Her master treated her well, and she served him with whole-hearted devotion, but her secret could never be discovered. What girl would learn to be an executioner? If word got out, who would marry her in this lifetime? She had no choice. She had tried learning masonry and carpentry, picked them up quickly, and had the strength, but being a girl, how could she manage in the long run? It was her nanny’s husband who casually mentioned that Wu Changgeng’s craft was good and that he could work until sixty. Beheading was like cutting melons and vegetables—effortless.

Every year after autumn, the Court of Judicature, the Censorate, and the Ministry of Punishment—all nine ministers together—would finish their joint trials. One batch of prisoners would be executed before the winter solstice. It was only busy during that period, with ten or dozens in a single day. Usually, there were few assignments. When an official said, “Come, take him out and execute him on the spot,” those cases were rare. As apprentices, they received a small salary and did odd jobs when idle.

It was good work, except for the first few times when she felt dizzy at the sight of blood. The human body was like a water bag—once the “lid” was popped open, all the water inside splashed out, impossible to collect. She had never seen so much blood before. In the countryside, even when slaughtering a pig, they used a basin to catch the blood, but not when killing people. One stroke of the blade and blood splattered five steps away. Back then, her senior disciple brother had laughed at her, saying she was small but heavy-bottomed, refusing to move when pulled—in truth, she had been frightened senseless.

Her senior disciple brother, Xia Zhi, was a reckless young man who liked to do things his way and spoke with his head in the clouds. He had already been apprenticed for two years when she arrived. Though not entirely reliable, he was honest with his people. All these years, he had looked after her in every way. When she first came, they shared a room, but later as she grew older, she mentioned to the master twice that she found his teeth-grinding at night annoying. They cleared out a room used for storage, and she moved in, finally getting some peace.

But a single door couldn’t keep Xia Zhi out. He still came and went as he pleased, just like today when the master was away. She had barred the door for an afternoon nap and was in the middle of a confused dream when he came in and woke her.

As the sky darkened, she looked outside. “Master hasn’t returned yet?”

Xia Zhi made a sound of agreement. “The jailer is attending his daughter’s wedding and brought a gift. It would be a waste not to stay for the meal. Are you hungry? Dinner is ready—get up and eat!”

She shook her head. “I can’t eat. Let’s set it aside for now.”

Xia Zhi scratched his neck with a palm-leaf fan handle and probed, “Why do I always hear you calling for ‘Madam’ in your dreams? If a grown person had grown thoughts about wanting a wife, that would be understandable, but considering such distant matters at twelve or thirteen—isn’t that a bit too early?”

She ignored him and got up to draw water from the well outside to wash her face. The bucket hit something as it was lowered. By the moonlight, she saw a head floating on the water’s surface, giving her a real fright. Looking more carefully, it turned out to be a melon with a long vine that looked like a braid.

She sighed as she turned the pulley. The well water was cool in summer. With the cloth pressed against her face, she shuddered, and her mind cleared.

“The case of Amba Lingwu is quite significant,” she said, sniffling. “It implicates so many people. If they keep investigating layer by layer, half of the Qing Dynasty’s territory would be emptied.”

“Indeed,” Xia Zhi said, using a bamboo strip as a toothpick while sitting in a rattan chair. “Even the Emperor is afraid. Why wait until autumn? You better finish it quickly. The more people they bite, the more they find. If they investigate thoroughly, how could the court continue its business? Just pick a few major figures and close the case. ‘Water too clear has no fish’—an old principle. His Majesty understands this better than we do.”

Having experienced family destruction in her childhood and later entering this profession, she had grown accustomed to the rise and fall of official careers and seemed indifferent to everything. She turned her head and asked, “How many will be executed tomorrow?”

Xia Zhi held up three fingers. “Tomorrow is my first time performing. My heart…” He shook his head. “Master said it would be a major event. Among those overseeing the execution will be Cabinet Ministers and Princes. If the task is done well, it will establish my reputation. If not, even Master will lose face.”

“Don’t you always say, ‘Heaven is the greatest, and you’re second’? What are you afraid of?” Ding Yi patted his shoulder. “What Master hasn’t told you, you must strive for yourself. Make your name with one stroke, and you’ll rise in the ranks. Don’t waste such a good opportunity. By the time I’m twenty, who knows if I’ll have such good fortune! But there’s one thing you must remember: how did ‘Crooked Blade Liu’ get his nickname? He closed his eyes when raising and dropping the blade, cutting off half of someone’s skull. The mourning family nearly ate him alive. You must keep your eyes wide open. If you ruin Master’s reputation, I’ll be the first to not spare you.”

