Hong Xiu looked down at the crowd below with lowered eyes.
Someone was shouting, “Burn her to death!” their voice sharp and shrill.
Some covered their children's eyes and backed away, terrified that a single extra glance would infect them with some foul filth.
But even more people were whispering among themselves, asking one another what heinous deeds this temptress had committed to incur such divine wrath and human resentment.
News traveled fast, warping after passing through only a few mouths.
Oh, so she had seduced court officials, disrupted the imperial administration, cast curses to cause the three-year drought in Jiangnan, and even colluded with water ghosts that crawled out of the floods.
The rumors grew more ridiculous the more they spread, and the more ridiculous they became, the more people believed them.
Hong Xiu spotted a few familiar faces amidst the sea of bobbing heads.
The steward of the Music Registry stood at the edge of the crowd, hiding behind Yun Niang, quickly withdrawing his head after stealing a glance in her direction.
Meanwhile, Yun Niang clutched her handkerchief, the corners of her mouth twitching upward in an uncontrollable sneer.
How interesting.
Hong Xiu cast another glance behind the Grand Preceptor.
Several figures in official robes stood to his left and right, their heads bowed and backs bent, staring at their noses and keeping their minds focused, completely motionless.
She remembered these people very clearly.
The third one on the left, Vice Minister Zhang of the Ministry of Revenue, had just held her hand in a private room of the Music Registry last month, saying, “Miss Hong Xiu, you possess both unparalleled talent and beauty. If you are willing to follow me, I will return to my manor tomorrow and divorce that old hag of a wife.”
Then there was the second one on the right, Director Wang of the Ministry of Rites.
Three months ago, he had drunk too much in her room and knelt on the floor, clutching her skirt as he wept, claiming he had never met such an extraordinary woman in his life, that she was the most beautiful woman in Southern Tang, and that her name deserved to be written in the history books.
How long had it been since then?
Before they had even fully sobered up, they had already put on different faces.
Hong Xiu suddenly found it incredibly amusing.
She had spent over a decade dealing with these people while she was alive. What sweet words hadn't she heard?
“A beauty that could topple cities and empires,” “unparalleled in the world,” “I would gladly trade ten years of my life just for one of your smiles.”
Each phrase was more beautiful than the last.
She would listen and smile, accepting their praise and tucking it into her sleeves, only to treat it as nothing but hot air the moment she turned around.
Because she knew it was all fake.
But she hadn't expected them to discard their pretenses so cleanly.
How many masks could a single person wear on their face?
Hong Xiu suddenly let out a snort, and then the curve of her lips stretched wider and wider, until she burst into wild, unbridled laughter.
The dense crowd below the platform was stunned by her sudden outburst.
The shouting and cursing ceased for a brief moment as everyone looked up at her as if she were a lunatic.
“What are you laughing at, temptress? You're about to die and you're still laughing!”
Someone in the crowd bellowed at the top of his lungs.
It was a burly man in a coarse tunic, holding a stone in his hand, gesturing to throw it.
Hong Xiu stopped laughing and lowered her head, her gaze sweeping across the faces below.
The previously rowdy crowd actually quieted down a bit under her gaze, with some instinctively taking half a step back.
“I am laughing at all of you.”
“Just a few days ago, you were all groveling at my feet. How is that any single one of you has put on a new face today?”
“Vice Minister Zhang, what are you hiding for?”
Vice Minister Zhang's face turned instantly pale, and he shrank further behind the Grand Preceptor.
The crowd below erupted, and the sound of whispering buzzed like a swarm of bees.
Upon hearing this, the Grand Preceptor's expression darkened.
“Gag her!”
Two soldiers climbed onto the sacrificial altar, attempting to stuff a cloth strip into Hong Xiu's mouth.
The Grand Preceptor took a step forward, standing at the very front of the viewing platform with his hands behind his back, and proclaimed:
“The temptress Hong Xiu has bewitched the hearts of the people and used evil arts to disrupt the imperial court, bringing about a devastating drought and making life unbearable for our citizens. Today, by order of the Emperor, I shall perform the ritual of sacrificing to heaven to ward off disaster and expel this evil spirit, thereby restoring the foundation of our state!”
