PFC Chapter 12 The Emperor's Heart is Unfathomable
Chapter 12 The Emperor's Heart is Unfathomable
Yang Jian did not continue.
But the bloody undertones in those unfinished words were enough to send chills down one's spine.
"Your grandson obeys!"
Yang Yan kowtowed deeply, his forehead pressed against the cold gold brick, but he secretly breathed a sigh of relief.
The bet was won.
In this game, he not only saved his father Yang Yong's life in a seemingly hopeless situation, but also established himself as someone who "had a broad perspective despite being in the thick of things" in front of the two sages.
However, just when he thought the storm had subsided, Yang Jian picked up the examination paper on his desk.
Yang Jian's gaze became deep and unfathomable.
"Send him back to the East Palace to sober up. As for you..."
"Snapped!"
A crumpled piece of hemp paper flew through the air and landed in front of Yang Yan's knees.
Yang Yan's heart sank.
A chilling feeling, as if locked on by a ferocious beast, instantly crept up my spine.
It's not over yet!
The real trial is only beginning now.
"Did you write this outrageous exam paper?"
Yang Jian's voice came from behind the imperial desk, without the previous fury, but rather with an eerie calm.
"Who gave you the guts!"
Yang Jian leaned forward abruptly, his hawk-like eyes fixed on Yang Yan.
"You, the eldest grandson of the royal family, disguised yourself and infiltrated the examination hall, treating the laws of the court like a joke!"
"What do you take this solemn examination hall, where talents are selected for the nation, for? Your own back garden, where you can come and go as you please?!"
On the side couch, Dugu Jialuo paused slightly in her teacup.
Her phoenix eyes, which had seen it all, swept back and forth between the grandfather and grandson, a subtle, profound smile playing on her lips, but she did not speak to defuse the situation.
She knows her husband too well.
At this moment, Thunder's fury was partly due to genuine anger at their disobedience, but the remaining nine parts were a test.
This was the emperor's initial test for his fledgling beast, which was just beginning to show its potential.
If one cannot even withstand this first wave of pressure, then no matter how well the exam paper is written, one is nothing more than a Zhao Kuo who only knows how to talk about war on paper.
Yang Yan felt a sense of peace.
Although this scene is different, it was already in his pre-rehearsed script.
If Yang Jian was willing to answer the questions, it meant that he was interested in, or even approved of, the content of the papers.
The reason for the anger was simply because he had violated "procedural justice," or perhaps the old emperor wanted to give his grandson a warning and temper his arrogance.
Next up is the "duet" segment.
Yang Yan did not defend himself, but instead kowtowed again, his forehead covered with gold bricks.
His voice was sincere and firm.
"Grandson knows his crime!"
"My grandson, being a member of the imperial clan, entered the examination hall without imperial decree, thus violating the rules of the imperial examination. This is a blatant disregard for the law."
"Your grandson is willing to accept the caning as a warning to others!"
This tactic is called "retreating to advance".
Yang Yan was making his own plans.
In all historical dramas and online novels, when the protagonist takes the initiative to admit punishment at this point, especially for "procedural errors," it often wins the favor of those in power.
I voluntarily stuck my butt out for you to hit, and it was still a fairly heavy caning punishment. Shouldn't you, sir, "raise it high and bring it down gently"?
Then my grandfather and I had a profound political discussion about "the crisis under the Kaihuang Prosperity".
Finally, I made a stunning debut, which pleased you greatly, and everyone was happy.
This is a standard formula for a satisfying read, and it's also the optimal solution that Yang Yan, as a modern person, derived from logical deduction.
However, reality is often more fantastical than fiction.
Especially when facing a founding emperor like Yang Jian, who doesn't play by the rules and has an extreme aversion to "petty cleverness".
"Good! What a fine way to say you're willing to be caned!"
Yang Jian sneered, his laughter devoid of any appreciation, but filled with chilling coldness.
"Do you think I wouldn't dare hit you? Or do you think I'll let you go just because you said a few nice words?"
