear.

“This is the imperial court. If you kill him here, what then?”

Zhou Xiong’s eyes moved.

Just once.

Cheng Yaojin saw it.

He continued, “Your son is still lying injured. You were just granted a title. If you make a move in front of the entire court today—”

He paused.

“How is His Majesty supposed to handle this? How is Zhou Yi supposed to handle it?”

Zhou Xiong stood there, unmoving.

That hand was still extended.

Cheng Yaojin looked at it—the open palm.

He said nothing more.

Just stood there, blocking him.

Zhou Xiong looked at him.

For a long time.

That hand finally lowered.

Cheng Yaojin let out a small breath of relief.

But before that breath could fully settle—

Zhou Xiong’s other hand moved.

Fast.

Very fast.

Cheng Yaojin only felt a sudden lightness at his waist.

He looked down—his saber sheath was already empty.

The sound of the blade leaving its sheath rang out sharply in the silent hall.

“Shing—”

Zhou Xiong stood there holding the blade.

It gleamed coldly, reflecting the light of the hall.

Cheng Yaojin froze.

“Bear… you—”

He instinctively reached out to stop him.

A hand pressed down on his arm.

He turned his head.

Qin Qiong was beside him, holding his arm firmly, stopping him from moving.

Cheng Yaojin grew anxious.

“Brother Qin!”

Qin Qiong said nothing.

He only lifted his chin slightly, gesturing toward the imperial throne.

Cheng Yaojin followed his gaze.

Li Shimin sat on the throne.

His eyes were closed.

His face showed no expression at all.

Cheng Yaojin opened his mouth.

But no words came out.

He understood.

That was permission.

Or rather—he could not stop it.

Zhou Xiong no longer looked at them.

He turned around with the blade in hand.

And walked toward the thin man kneeling on the ground.

His steps were not fast.

One step at a time.

The blade hung downward at his side, dragging lightly across the floor, leaving a thin white scratch on the palace tiles.

The hall was utterly silent.

So silent that the sound of the blade scraping the stone could be clearly heard.

Sss—

Sss—

The thin man had still been struggling, pinned down by two imperial guards, muttering something incoherent.

But the moment he saw Zhou Xiong approaching—saw the blade—his voice changed.

Not a shout anymore.

Something else.

Shaking.

Trembling.

His face went pale in an instant—white as paper.

His lips quivered, trying to speak, but only broken sounds came out.

Zhou Xiong stepped closer again.

The man began to retreat, but the guards held him down—he couldn’t move.

He twisted desperately, head shaking left and right, spilling a rapid stream of words.

Too fast to hear clearly.

But the tone—everyone recognized it.

Even if they didn’t understand the language.

But the Ministry of Rites officials did.

And Zhou Xiong did too.

It was Wa language.

A begging voice in Wa language.

“Sumimasen… sumimasen… onegaishimasu… yurushite kudasai…”

(“Sorry… sorry… please… forgive me…”)

He kept repeating it, over and over.

Tears and snot covered his face, dripping down onto the palace floor.

His body shook violently, like a sieve.

Those same sounds kept spilling out again and again, faster and faster, more frantic with every repetition.

Another guard knelt nearby, head lowered, not daring to move.

The envoy’s face was even paler than the guards’.

His eyes were locked tightly on Zhou Xiong’s blade, lips trembling, unable to speak a single word.

Zhou Xiong stopped in front of the man.

He stood there.

Looking down at him.

The man looked up, still babbling those incomprehensible pleas.

Tears blurred his face completely, mixing with mucus as they dripped onto the floor.

Zhou Xiong said nothing.

He just looked.

And looked.

The hall was so silent it felt like one could hear their own heartbeat.

Cheng Yaojin stood at the back, fists clenched, palms soaked with sweat.

Qin Qiong stood motionless beside him.

Fang Xuanling lowered his head, lost in thought.

Wei Zheng watched Zhou Xiong’s back, brow slightly furrowed.

Changsun Wuji stood among the officials, his expression shifting slightly—but he did not speak.

The court officials—some bowed their heads, some stole glances, some went pale, some broke into a cold sweat.

No one moved.

No one dared speak.

Only the Wa man’s pleading voice echoed faintly through the hall.

“Yurushite kudasai… yurushite kudasai… onegaishimasu…”

Zhou Xiong held the blade.

It shone cold and bright.

“…scum…,” Zhou Xiong said to the Wa man.

He slowly raised his hand.

“TA SU KE TE! TA SU KE TE!!!”

The Wa man suddenly realized death was upon him and let out an even more desperate, shrill scream.