Chapter 148 — Interrogation

Song Yan instinctively turned his head aside, dodging the slap Song Cen aimed at him, and blurted out, "Father, how could it possibly be me?"

Whether it was his son's conduct that had enraged Song Cen so, or the boy's dodging of the blow, Song Cen was beside himself. "Wretched boy, you dare argue with me!" he roared, pointing at the ground before him. "On your knees!"

Song Yan hesitated a moment, then knelt before his father.

"Xingfang admitted with her own mouth that she saw you carrying on with Meirui; Chen Tao confirmed that the jade pendant was yours, and that it went missing when you left for Liaodong. Witness and evidence both—and still you deny it!" Song Cen was shaking with fury. "When you were three, I hired a drillmaster to teach you martial arts; when you were five, I brought in a great scholar from the Hanlin Academy to begin your education... Even for your younger brother, I never expended such effort. How much your mother and I poured into you, and this is how you repay us! Thank heaven your mother is gone—had she lived to see this, she would have died of shame! You unfilial wretch, you have dragged the Yingzhèn Garrison Manor's name through the mud..."

Chen Tao...

How could it be?

Impossible!

Song Yan stared at his father in shock.

Xingfang was another of his mother's senior maids. He had had little contact with his mother's maids, so a false accusation from her was conceivable. But Chen Tao was his milk-brother, the second son of his wet nurse; Chen Tao and his elder brother Chen He had entered the household at five to serve him, and on this journey to Liaodong it had been Chen He who attended him most closely. Anyone might betray him—but Chen Tao, how could he?

He listened quietly to his father's upbraiding, his expression gradually growing complex, and only when his father's anger had run its course did he speak in a low voice. "Father, this truly has nothing to do with me! Think about it—the jade pendant was hardly the equal of the manor's other treasures, but it was an heirloom of the Xuanming Sect all the same. On my hundredth day, Grandfather presented it to me before all our relatives and friends. Even if I were the greatest fool alive, I would never give it to a serving maid! Would that not be declaring openly to the world that she and I were lovers? Besides, I have never been without attendants—whatever I did, one question would reveal it. Even if Chen Tao's memory failed him, there are still Master Yan, and Yu Jian and the others..."

"And you have the gall to bring that up!" Song Cen cut him off with a cold laugh. "Do you know what Xingfang said?" His voice rose sharply. "She said Meirui dared not refuse. Knowing that if it came to light she would have no place to die, and fearing you would disown her afterward, she stole a jade pendant while she was in your bed, meaning all along to plead with your mother for mercy. Who could have known your mother would sicken and die so suddenly? She was four months with child, and I meant to marry her off—she knew the paper could no longer wrap the fire, and in her terror she dashed her head against a pillar..." He slammed his palm on the kang table. "Nothing you say today will make any difference! I mean to teach you a lesson on behalf of your dead mother!" He bellowed for the rough-work women. "Drag the heir out and give him twenty strokes!"

The servants on duty in the upper rooms were all Jiang Shi's people, and at this the women exchanged uneasy glances.

Song Cen seized the cup from his hand and hurled it at them. "Dogs! Am I not to command you now?"

Song Yan had no choice but to say to the women, "My father disciplines me on my mother's behalf. It is only proper." He wore the look of one who would offer no resistance.

Only then did the women shuffle over, murmuring, "Forgive us, Young Master," as they took hold of Song Yan.

Song Cen, watching, flew into a rage. "Beat him here! Beat him here, I say!"

The women looked at Song Yan.

Song Yan nodded.

Only then did the women fetch a spring bench.

Song Yan lay down upon it.

One of the women came forward and whispered, "Bear with it a little, Young Master."

They were rough-work women of the inner court, whose daily labor amounted to no more than beating maidservants at Jiang Shi's command. To Song Yan they posed no real threat; and since they deliberately pulled their blows, the strokes fell on him without sting or pain.

Song Cen, his face flushed with rage, shoved the women aside, snatched the bamboo rod from one of their hands, and brought it down hard on Song Yan. The room heard its first dull thud.

Song Ke drew in a sharp breath.

Song Cen, as though still unsatisfied, beat him and cursed him together. "You bastard! You think there is no law in heaven! If word of this gets out, what will people say of your dead mother? Poor woman—proud all her life, never once bested by anyone..."

Listening, Song Yan felt his eyes swim with tears.

His father had never been good at managing household affairs. With his mother's death and this scandal on top of it, his father must be too angry to think straight. If beating him would give his father an outlet, then let him beat.

He lay there obediently and took his father's blows.

Crack, crack—a wild flurry of strokes, far more than twenty.

Song Yan clenched his teeth and endured.

Blood seeped through the white silk of his trousers.

The women were aghast.

One of them, emboldened by past favor with Jiang Shi, ventured in a low voice, "Lord Zhenguo, you must stop! Any more and the Young Master will not be able to bear it!"

Song Cen seemed then to come back to himself. He stared at the blood on his son's trousers, froze for a moment, and flung the bamboo rod to the ground with a clatter.

Song Yan and the women all breathed a sigh of relief.

But Song Cen suddenly threw open the warm curtain of the inner chamber and shouted for the guards.

Everyone in the room looked bewildered.

This was the upper room, Jiang Shi's own chamber; guards were not permitted past the hanging-flower gate, for the inner court had the women to patrol it by night.

Yet what astonished them more was that scarcely had Song Cen's voice died away than several burly guards strode in.

Song Cen pointed at Song Yan. "Drag him into the courtyard and beat him soundly!"

Song Yan did not recognize a single one of them.

Something stirred in his heart; he tried to rise, but his whole body felt limp and drained of strength.

"Father..." He stared at his father with wide eyes.

His father acted as though he had not seen him, while the guards stepped forward swiftly and deftly, binding him with leather thongs as thick as a thumb. Their movements were practiced beyond measure—plainly the work of men long used to it.

"Father!" Song Yan's face was full of disbelief.

He had practiced the internal school of health-preserving arts, and only dabbled at that. It was not as outwardly imposing as the external school, yet no ordinary man could hope to lay a hand on him. But now his whole body had gone slack, and his true qi was running wild—clearly it was no longer under his control.

The few old women sensed something was wrong as well and huddled together, shrinking into a knot.

Song Yan steadied his mind, trying to gather the true qi within his body.

The guards carried him out. Another spring bench had already been prepared outside, and the two guards standing beside it no longer held bamboo staves, but the execution staves used to flog men sentenced to penal exile.

Song Yan stared at his father.

Song Cen did not even glance at him. He ordered the guards, "Beat him!"

The staves fell on Song Yan's body, and he felt as though his five viscera and six bowels had all been shifted out of place.

Soon fine beads of sweat broke out on his forehead.

"Father!" Amid the crack and thwack rising and falling around him, Song Yan forced himself to raise his head. He asked the father standing beneath the side corridor, "Why?"