Chapter 121: Yi Rushi as the Execution Supervisor, the Pawnshop in the Taoist Temple

Yi Rushi tore off his crimson wedding robes and fled into the cover of night.

The next day, the entire capital of Jian'an knew that the top scholar of this year's imperial examinations—the man who had been taken in as a live-in son-in-law by the Prime Minister, Tang Zeli—had escaped on his wedding night!

By the third day, due to a trivial superstition about stepping into the Lingxiao Pavilion with his left foot first, Yi Rushi had plummeted from a promising top scholar to the most despised executioner in the capital.

Walking along the main thoroughfare of Jian'an, Yi Rushi felt utterly dejected. Since he had slipped away into the darkness two days ago, nothing had gone his way. He had imagined that with his status as a top scholar, he would surely secure a respectable position and rise through the ranks in this capital city. Who could have guessed that because he stepped into the Lingxiao Pavilion with his left foot, he would inexplicably be appointed as an executioner, with a monthly salary of five taels of silver, ten stones of rice, seven stones of flour, and two bolts of cloth?

Yi Rushi was no fool. As a newly minted top scholar, he hadn't even been granted a procession on horseback through the imperial streets, nor had he attended the Qionglin Banquet. The Ministry of Personnel had simply issued the appointment directly. Yi Rushi saw through it all clearly; this was undoubtedly the handiwork of his "convenient" father-in-law, Prime Minister Tang Zeli. However, to his surprise, Tang Zeli did not deny the marriage, instead fabricating a story that Yi Rushi had left in a hurry due to an urgent family matter.

Lost in thought as he walked, Yi Rushi accidentally collided with someone approaching from the opposite direction. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he apologized hastily. He looked up and froze; standing before him was a handsome young gentleman.

Yi Rushi looked at the man's pristine, snow-white robes, then at his own disheveled state. He didn't even have a properly fitting garment; the black cloak he wore was draped loosely over him, his thin frame unable to fill out the borrowed clothing.

The young gentleman didn't seem angry, smiling instead as he asked, "Why is the brother in such a hurry?"

Yi Rushi gave a bitter laugh and explained that he was on his way to the Jian'an Prefectural Office to take up his post as an executioner. The young man burst into laughter, saying, "I suspect you don't understand the reality of being an executioner, brother."

"How so?" Yi Rushi asked, frowning.

The young man was happy to enlighten him. In Jian'an, the rules were much like those of his previous life: executions were generally carried out after autumn, making the position an idle one during the rest of the year. Those with status often used the post as a mere formality—they would sign in at the office, or sometimes not even bother, allowing young aristocrats to hold the title while they spent their days in debauchery.

Hearing this, Yi Rushi’s heart sank. It seemed his father-in-law had been quite "thoughtful" indeed. Feeling a strange rapport with the young man, Yi Rushi cupped his hands and said, "I am Yi Rushi. May I ask your name?"

The young man returned the salute. "So you are the top scholar! Forgive my lack of manners. I am Tang Ming."

Yi Rushi gave a wry smile. "I suppose I am a laughingstock in this capital, aren't I?" Tang Ming smiled but remained silent; the implication was clear.

Yi Rushi, anxious to reach the Prefectural Office, bid Tang Ming farewell. Watching Yi Rushi’s retreating back, Tang Ming covered his mouth to stifle a laugh and whispered, "Fool, you didn't even recognize me in this disguise, did you?" Indeed, this handsome youth was not Tang Ming, but his bride, Tang Qi. Watching him disappear into the distance, she considered for a moment before turning toward the Shili Market in the east of the city.

Yi Rushi hurried as fast as he could, arriving just before the morning roll call. Yet, he waited from the hour of the Rabbit until the hour of the Dragon without even catching a glimpse of the Prefect, Du Ziteng. It was clear that Tang Zeli had already pulled strings to give him a cold welcome. Eventually, an old bailiff led him to his office, and Yi Rushi nearly coughed up blood at the sight.

It was a remote, dilapidated courtyard filled with weeds. When he opened the door, a wave of damp, musty air rushed out. Cobwebs clung to every corner, and the desk was covered in a thick layer of dust, upon which his official robes had been tossed. There was nothing else.

Noticing his grim expression, the old bailiff tried to smooth things over. "Master Yi, you arrived so suddenly, we haven't had time to clean up."

Yi Rushi cut him off. "Are there any other bailiffs under my command?"

The old bailiff’s expression stiffened. "Besides me, there are seven or eight others, but..." He trailed off.

Yi Rushi’s face turned cold. "But they never show up, is that it?"

It was the twenty-eighth day of the twelfth lunar month. The festive atmosphere of the capital was palpable, and snow began to fall, the flakes freezing as they landed on his black cloak. Yi Rushi pulled the coat tighter, but the chill still bit deep.

Nearby, the children of wealthy families ran about with candied hawthorn sticks, and the sporadic sound of firecrackers echoed in the distance. A small street stall emitted a cloud of steam, and Yi Rushi realized he was famished. He walked over to the stall, where steam billowed from the bamboo baskets.

"Two meat buns," Yi Rushi said to the vendor, rubbing his frozen hands. The vendor, seeing a customer, smiled and reached for the buns.

"Wait, how much are they?" Yi Rushi asked.

The vendor, having already wrapped two meat buns in yellow paper, replied, "Two copper coins for meat, one for vegetable. Honest goods, no cheating."

Yi Rushi felt his pockets, his heart sinking—he only had three copper coins. A single coin could defeat a hero, but having lived two lives, Yi Rushi kept his composure. "I've had too much grease lately; it’s a bit cloying. Give me one meat bun and one vegetable bun instead."

The vendor’s smile vanished, and he reluctantly swapped one of the buns. Yi Rushi walked down the long street, the meat bun still warm in his hand, as the snow fell like torn goose feathers. The weather was cold, but his heart was colder. He finished the bun and, in a fit of petty rebellion, tossed the yellow paper aside, thinking it the most self-indulgent thing he had done since arriving in Jian'an—after all, there wasn't a single trash can on this entire street, was there?

He wandered aimlessly. It wasn't that he didn't want to go back, but his ancestral home—three rooms leaking wind and snow—was no sanctuary. As he walked, he spotted a small, desolate-looking temple, seemingly dedicated to the Three Pure Ones.

Yi Rushi frowned. In his previous life, temples were crowded near the end of the year. Thinking of the cold, he decided to step inside to escape the snow. The temple was empty, housing the statues of the Primordial Heavenly Lord, the Supreme Venerable Sovereign, and the Heavenly Lord of Numinous Treasure. The loneliness of the place made him feel uneasy, and he turned to leave.

Outside, he noticed a small door with a light flickering within. Driven by a strange impulse, he stepped inside and discovered a pawnshop. He recalled that in ancient times, pawnshops were often established by temples as a form of charity. Entering the small room, he saw an array of curious items: bottles, jars, scrolls of calligraphy, and even tattered old clothes.

As he looked around, a lazy female voice drifted from behind him, "Is the young master here to pawn something, or to redeem?"