Having spent decades navigating the imperial court, the Grand Preceptor easily swayed the crowd's sentiment back in his favor with just a few words.
Those who had been whispering below fell silent once more, nodding in agreement.
“Temptress! State-ruining temptress!” Someone started the chant, and the shouts rang out once more. “Burn her to death to avenge the people of Jiangnan!”
“Burn her! Burn her! Burn her!”
“Burn her! Burn her! Burn her!”
The chants rose wave after wave, fueled by the raging passion of the crowd, kicking up clouds of gray dust.
Tied to the wooden stake, the wind blew loose strands of hair across Hong Xiu's face. She tilted her head, staring at the contorted, hysterical faces below.
There was nothing worth looking at.
She had known the outcome from the very beginning.
The Grand Preceptor raised his hand.
Two burly soldiers climbed onto the altar carrying a bucket of dark grease. When they uncovered it, the pungent stench of tung oil washed over the area.
They splashed the oil onto the firewood. When one bucket proved insufficient, they brought another. The dark, shiny grease thoroughly soaked the dry wood, trickling down the gaps and spreading into a greasy stain across the altar's wooden floor.
A gray-robed old Daoist stepped onto the altar, clutching a handful of yellow paper talismans while chanting incantations under his breath.
He pasted the talismans onto the wooden stake one by one. As he placed the final sheet, he looked up at her, his withered face devoid of any expression, completely lacking any trace of guilt.
Hong Xiu lowered her head, staring at the talismans on the stake.
The lines drawn in cinnabar ink were crooked and sloppy.
She suddenly wondered: what could a cheap thing like this possibly suppress?
If they burned her to death, would the drought in Southern Tang truly end?
What a joke.
The shouts below grew louder and more synchronized.
At some point, someone began leading the crowd in a chant: “Heaven bless Southern Tang! Slay the evil and ward off disaster!” The crowd joined in unison.
Hong Xiu saw several half-grown children at the very front of the crowd chanting along, their faces flushed red and the veins on their necks bulging from the exertion.
Yet their eyes were completely blank. They had no idea what they were actually shouting; they simply parroted the words because everyone else was doing it.
Hong Xiu suddenly felt a deep sense of weariness.
She had used this word many times before.
But at this very moment, sitting on the altar, bound to a wooden stake, her body covered in evil-dispelling runes, dry firewood soaked in tung oil piled at her feet, and surrounded by thousands of shouting, distorted faces, those were the only words that kept revolving in her mind.
It was just too wearisome.
Her past decade or so of life had been like a play performed for others—going on stage, reciting lines, posing, and taking a bow.
She had finally climbed to the position of Courtesan Queen and thought she could finally catch her breath, only for a single sentence from the Grand Preceptor to drag her right back to square one.
No, that wasn't right. This time, there wasn't even a square one to return to; she was being pushed directly into a bonfire.
She had never been allowed to make a choice in her entire life.
The only time she had taken control of her own destiny was last night, when she refused the Grand Preceptor's dog cage.
She could be a decaying flower, but she would never be an obedient dog.
Leaning against the wooden stake, Hong Xiu tilted her head back to look at the sky.
The weather was actually quite nice today. The sun was as scorching as ever, baking her face until it burned.
“Light the fire.”
The Grand Preceptor's voice drifted down from the viewing platform, devoid of any emotion.
A soldier stepped forward with a torch, crouching by the woodpile, and pressed the flame against the oil-soaked kindling.
The flames erupted with a loud whoosh.
The tung oil ignited rapidly. Tongues of fire licked upward through the gaps in the wood with loud crackles, sending plumes of thick, black smoke billowing into the air.
The black smoke rose first, blotting out the sky, followed by a brilliant blaze. Orange flames surged forth, devouring the first layer of wood and spreading toward the second.
A wave of intense heat washed over her, tightening the skin on Hong Xiu's face and stinging her like countless tiny needles pricking beneath her flesh.
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