The Warlord 02

Cao Wenjie entered with narrowed eyes. After Fang Zhiyi whispered a few words to him, Cao's expression turned peculiar, but he nodded and jogged away, while Fang Zhiyi lounged leisurely in a rocking chair, humming a tune.

That afternoon, Fang Yaozu swaggered back home. Seeing his freshly awakened father, he asked with indifference, "Dad, why'd you call me? I'm busy." He had just found a fighting rooster the day before and was preparing to gamble with his usual gang of followers.

"Why'd I call you?" Fang Zhiyi jerked his chin toward the door behind Fang Yaozu, and immediately, guards shut it.

Zhao Dezhu, who had just returned from the military camp, was bewildered. Then Fang Zhiyi picked up a leather belt—pure cowhide.

As howls of pain erupted, the entire Marshal's residence was startled.

"Who is the Marshal punishing?"

"That voice sounds familiar."

"Too brutal. The Marshal really..."

"Shh... don’t talk carelessly. Someone might hear."

Zhao Dezhu was stunned. Having served Fang Zhiyi for so long, this was the first time he’d seen him beat his own son—and with such ferocity. The belt lashed with precision and speed, making Zhao’s own skin crawl.

"Bullying people, huh?"

"No one can control you, is that it?"

"Think you’re untouchable because you’re the Marshal’s son?"

The beating lasted a full hour before Zhao Dezhu finally stepped in to stop Fang Zhiyi. Though he believed Fang Yaozu deserved it, seeing the boy unconscious, he had to intervene.

"Douse him awake!" Fang Zhiyi roared. Guards nervously brought a basin of cold water and splashed it over Fang Yaozu’s face. By now, there wasn’t an unbruised spot left on his body.

"Dad..." Fang Yaozu slurred.

Fang Zhiyi pointed at him. "This beating is for everything you’ve done over the past decade. Remember this well: I’m the Marshal—you’re not. Keep your head down and behave!"

Consider this the interest on your debts.

At this time, Fang Yaozu had just turned sixteen. Though he hadn’t yet taken a life, he’d already committed plenty of oppressive deeds.

Fang Zhiyi glanced at his two aides: one cowering in fear, the other standing tall but wincing at the sight of the half-dead Fang Yaozu.

With a slam on the table, Fang Zhiyi barked, "Damn it! Lately, I’ve been dreaming of your mother scolding me for failing to raise you right. I thought about it all day, then asked around—turns out she was right. You’ve been running wild, haven’t you? Cao Wenjie!"

Cao Wenjie snapped to attention. "Yes, sir!"

"Round up all the trash following this brat and parade them in the streets. Military punishment!"

Cao hesitated. "Marshal, but... that includes Old Master Li’s youngest son..."

Fang Zhiyi’s eyes narrowed. So, that’s how it was. The original host had even promoted someone from the Li Family?

"What? Is Old Man Li the Marshal, or am I?" Fang Zhiyi’s murderous glare sent chills down Cao’s spine. He quickly saluted and rushed out.

After issuing a few more orders, Fang Zhiyi watched as Zhao Dezhu and the guards carried away the dazed Fang Yaozu, feeling a mix of frustration and resignation.

This brat deserved death ten times over, but he was still his son. Killing his own flesh and blood was out of the question—for now, he’d have to wait and see.

Cao Wenjie worked with terrifying efficiency. By nightfall, a row of men knelt in the streets, surrounded by armed soldiers. As ordered, each had a wooden placard on their back listing their crimes.

They knelt all night. Fang Yaozu lay nearby, only stirring at dawn with a sneeze before the searing pain of his beating hit him. Had his father really whipped him yesterday?

Why? Because he’d stolen that painting from the pawnshop owner? Or beaten the pancake vendor? Had they complained to his father?

Damn them—he’d make them pay! Fang Yaozu seethed, then jerked his head up and froze.

A crowd of onlookers stood before them. News of the public humiliation had spread overnight, drawing curious townsfolk at daybreak. Fang Yaozu turned and spotted familiar faces.

"Liu! Li Shun!"

Li Shun, his face swollen, whimpered at the sight of Fang Yaozu. "Young Master Fang, you’re finally awake! Save us—my knees are numb!"

Fang Yaozu glared at the spectators and snarled, "The hell are you all staring at?"

A cold voice cut in from behind. "Young Master, I’d advise you to watch your words right now." Cao Wenjie, ever the schemer, knew Fang Zhiyi’s temper better than anyone. Yesterday’s rage had been real, and he wasn’t foolish enough to side with the losing party.

Fang Yaozu bristled, but the pain reminded him of the beating. Never in his life had he suffered such violence—fear crept in.

"Uncle Cao, what’s going on?"

Cao gestured. "It’s written on their backs."

Fang Yaozu read each placard:

"Oppressing the people, tyrannizing the town."

"Extorting merchants, shaking down vendors."

"Assaulting women, aiding a tyrant."

Fang Yaozu glanced at himself. Aiding a tyrant? Was he the tyrant?

"Fellow townspeople!" Fang Zhiyi’s voice rang out as he approached, flanked by guards. His gaze swept over the kneeling men, lingering not even a second on Fang Yaozu.

"I, Fang Zhiyi, owe you all an apology!" He clasped his fists and bowed deeply, stunning the crowd. To them, Fang Zhiyi was a mercurial warlord—this humility was unheard of.

Cao Wenjie’s eyes narrowed. If the Marshal was playing humble, these men were doomed.

"My worthless son lost his mother young. Fearing he’d suffer, I spoiled him. When he grew older, I assigned men to watch over him. But who knew—" Fang Zhiyi’s voice sharpened, "these scum led him astray! If not for those who spoke up, I’d still be in the dark!"

"Today, I’ll set things straight before you all!"

Pointing at Li Shun, ignoring the man’s terrified eyes, Fang Zhiyi demanded, "Do you recognize him?"

The crowd murmured but stayed silent.

"You fear him? Fine, I’ll speak." Fang Zhiyi locked onto Li Shun. "Li Shun, youngest son of the Li Family’s cloth business. I won’t lie—their family once funded me, so I gave him an officer’s post!"

"But who’d have thought he’d use my name to commit atrocities!"