Xia Zhi was dazed, and hearing this, he gave her a swat on the back of her head. “You little rascal getting bolder, lecturing your senior brother now. See if I don’t fix you!” The two disciples chased each other around the courtyard—a daily ritual.

The next day, they rose early. After bathing and burning incense, everything was prepared. Master stood majestically at the door, his large frame blocking half the sunlight, looking like the Celestial King Virudhaka from a temple. Wu Changgeng was over forty years old and all alone. Having caused the deaths of two wives in succession, he now wanted nothing to do with such matters. In his words, “Those who eat from this profession bring harm to their families. With hundreds of lives on our backs, there may be no crime in the mortal world, but accounts are kept in the underworld!” So he remained childless, taking two disciples who would eventually handle his funeral arrangements.

Master had drunk a bit too much the previous day and hadn’t slept well. With two puffy eyes, he instructed Xia Zhi, “Keep your heart straight and your hand steady. Later, let Little Tree prepare you. Hold a piece of old ginger in your mouth—you won’t tremble even if the Jade Emperor himself appears.”

Xia Zhi responded loudly, but inside he felt uncertain, with a sickly excitement all morning. In their courtyard lived two other households, also officials of the Shuntian Prefecture. One nicknamed “Three Green” had a wife who had just conceived after marriage. He loved to tease them, calling out as he left: “Three Green, go back for a kiss, have a mouthful of milk beans—it’s time to leave!” As soon as he finished speaking, a basin of water was thrown from inside the door, thoroughly soaking his shoes.

Ding Yi, standing by with her bundle, mocked him: “Serves you right! Who told you to have a loose mouth?”

Wu Changgeng, hot-tempered, shouted toward the house: “Three Green, control your woman! Does she understand the rules? If not, your grandfather here will teach her!” Today was his duty day, and being splashed with water before leaving was bad luck.

Three Green came out, bowing and apologizing, asking Master Wu to calm down. Xia Zhi had been irritating people for a long time, and everyone was used to it. Ding Yi, tired of their quarreling, went out under the sun to wait. Diagonally across was a hundred-year-old locust tree, lush with branches and leaves in July. Hanging in clusters were purple-red flower buds, and as the air moved, their fragrance spread for miles.

This area was home to common people—night soil collectors, sedan chair bearers, coal briquette makers—all sorts of occupations. Ding Yi took shelter under the tree, where someone was already waiting: an old woman who sold fried rice cakes and peanuts at the Eastern Yue Temple, with her grandson. In front of them was a small basin with something she was working on. Seeing Ding Yi, she smiled, “Tree, do you have a job today?”

Being familiar with the neighborhood, she smiled and nodded. She went over to look and saw a dozen or so small frogs in the basin, with three tails in a bowl. The grandmother brought the bowl to the child’s mouth, but he was reluctant. She coaxed and tricked him: “This is good stuff. Do you know why the Emperor is Emperor? Because he dares to eat this! The Emperor said whoever eats it can become a general, lead troops, and be rewarded with a big sword. That sword is so beautiful, a hundred times better than your slingshot…”

Ding Yi’s throat tightened. Old people always had their ways—it was said that eating small frogs prevented sores, though no one knew if it worked. Nevertheless, it was passed down through generations, and almost every child in the village had swallowed them raw.

The child was persuaded and asked in his childish voice: “Really? A big sword?”

His grandmother nodded. “If the Emperor doesn’t give it, Grandma will. Drink it, and we’ll buy one right away.”

Hearing this, the child took the bowl and drank. The creatures were alive and struggled in his mouth. Not knowing better, he naturally chewed a couple of times. Ding Yi was startled, feeling the morning’s porridge churning in her throat, nearly vomiting. She quickly turned away and saw her master and Xia Zhi coming out, so she hurried to meet them.

The Shuntian Prefecture was located on the north side of Gulou East Street. Going through Tongfu Alley and then Program Road, even by carriage, would take two-quarters of an hour. Although the people to be executed today had been through joint trial and received imperial approval, the formalities still needed to be observed before execution.

Ding Yi followed the yamen runners to the cells to count heads. Yesterday’s high-ranking officials had become prisoners today—glory and disgrace changed in an instant. Whenever she encountered such prisoners, she was reminded of her father, and looking at the ragged people inside filled her with mixed emotions.

