Jia grabbed Liu Guangdi’s queue for the second time. “An offense against Your Excellency,” he said softly as he made a rapid half circle, and Liu Guangdi’s detached head was in his hand. It felt extraordinarily heavy, the heaviest he’d ever held. Both hands—the one holding the sword and the one dangling Liu’s head—ached and felt swollen. Holding the head high over his own, he announced loudly to the Chief Witness:
“May it please Your Excellency, the sentence has been carried out!”
Gang Yi merely glanced at the platform before quickly averting his eyes.
Zhao Jiu followed custom by displaying the severed head to the observers. Some shouted their macabre appreciation; some wept openly. Liu Pu lay on the ground unconscious. Zhao Jia saw that the eyes in Liu’s head were open, the eyebrows raised. A grinding sound emerged from between chattering teeth; he was convinced that Liu’s brain was still functioning and that the eyes saw him. His left arm, in which he held the severed head, was getting sore and numb. Liu’s queue was like a slippery eel struggling to break free from the sweaty, blood-streaked hand holding it. There were tears in the great man’s eyes, which dimmed slowly, like cinders dying out from splashes of water. When Zhao Jia laid the head down, he noticed that it wore a peaceful look, and that made him feel better. “Excellency Liu,” he muttered under his breath, “as promised, I made a good job of it. You did not suffer, and I did no disservice to our friendship.” He now turned to the others and, with the help of his apprentice, dispatched Tan, Lin, Yang, Yang, and Kang with the same practiced skill. Thus, with consummate skill, he demonstrated his respect for the Six Gentlemen.
The capital was abuzz with talk of the spectacular execution, with most of the discussion centering on two aspects: one was the exceptional skill of the executioner, Zhao Jia; the other was the disparity in how the six men faced their deaths. People said that after Liu Guangdi’s head was severed, it wept copious tears and called out to the Emperor, and when Tan Sitong’s head left his neck, it proudly intoned a seven-syllable quatrain . . .
This new folklore, which contained particles of truth, burnished Zhao Jia’s reputation and elevated this ancient yet lowly profession far enough up the social ladder for people to take approving notice of it. It also insinuated its way into the Palace, like a gentle breeze, where it reached the ears of Cixi, the Empress Dowager. It would soon pave the way for great glory to find its way to Zhao Jia.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Golden Pistols
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1
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In the early morning hours, high-ranking officers from the Tianjin branch of the Right Imperial Guard led a delegation that included a military band and a cavalry unit to the little pier on the northern bank of the Hai River to welcome the return of the Vice Minister of War and Judicial Commissioner of Zhili, Yuan Shikai, from Peking, where he had presented longevity gifts to the Empress Dowager Cixi upon Her resumption of the Regency.
Among the members of the delegation were the Deputy Chief of the Military Affairs General Staff, Xu Shichang, who would later serve as President of the Republic of China; Deputy Adjutant of the Office of Military Affairs and future President of the Republic of China, Feng Guozhang; Zhang Xun, future Changjiang Patrolling Inspector and so-called “Pigtail General,” who would later attempt to restore the abdicated Emperor Pu Yi; Duan Zhigui, Commander of the Second Infantry Battalion and future Chief of the Republic of China General Staff; Commander of the Third Artillery Battalion and future Premier of the Republic of China, Duan Qirui; Xu Bangjie, Commander of the Third Infantry Battalion and future General Director of the Republic of China Presidential Palace; Deputy Commander of the Third Infantry Battalion and future Premier of the Republic of China, Wang Shizhen . . . all relatively young, enterprising military officers whose ambitions were not, at the time, excessive. None could possibly have imagined that within a matter of decades, the fate of China would rest in the hands of this cadre of men.
Also part of the delegation was the most promising member of the Right Imperial Guard in terms of moral character and knowledge, the captain of Yuan Shikai’s mounted guard, Qian Xiongfei. Qian was among the first delegation of students sent to study in Japan, where he graduated from a military academy. He was tall and