"Since you yourself have asked to be beaten, if I don't grant your request, wouldn't I appear heartless and tarnish your reputation for 'admitting your mistakes and correcting them'?"
What?
Yang Yan suddenly looked up, a hint of surprise flashing in his eyes.
Why isn't this old man following the script?
Shouldn't you ask me about my strategies for governing the country first? Shouldn't you ask me about my views on the Turks?
Is this really going to be a fight?
Before he could react, Yang Jian waved his hand and shouted sharply.
"Someone come here!"
"Drag him away and execute him in the side hall!"
"Twenty strokes of the cane, without exception!"
Twenty strokes of the cane?
Do you want a real fight?
Yang Yan was completely stunned, his head was buzzing.
This is a giant stick from the Sui Dynasty. Twenty strokes would leave your buttocks raw and bleeding. You might not be able to get out of bed for half a month!
Hey, director! Something's not right with this plot!
I was the strategist who just saved the crown prince. I'm a time traveler, how could I be beaten to death by my own grandfather right from the start?
"yes!"
Two guards dressed in black tight-fitting clothes entered in response.
Their movements were perfectly synchronized, tinged with the cold indifference honed through years of bloodshed.
They lifted Yang Yan up from the left and right, like lifting a lamb to the slaughter.
"Grandfather! Your grandson has something to say..."
"Drag it away!"
Yang Jian ignored him completely and picked up his vermilion brush again.
It was as if the boy who had just been his grandson was now nothing more than a noisy fly.
Yang Yan was forcibly lifted up by two Imperial Guards.
He glanced back just as he was being dragged out of the main hall.
All that could be seen was Yang Jian's profile, head bowed as he reviewed memorials, his face cold and hard as iron.
Dugu Jialuo remained seated, taking only a small sip of tea, her gaze deep and unwavering, showing no intention of interfering.
At that moment, Yang Yan suddenly understood something.
This is not a modern society where reason prevails.
This is the imperial palace of the Sui Dynasty in 597 AD.
At the top of this power pyramid, talent is secondary; obedience is paramount.
Absolute obedience.
Side hall, torture chamber.
The temperature here is a few degrees lower than at Daxing Hall.
A faint, stale scent permeated the air.
"I apologize, Your Highness Prince Changning."
The executioner, a member of the Imperial Guard, remained expressionless, yet his movements were extremely swift.
The torture device wasn't the fancy racks seen in TV dramas; it was just a dark, long bench.
Yang Yan was pressed onto the torture bench, and his brocade robe was roughly removed, leaving him only in his thin undergarment.
He gritted his teeth and gripped the edge of the stool tightly with both hands.
The knuckles turned white from exertion.
He knew that begging for mercy at this moment would be useless and would only make the two old people look down on him.
"Snapped!"
The first strike landed.
There was absolutely no water release.
It was a long bamboo cane soaked in tung oil, its supple strength striking the skin and flesh.
It felt like being licked hard by a red-hot iron whip.
"Hmm!"
Yang Yan let out a muffled groan, his whole body trembling violently.
The muscles in my back tensed up instantly.
pain!
Excruciating pain!
The force seemed to penetrate through the skin and run directly into the bone, causing a searing, burning pain.
"Snapped!"
The second strike.
The area that had just been hit hadn't recovered yet, and new pain was added on top of it.
Yang Yan bit his lower lip hard until his mouth was filled with a rusty, bloody taste.
Yang Jian was serious!
If those twenty strokes landed squarely, he'd be bedridden for at least half a month.
"Slap! Slap! Slap!"
The sounds of execution echoed in the side hall, dull yet rhythmic.
After ten strokes of the cane, Yang Yan felt that the person behind him no longer belonged to him.
Sweat soaked through his clothes, and his consciousness began to blur.
But his mind became unusually clear amidst the excruciating pain.
So this is what imperial power truly is.
Unpredictable and brooks no argument.
Those who obey me will prosper, those who oppose me will perish.
So-called wisdom and eloquence are utterly ineffective in the face of absolute power.
The "logic" and "common sense" he relied on in the past, which came from another era, are the first things that need to be shattered in this palace.