Zhao Jia was waiting too, waiting impatiently for the supervising official to give the order, so he could do his job and leave the premises. Facing the deeply affecting looks on the six men made him ill at ease. Even though he had smeared his face with chicken blood, which served as a mask of sorts, his nerves were still on edge, and he was actually somewhat self-conscious, as if standing in front of a gaping crowd without his pants. Never before in his long career had he been so unsettled or lost his sense of detachment. In the past, so long as he was wearing red and had chicken blood smeared on his face, his heart was as cold as a black stone at the bottom of a deep lake. He had the vague feeling that while he was putting someone to death, his soul was hibernating in the fissures of the coldest, deepest stone, and that a killing machine bereft of heat and emotion performed the deeds. And so, when the job was over, he could wash his hands and face and be free of any feeling that he had just killed someone. It was all a haze, a sort of half sleep. But on this day he felt as if the hardened mask of chicken blood had been peeled away, like the outer layer of a wall soaked by a rainsquall. His soul squirmed in the fissures of the stone, and a host of emotions—pity, terror, agitation, and more—seeped out like tiny rivulets. When an expert executioner stood on the platform to carry out his somber task, he was expected to show no emotion. If, however, indifference was considered an emotion of sorts, then it was the only one permitted; all others could serve only to ruin a reputation. He did not have the nerve to look at the Six Gentlemen, especially the one-time Board of Punishments Bureau director with whom he had established a unique and genuine friendship—Liu Guangdi. If he were to look into the man’s eyes, in which burned unalloyed rage, his palms would be wet with cold sweat for the first time ever. So he looked up at the doves circling above him. All those flapping wings made him dizzy. The chief official witness—Vice Minister of the Left, His Excellency Gang Yi—squinted up into the sky from his seat at the base of the platform before casting a sideways glance at the Six Gentlemen.
“It’s time,” he said in a shaky voice. “Criminals, on your knees to give thanks for the blessings of the Emperor.”
Like a man who had received absolution, Zhao Jia turned to his apprentice and took from him the unwieldy sword reserved for the decapitation of fourth-ranked officials and higher—Generalissimo. Out of respect for Excellency Liu, he had spent the whole night honing the blade to hair-splitting perfection. After drying his hands with his sleeves, he held his right arm across his chest so that the sword was pointing straight up.
Some of the Six Gentlemen wept; others sighed.
With appropriate decorum, Zhao Jia said:
“Please, gentlemen, take your places.”
Tan Sitong cried out:
“I have the intention to kill thieves, but lack the strength to change the course of events. It is a worthy death, and I have no regrets!”
His last words spoken, he had a coughing fit that turned his face the color of gold paper; his eyes were bloodshot. He then fell to his knees, placed his hands on the platform, and stretched out his neck. His loosened queue spilled across his neck down to the platform.
Lin, Yang, Yang, and Kang knelt beside Tan in utter dejection. Lin Xu sobbed like a mistreated little girl. Kang Guangren wailed loudly and smacked his palms on the platform. Yang Shenxiu also rested his hands on the platform, his eyes darting from one side to the other, but giving no hint as to what he was looking for. Liu Guangdi stood alone, his head held high, refusing to kneel. As he stared at Liu’s tattered boots, Zhao Jia said timidly:
“Your Excellency, please take your place.”
Glaring wide-eyed at the seated Gang Yi, Liu demanded hoarsely:
“Why are we being killed with no trial?”
Lacking the nerve to look at Liu, Gang Yi turned his fat, swarthy face to the side.
“Why are we being killed with no trial?” Liu Guangdi repeated. “Is this a nation bereft of laws?”
“My orders are to supervise the execution, that is all I know. I beg Peicun’s indulgence on this . .