Better to mistakenly execute a thousand than let one guilty person go free.

Chapter 037: Better to Kill a Thousand by Mistake

The Crown Prince’s expression was grim as he beckoned with a wave of his hand. “Men, bring over the one who tried to escape!”

With just one sentence, the negative impression of covering up the crime was instantly flipped into a righteous act of capturing a would-be fugitive.

Fang Rulai’s breath caught. Indeed, the royal family’s ruthless methods were as swift and merciless as ever, their mastery of the art of changing faces in an instant revealing the full grandeur of their wolfish nature wrapped in fine robes.

San Fengzi was thrown at the Prince’s feet. Just as he was about to look up for help, the Prince swiftly lifted his foot and brought it down hard, striking him squarely in the face.

“Daoist Kong Kongzi, since this concerns your origin at the Qitian Monastery, please explain.”

“Boundless Heaven’s Honor, this humble monk obeys.” Kong Kongzi slipped in from outside and squatted before San Fengzi, carefully examining him before standing up with a serious face. “Your Highness, the robe this man wears is indeed from Qitian Monastery.”

There were sharp intakes of breath from those kneeling.

“However, this man has nothing whatsoever to do with Qitian Monastery.”

The sound of breathing instantly erupted into an uproar. What did that mean?

It meant they intended to sacrifice the pawn to protect their leader! Fang Rulai’s mind flashed with alarm, and she lunged forward. The situation had turned so quickly that she’d only managed to strip the magistrate’s robe but hadn’t yet had time to tear off the fake skin from his face. She couldn’t let him die quietly with a false face!

“Oh, I see. That makes things easier.” The Prince smiled lazily at Fang Rulai, then brought his foot down with force, his energy surging, “Venerable Monk, I shall administer justice for the people!”

Fang Rulai halted mid-stride, still in her running posture—no need to snatch him now. The man beneath the Prince’s foot was already splayed out, clearly dead.

The Prince stepped over the body and strode forward. “Daoist Kong Kongzi, it seems Qitian Monastery hasn’t been managed as strictly as during your tenure. Even the robes are easily stolen now.”

“Yes, yes, thanks to Your Highness’s favor, too many envy the monastery’s prestige. Not only do people sneak in to steal, but some even frame others. Just a few days ago, there was a rumor that a fire was started by our monks, and now, after a few out-of-town servants died, they spread rumors that we committed murder,” Kong Kongzi replied, flicking his horsetail whisk as he followed.

“Oh?” The Prince stopped at the perfect moment, feigning surprise. “Such obvious slander—surely no one would be foolish enough to believe it?”

“No!” Before Kong Kongzi could reply, the Prince provided a firm answer himself. “At least the wise people of our Great Yao Kingdom would not be so easily deceived!”

The Prince continued forward with hands clasped behind his back, and the kneeling citizens bowed once more, “May the Crown Prince live long and prosper.”

The Prefect of Yin rose, patting his knees, and followed with pride. “Your Highness is wise—our Great Yao Kingdom will surely flourish and pros—”

The Prince halted.

The Prefect’s word “per” stuck in his throat.

“Prefect Yin, do you know your crime?” The Prince’s voice was sharp with anger. “Outsiders died in Shengjing, yet you’ve failed to close the case. And today, your own magistrate is revealed as one of the robe thieves. A dignified prefect, unable to unravel even a simple vendetta—your tenure has reached its end.”

“Spare me, Your Highness, spare me!” The prefect fell to his knees, knocking his head against the floor in terror.

The Prince waved a magnanimous hand. “Enough. My royal father’s funeral is not yet over—I have no time to deal with you. Since both recent cases are linked to these outsiders, send men to their hometown to investigate.”

“Oh, and I hear the venerable monk is the only one who has seen the deceased’s cousin. Take him along for identification as well.”

In just a few words, the verdict was set: a vendetta among wanderers, the investigation to continue outside Shengjing, and, crucially, Fang Rulai—whom the Prince most wished to destroy—was not allowed to escape.

The Prince and his retinue vanished through the rear hall doors, and the crowd of onlookers began to slip away in twos and threes. The Prince had already declared them “wise citizens.” If they failed to act wisely and lingered any longer, they might find themselves showing their “wisdom” before the King of Hell tomorrow.

Yet, they were not wise enough. They thought erasing their traces at the hall would keep them safe, not knowing that their fate was sealed the moment they decided to attend the hearing that morning.

That night, every citizen present at the hall perished, each under various plausible or implausible circumstances.

That same night, a group of palace secret guards who failed to meet the Prince’s standards were executed within the imperial precincts.

That same night, the real magistrate was quietly drowned in the pond behind Prefect Yin’s residence.

Throughout history, whenever rulers wished to quickly “set things right,” there was no method more effective than the ruthless policy of “better to kill a thousand by mistake than let one slip away.”

In an instant, the atmosphere in Shengjing tightened to the extreme. From the imperial court to the lowliest peddler, all greeted each other with glances and gestures. To speak aloud? Only if one wished to die.

Fang Rulai slipped through the silent streets of Shengjing and, together with Head Constable Wei and his men, set out for the distant region to investigate.

On the first day, as Fang Rulai raised a teacup to her lips at a roadside stall, Zhu Xishi brushed against her as if by accident. The cup shattered, spilling tea over a dog napping under the table. Not long after, the dog began to foam at the mouth.

Zhu Xishi’s latest identity was the distant cousin of the deceased maid Honghong.

On the second night, as Fang Rulai slept deeply, a large hand grabbed her by the nape and pulled her from the carriage. An instant later, an arrow shot through the thick carriage wall, embedding itself exactly where her head had lain.

The hand belonged to Mu Zhijin. With the current tension in Shengjing and Guan Shiyin being watched by the Prince and unable to leave the city, Mu Zhijin had been personally invited by Guan Shiyin to protect Fang Rulai. Outwardly, it was said that with the renovations at Lord Chu’s House, Mu Zhijin wished to visit her hometown—which, as luck would have it, was precisely the destination of Fang Rulai’s party.

Upon meeting, Mu Zhijin explained to Head Constable Wei with a blend of charm and solemnity that she owed a great debt to the abbot of Fahua Monastery, who had summoned the Buddha to guide her in a dream; since their paths coincided, she would accompany them.

The burly constables were, of course, delighted—a fair, handsome little monk, a dazzling young widow, and now the bewitching owner of Lord Chu’s House. Since they were headed to the distant Pingcheng, surely their journey would offer ample opportunity for a few spicy escapades.

On the third day, when they lodged at a lonely roadside inn, the group agreed: the moment had come!

Thanks to dear friends for their encouragement.

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