Xuanqing Guard

There was a certain kind of business in the carriage and horse shop that no one wanted to mention lightly. This business didn’t break any laws, but couldn’t see the light of day. The rewards were substantial, but unless forced or truly desperate for money, no driver was willing to take it.

Of course, this business wasn’t something you could take if you wanted or avoid if you didn’t. Once an order arrived, refusing wasn’t an option, and it was up to the master or the shopkeeper to soothe the drivers’ nerves.

In short: money isn’t the problem, but you have to get the job done.

Earlier this afternoon, Hengshun Carriage and Horse Company received just such an order. The shopkeeper didn’t dare make a fuss. He went straight to Master Liu Hengyi for instructions—what should be done?

"Why are you asking me what to do? For this kind of thing, just pass down the orders. What’s the point of asking me? You want me to refuse them for you?"

So, after a thorough scolding, the shopkeeper rushed off to find the two foremen in charge of freight at the carriage house.

The short, chubby shopkeeper nearly got into a fight with the two big, brawny foremen—not afraid they’d kill him, either. But even after cursing the heavens and the earth, the two foremen didn’t actually dare to refuse once they saw the order. That glaring red Taotie Pattern stamp on the slip sent a chill straight down their spines.

Leaving the team, the shopkeeper wiped sweat from his brow, his sullen expression instantly replaced by smugness. He whistled a little tune—finally offloaded this business. He wouldn’t be coming near the carriage crew for the next few days—to avoid bad luck.

The shopkeeper went off all smiles; the two foremen, meanwhile, held the order with grim faces, hesitating for a long time.

"Let’s go, split up and talk to them. Worst case, we take half as much bonus ourselves tonight. Give the rest to the men. For the sake of the money, they’ll understand."

"Yeah, guess that’s all we can do. Let’s go."

No matter how the two foremen finally convinced their men, by the hour of the pig, the team had assembled. Fifteen large wagons, each with its own driver. Each driver wore a bloodstained chicken feather pinned to his clothes.

"Li Batou, does this stuff really keep away evil?"

"Of course it does—keep it secure and don’t let it fall. This is an exorcism blood talisman, something we’ve passed down in this business for generations. With it, you won’t be tainted by bad luck or bloodstains. Without it, you’ll have three years of bad luck after this trip, you believe me?"

"I believe you, I really do! Just help me check again—it doesn’t feel steady."

"You’re fine—it’s stuck in your buttonhole and it’s secure. Unless you mess with it, it won’t fall."

The drivers here tonight were all desperate for money, one gloomier than the last, faces pale, preoccupied with the bloody feathers on their chests—constantly glancing down, putting all their hopes on these things tonight.

When the hour of the pig passed, the two captains called everyone to get ready, then led them out of the carriage house, onto the main road, and toward the city gate.

Normally, the city gates closed after the hour of the dog—no traffic in or out. But not tonight. The captain held a warrant, and inside the gate tunnel, several Xuanqing Guard were checking documents. Under the garrison soldiers’ watch, they entered the city and went all the way to the Xuanqing Guard Thousand Households Station—a place few drivers ever visited. But they didn’t enter through the main gate. Instead they circled around to the side entrance, stopping in front of the Black Banner Battalion’s quarters.

"Wait right here. No wandering, no talking, no looking around."

"Mm, mm."

The two usually rough-voiced foremen were now gentle, bowing low, speaking softly—afraid that any word too loud could bring disaster. If you looked close, you could see a fine sheen of sweat on their foreheads.

They’d known what to expect before coming, but standing here in front of such a forbidding compound, the atmosphere pressed down on them—a crushing, invisible force. All those stories once told over tea now suddenly felt too real. Terrifying. Scaring themselves.

They waited about half an hour outside the barracks. The sharp-eared among them could hear footsteps inside.

"Three wagons inside. The rest wait out here."

One of the foremen led his wagon in, picking two more to follow.

At first, they thought it was their imagination, but all three smelled a sickly-sweet, bloody scent. It wasn’t just in their heads—it hung in the air for real.

It drifted from behind a certain door.

Six soldiers came out, each pair carrying a corpse.

"Where’s the wagon? Move up. Yeah, park right here."

The soldiers tossed the bodies onto the wagons like butchered pigs, then turned and headed back inside. Each trip, another headless body was carried out and loaded onto the wagon.

The three drivers mustered the courage to take a few glances at the corpses. Their skin crawled. Every body was headless, a bowl-sized stump at the neck, blood still running. When tossed on the wagon, some hands and feet still twitched...

No wonder cowards were told not to come. This was nothing like watching executions in the marketplace. That was just spectacle. This—this was joining in the slaughter.

"Don’t just stand there! If the wagon’s full, move it out, follow instructions outside, don’t wander, or you’ll drip blood everywhere!"

"O-okay!" The usual carriage posture was stiff and unnatural; holding the reins, the driver led the team out to the roadside. Xuanqing Guard soldiers escorted them at all times. None of the drivers dared look back—or glance around. The bloody-sweet stink stung their noses; their backs prickled with cold.

Wagon after wagon, body after body—soon all fifteen wagons were loaded full. By now, sharper minds in the group were curious: all these headless corpses—where were the heads? But this thought dared not be spoken. Those who understood didn’t ask; those who didn’t wouldn’t dare.

The convoy would be escorted by Little Banner Battalion out to the mass graves beyond the city, with the Fengri City garrison sending men to help once they passed the walls. The pit was dug and waiting—just needed the bodies to be dumped in.

As soon as the convoy left, the soldiers at the Black Banner Battalion base got back to work. They wouldn’t be resting tonight.

Over three hundred severed heads needed quick prepping—covered in lime, packed into bags bearing the names. These were "proof," to be checked one by one when the investigators arrived. No mistakes in executing or missing anyone were allowed. Only after this could the heads be sent to the mass grave to be reunited with the bodies.

"Sir, all three hundred and seventeen criminals have been verified and executed. Waiting for your orders!" Wang Yiming, who was in charge, handed a name list covered in red crosses to Shen Hao.

"What about the other locations? Have their reports come in?" Shen Hao stood at the door, watching soldiers inside handle head after head, his face hard as ice.

"Three reports have come in, the rest haven’t arrived yet."

"Hurry them up. All numbers must be tallied before dawn."