Faced with the fat monk’s bewildered expression and burning curiosity, Zhu Ping’an gave a faint smile, stepped closer, and under the monk’s expectant gaze, said lightly, “Guess.”
The fat monk had assumed Zhu Ping’an was about to reveal the answer. Seeing him approach with a smile and open his mouth, he never expected the words “Guess.” He nearly exploded with frustration, his anger almost bursting through the top of his head.
“I guess your—”
Before he could finish his curse, a soldier struck his face with the butt of a matchlock, knocking out two of his teeth.
“Nice work knocking out those teeth. Saves him from biting down to kill himself,” Master Li remarked, stroking his chin.
*My father-in-law seems quite adept at interrogation tactics?* Zhu Ping’an glanced at Master Li with a hint of curiosity.
Though modern science has proven that biting one’s tongue can’t cause death—since the tongue has only capillaries and a few arteries, with major arteries only at the root, inaccessible to teeth, making fatal bleeding or shock impossible—it was still a concern in this era to prevent captives from attempting it.
“I served briefly in the Embroidered Guard and picked up some interrogation basics. Makes sense, doesn’t it?” Master Li said nonchalantly, puffing out his paunch as he noticed Zhu Ping’an’s curious look.
“Absolutely, absolutely…” Zhu Ping’an nodded repeatedly.
Then he ordered, “Take him to the prison. Treat him well and pry open his mouth. Find out who he is, where he’s from, who’s behind him, why he targeted me, if he has accomplices, and the full details of his backers. The more detailed, the better.”
“My lord, rest assured. We have a coroner in the prison whose interrogation skills are unmatched in all of Zhejiang. He’s mastered all eighteen forms of torture. No one dies easily in his hands. Even the Embroidered Guard and Eastern Depot have sent people to learn from him. Hand this assassin to him, and he’ll spill everything, down to his ancestors’ eighteen generations,” a local officer said confidently.
“Good. Entrust it to the coroner. Tell him if he cracks the assassin, I’ll reward him handsomely,” Zhu Ping’an nodded.
With that, the group escorted the fat monk, shoving and cursing him, toward the governor’s prison.
The commotion of the capture was significant, and news reached the kitchen almost immediately.
“They caught him! They caught him! An assassin disguised as a wandering monk, claiming he wanted to bless the young lord and lady’s birthday to get close to the master and kill him. But who is our master? A god reincarnated, with eyes like fiery gold! He saw through the assassin’s disguise, lured him to the study, surrounded it with soldiers, and caught him alive!” an old woman in the kitchen gossiped while picking vegetables, addressing the young women and maids.
“This assassin must have eaten a leopard’s gall to dare come to the governor’s office to kill the master. He’s practically begging to be caught!”
“I’d say it’s not leopard’s gall—it’s a brainless fool. Only an idiot would do something this stupid.”
“He’s not just foolish, he’s rotten to the core—abscesses on his head, pus on his soles. Our master is the best, caring for the people and fighting off Wokou. He’s like a parent to us common folk. Assassinating him is like attacking our parents—he’ll be struck by heaven’s thunder!”
The kitchen maids and young women chattered away, gossiping while working.
“My hand’s sprained from yesterday; I can’t use a knife. Auntie Li’s gone to the market for fresh abalone. Who’ll kill the old hen? We need to stew it for the young lady’s tonic soup,” the old woman asked the group.
“I’m scared of knives,” the maids and young women said, shaking their heads in unison.
“Useless lot! It’s just a chicken. If my hand weren’t sprained, would I need you?” the old woman glared at them.
“I’ll do it! I’ll do it! At home during New Year, I always kill the chicken. I’ll make sure it’s done right and bled properly,” a young cleaning maid outside the door volunteered, raising her hand.
“You? Go sweep your floor. You’re a new third-class maid. The higher-ups said only long-serving staff and second-class maids or above can enter the kitchen, handle food, or serve the masters. You’re not qualified,” the old woman said. She’d been pleased at the volunteer but, seeing the girl’s low-grade blue uniform and recalling strict orders, firmly refused.
The maid outside, Juan’er, was crestfallen.
“Come on, Juan’er, don’t dream. The kitchen’s not for us. Hurry up and sweep. Work here for two years, and you might get promoted to second-class maid. Then, with some connections, you could maybe get into the kitchen,” another cleaning maid in the courtyard urged.
“Oh, okay,” Juan’er nodded disappointedly and resumed sweeping.
“Mother Liu, is the side dish for Concubine Hua’er ready? Don’t forget the jug of fine Daughter Red wine,” a slightly hoarse female voice called from the courtyard. A figure entered, greeting the kitchen staff familiarly.
“It’s ready, it’s ready,” the old woman stood, replying quickly.
“Good. Three dishes and a soup—colour, aroma, and taste all perfect. The wine’s excellent too—twenty-year Daughter Red. Very nice. Oh, Mother Liu, Concubine Hua’er fancies braised shark fin tomorrow. Add it to her side dishes, alright?”
“Got it. I’ll add it tomorrow. Anything else?”
“Just the braised shark fin for tomorrow. The day after, hmm, add a Buddha Jumps Over the Wall.”
“Alright, anything else?”
“That’s it for now. If there’s more, I’ll let you know in advance. I’ll take this now.”
Juan’er, sweeping the floor, overheard the kitchen conversation.
Soon, the figure left the kitchen courtyard with a food box, humming a tune.
“Pah! Shameless! Always using Concubine Hua’er’s name to mooch food and drink, so picky, only wanting the best. Concubine Hua’er’s too kind, indulging her! Giving her first-class maid treatment and a private room! You can’t be too nice to people like her. Look at how Concubine Hua’er spoils her—she’s forgotten her place, acting all high and mighty. I can’t stand her,” the old woman spat after the figure was gone, her tone dripping with sarcasm.
“Exactly! Concubine Hua’er never drinks, and neither does the young lady. Back when Concubine Hua’er visited the kitchen often, we knew exactly what she liked and didn’t like.”
“Whatever. Concubine Hua’er will cover the costs with her private funds.”
…
Juan’er, sweeping nearby, listened to the kitchen talk, her eyes gleaming.
