Chapter 148 — Interrogation
Purple Streets of Chang'an · Page 2 of 4
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.