Volume Three: The Storm of Xuanwu Gate Chapter Sixty-Two: Arrogance Unrestrained

Mingyu approached, and with just a glance, understood the situation at hand.

A procession had come from the heart of Chang'an, heading outward—a group of six or seven young scions from affluent families in the lead, followed by a dozen or so retainers and wicked servants. They carried bows and arrows, hawks perched on their arms, dogs at their heels, shouting and hollering as they went, clearly intent on going out hunting. By misfortune, just as they reached the city gate, their path was blocked by an ox cart coming into the city.

The cart was mottled and battered, patched and mended countless times, piled high with bamboo charcoal. The yellow ox pulling it was so old its coat was patchy and bare. Perhaps the load was too heavy, or perhaps the beast was simply too aged; with the cold weather and slippery roads, the snow on the ground had been trampled into muddy slush by the crowds going in and out of the city. Carelessly, the cart’s wheel sank into the mire and could move neither forward nor back.

The driver was an elderly man, his hair white as snow, clad in thin, patched garments that clung to his gaunt frame under the biting wind. He seemed destitute. Sweat streamed down his wrinkled face, but he could not bring himself to whip the loyal old ox. Instead, he pressed his frail body behind the cart, straining to help the beast.

The privileged youths, accustomed to bullying others in Chang'an, never saw commoners as human. Seeing the old man blocking their way, they erupted with fury, shouting from atop their horses, “You decrepit fool! Are you blind? How dare you stand in our way!”

Whether from cold or fear, the old man trembled, growing more flustered as he struggled. The ox, exhausted, gasped for breath, but no matter how they strained, the wheels would not budge from the mud.

At that moment, Zhou the Sixth, a city gate official, hurried over. He was wary of these arrogant youths, yet the incident happened on his watch, so he had no choice but to intervene, lest greater trouble ensue. He strode quickly to the horses, bowed with a smile, and began, “Gentlemen, off to hunt and relax, are you? In this biting cold, the fur of game is at its finest. Allow me to wish you all a bountiful hunt. You are all distinguished gentry; there’s no need to waste your tempers on this old fool. Don’t mar your pleasure or ruin your health by quarreling.”

The young scions, already impatient, cursed. One shouted, “Who the hell are you? Out of my way! Yesterday, I wagered with Gao’s fifth son that whoever bags more foxes today will treat the other to a month of wine and revelry. And now, just as I’m about to leave the city, this old wretch blocks my path! If he makes me lose the bet, I’ll thrash him dead!” With a nod to his servant, the man obeyed, spurred his horse forward, and cracked his whip three times, each lash striking the ox mercilessly.

The servant wielded the whip with skill, and the ox bellowed in agony, blood beads bursting from its hide, deep welts appearing.

To a farming family, an ox is a treasured asset—their very livelihood depends upon it. Some peasants treat the animal as kin. The old man’s eyes reddened with grief. “Please, noble sirs, spare my ox! I beg your forgiveness!” he cried, spreading his arms to protect the beast.

The servant sneered, flicked his wrist, and the whip lashed across the old man’s body, making him shudder with pain and cry out. His tattered clothes tore open, blood spraying from the wounds.

The servant, cruel and malicious, deliberately humiliated the old man, striking him repeatedly, focusing on his lower limbs. Each lash shredded his trousers, leaving only two ragged legs exposed, his lower body completely uncovered. The old man sobbed, face smeared with tears and snot, shamed and in agony, but dared not offend the arrogant youths—he could only beg for mercy.

The townsfolk, witnessing the scene, knew these privileged scions to be ruthless and dangerous; to cross them was to risk one’s life or at least suffer terribly. They kept their distance, faces full of pity, but none dared speak up.

The youths laughed uproariously from their horses. One shouted, “Whip him! Beat him to death! How dare he block my way! If he dies, it’s on me!”

The servant, emboldened, replied obsequiously, “Yes, sir, just watch!” With his master’s order, he whipped the old man even more viciously, his blows growing ever more elaborate, drawing blood from every strike. The old man’s life hung by a thread.

Zhou the Sixth, growing desperate, knew that should the old man die, the scions would escape any consequence, but he would lose his position. He rushed forward to plead, but none of the young men respected a mere city gate clerk. One, impatient, lifted his leg and kicked Zhou from his horse, sending him sprawling. Then he shouted at the servant, “Did you skip breakfast? Put some strength into it!”

The servant understood—he was to use lethal force. He raised his whip high, intent on finishing the old man once and for all.

The whip whistled through the air, aiming straight for the old man’s temple. But midway, it was seized by a powerful hand.

The servant cursed, trying to yank the whip back, but despite his efforts, it would not budge.

Li Mingyu, in both his past and present lives, was possessed of a passionate, chivalrous heart, and despised bullies above all. Seeing the scions and their servants so callously tormenting an impoverished elder, his anger flared and he strode forward to intervene.

The servant sensed trouble but relied on the scions behind him for confidence. Seeing Li Mingyu’s unremarkable attire, he glared and barked, “Well, well, here’s another busybody! Mind your own affairs, or you’ll regret it!”

Li Mingyu regarded him coolly. “And how do you propose to make me regret it?”

The servant knew that retreating now would disgrace the scions, which would not bode well for him. He dropped the whip and shouted, “You brat, looking for death!” and swung his fist at Mingyu.

Li Mingyu, unfazed by the likes of a wealthy servant, caught the punch single-handedly, his fingers squeezing the servant’s fist.

Born with great strength and tempered by years of training, Li Mingyu’s grip was like iron. The servant cried out, feeling his fist trapped, joints cracking under the pressure, agony coursing through him until he collapsed in pain.

Li Mingyu sneered. “That hand was the one you used to whip the old man, wasn’t it? I think you don’t need it anymore. Leave it behind to make amends!” With that, he twisted the servant’s arm, snapping it with a sickening crack. The servant’s eyes rolled back and he fainted from the pain.

Mingyu kicked him aside in disgust. “You bully by relying on your masters. Since you are not the true villain, I’ll take only one arm today. Otherwise, you’d pay with your life!”

The scions watched from horseback, seeing their servant’s arm broken in an instant. Their pride wounded, they could not bear it. One shouted, “Who is this brat? Daring to strike my man! Beat him to death! No, break his arms and legs first, then feed him to my pet leopard!”

Li Mingyu heard their words, shocked by their cruelty—so casually seeking to kill a man and feed him to beasts in broad daylight. His brows arched and he shouted, “Such wickedness! Do you even recognize the law?”

The scion sneered, “Law? How much is law worth by the pound? Here in Chang’an, I am the law! Get him!”

At his command, six or seven retainers and servants surged forward, brandishing weapons and looking fierce as they charged at Li Mingyu.

Mingyu’s anger boiled over. Clearing his throat, he raised his voice, “You are truly lawless! Well, since you behave so arrogantly, today I’ll teach you a lesson you won’t forget!”