Now the yamen runners also became more polite, opening the prison door and bowing. “Master An, today your case is concluded. Congratulations!”

Amba Lingwu was the Governor of Southern River Transport, a second-rank official responsible for dredging and maintaining dikes in Jiangsu waterways. Dredging rivers and building roads were the most profitable. He had kept a confused account of expenses while taking his cut. As a result, the newly renovated waterway flooded during the summer monsoon, severely affecting people on both banks. When the court investigated, the amount embezzled was substantial. It wasn’t just that he had embezzled, but he had dared to “collude” with others. To appease the Emperor’s rage, they couldn’t wait until autumn—they couldn’t wait at all. Better to efficiently dispose of him.

Having seen grand occasions before, he didn’t display the cowardly behavior of crying and pleading. Amba Lingwu came out of his cell wearing a cangue, his feet in shackles, standing at the prison door waiting to be transferred. Ding Yi, holding the register, asked: “What is your name?”

He reluctantly reported his name. After confirmation, the yamen runners didn’t delay, immediately coming to take him, pulling and dragging him out of the prison.

At the main hall, the Shuntian Prefecture would question him again. He didn’t answer, and the escorting yamen runners answered on his behalf. The officials in the hall were busy marking documents, while the executioners waited under the eaves. Ding Yi glanced at Xia Zhi—of the three criminals in the hall, one was assigned to him. He had sneaked several looks and grew increasingly nervous, his legs trembling under his trousers.

“Senior Brother, are you afraid?” She turned to look at the bright sky beyond the eaves and shook her head. “It’s too late for fear now. Do it well, don’t make them suffer—count it as a good deed.”

Xia Zhi steadied himself, with a somewhat world-weary attitude: “Once you’ve chosen this profession, there’s no turning back. Little Tree, if you find a way before you’re twenty, change professions. This work… isn’t meant for humans.”

If there was a way, who would do this? She was eager to leave Sanhe County. A growing girl without protection was vulnerable. Her nanny’s brother had a mentally disabled son, and if her secret was accidentally revealed, her only fate would be to become the fool’s wife.

Her master’s rule was that at twenty, one had to officially debut. She was seventeen this year and could still get by for three more years. Doing miscellaneous jobs was fine, but taking over the execution grounds was not possible. Xia Zhi was right—it was time to find a way out, but where? She hadn’t worn a skirt since she was six and knew nothing of women’s needlework. She didn’t even dare dream of marrying someone and living a good life.

Who would want to marry an executioner?

She pondered and then smiled to herself. At that moment, she heard a commotion inside—the prisoner was bound and ready for the “red assignment.” Outside, three cannon shots were fired. The prisoner exited through the White Tiger Gate, where an Eight Immortals table was set up with a “farewell to the living” meal prepared by the yamen: a package of braised pork knuckle and a pound of flatbread, inviting him to eat and drink before his journey.

Who could eat when facing death? It didn’t matter if he couldn’t eat—the jailer would just wipe the pork knuckle across his lips to signify he had eaten. The chopsticks were broken and tossed aside, and he was put in the prison cart to be taken to Caishikou.

Caishikou was outside Xuanwu Gate, and the executioner’s demon-head blade was enshrined in the gate tower, requiring a formal request for use. Those without disciples would kowtow themselves; those with disciples would send them instead. Ding Yi and Xia Zhi went up the tower together and looked down, leaning against the city wall. “Weren’t princes supposed to oversee the execution? Why don’t I see any?”

Xia Zhi lit incense as an offering and said: “Who wants to stare at a death row prisoner? They just need to watch the head fall from a distance. They’re not employees of Henianlou Restaurant, getting close to finding trouble. Princes are particular people. They don’t enter the Shuntian Prefecture yamen but go directly to the execution ground, sitting under large canopies…” He made a sound and pointed to the distance. “Here they come!”

Ding Yi looked in that direction and saw a magnificent procession approaching from afar. As the road had been cleared, spectators were held back on both sides, leaving the middle unobstructed, which made them appear even more arrogant. Seeing these imperial descendants reminded her of Prince Zhuang who had arrested her father. He was an older prince who seemed to show some humanity; these new ones were Emperor Taishang’s nephews, peers of the current Emperor, each more spoiled than the next. It seemed impossible they would develop good character.

She received the great blade and held it in her arms, feeling a thousand emotions churning in her stomach. The Wen family had served the dynasty since the change of rule, but in the end, they rose because of it and fell because of it. Looking back now, it was truly heart-wrenching and disheartening.