216: Chapter 216 Execution of Traitors in the Square, Unjustly Deterring the Scoundrels

With a single command from Chen Wuwang, Old Zhao was escorted to the square.

The next morning, the mist slowly receded, and the water stains on the bluestone slabs had not yet dried.

Chen Wuwang escorted Old Zhao, passing through the outer courtyard of the Alchemy Workshop, and headed straight toward the square.

Chen Wuwang walked in the lead; his pace was not fast, yet every step felt as if it were landing on people's hearts.

His cloak was unfastened, and the blue light of his Mechanical Prosthetic Eye flickered slightly, with data streams scrolling silently as he scanned every pair of eyes along the way.

Those clansmen who had been whispering to each other stopped mid-sentence, lowered their heads, and retreated to the walls, even softening their breathing.

Old Zhao knelt between two law enforcement Disciples, the blood on his right shoulder having long since congealed into a dark red, dragging a broken trail of bloodstains along the way.

His head was lowered, his lips pale, and his fingers were clutching the cracks in the ground so tightly that the knuckles stood out with bulging veins.

The sword wound on his shoulder had been left by Chen Xiaodao; it was neither bandaged nor treated with medicine, simply left exposed like some sort of mark—the brand of a traitor.

The high platform stood in the center of the square, built of three tiers of bluestone, with a black iron stele erected upon it, inscribed with the four characters "Family Rules are Like Mountains."

The wind made the banners snap loudly, and the area below was packed with people—densely crowded, with clansmen who had rushed over from the Alchemy Workshop, the Medicinal Field, and the mecha workshop all in attendance.

No one spoke, and no one dared to move.

Chen Wuwang paused when he stepped onto the first tier.

He did not look at Old Zhao, but instead raised his hand and waved it.

Two spirit crystal screens instantly floated in mid-air, projecting three sets of images:

One set was the access log, showing that at 3:17 last night, Old Zhao used a frozen account to log in to the underground pipeline blueprints;

The second set was the glove collection record, accompanied by a picture of the same style of hard-soled boots found under his dormitory bed;

The third set was a comparison chart of energy fluctuations before and after the tampering with the ventilation duct formation, the timing perfectly matching the release of the toxin.

"You collected insulating gloves, which your position does not require," Chen Wuwang said, his voice not loud, yet it suppressed the sound of the wind across the entire square. "You wore hard-soled boots, leaving two-millimeter-deep imprints. You deleted the logs, but the shadow System backed them up automatically."

He paused, his Mechanical Prosthetic Eye turning toward Old Zhao: "You say you were coerced? Who coerced you? With what? A threat to kill your whole family? But I arranged for your wife and children to enter the refuge area three days ago; they are perfectly safe."

Old Zhao suddenly looked up, his pupils contracting.

"You are not afraid of death," Chen Wuwang sneered. "You are greedy for life. You wanted to survive, so you wanted to keep your position, and you also wanted to secretly make some extra money. That is why you acted, dripping neurotoxin into the Xuan Shen powder, waiting for someone to take the blame for you afterward."

The crowd erupted in a buzz.

"Impossible! Old Zhao has worked in logistics for twenty years!" "His son is still on duty at the front line..." "Could there be a mistake?"

Chen Wuwang ignored those voices.

He lightly pressed a mechanism on his wrist, and at the side of the high platform, three poisoned young Disciples were carried up, lying on stretchers; their complexions were ashen, and golden venomous veins were slowly spreading up their arms.

One of them suddenly convulsed, white foam spilling from his mouth, and the medic beside him immediately pressed down on his chest to administer acupuncture.

"These three apprentices were responsible for the initial screening of medicinal materials this morning."

Chen Wuwang's voice turned cold. "They smelled something strange and should have reported it. But they trusted you, thinking 'Uncle Old Zhao wouldn't hurt anyone.' And what is the result? Now one is nearly breathless, and two are hanging on by life-sustaining pills."

He looked at Old Zhao: "You say you were confused for a moment? Then tell me, were they confused? Is their life only worth your moment of soft-heartedness?"

Old Zhao opened his mouth, his throat making a rattling sound, but no voice came out.

The area below the platform was deathly silent.

Those who had just been whispering all closed their mouths.

A few young clansmen lowered their heads, their faces burning.

Last night, they had also been discussing "seniority" and "perhaps there were extenuating circumstances," but now, looking at the three poisoned fellow Disciples, they only felt shame.

Chen Wuwang came up behind Old Zhao, pressed his left hand onto his shoulder, and held the dagger at a forty-five-degree angle with his right hand, pressing it against his heart.

The law enforcement Disciples took a step back, lowering their heads, not daring to look.

"Article One of the Family Rules: Do not harm clansmen," his voice was calm. "Article Two: Do not collude with external enemies. Article Three: Do not shake the Foundation. You have violated all three."

Old Zhao was trembling all over, his teeth chattering: "Family Head... I... I accept punishment... exile... cripple my cultivation... don't kill me..."

"It is too late," Chen Wuwang said.

The dagger fell.

Silent and soundless.

There was only a "pfft" sound as the blade tip pierced the flesh and went straight through the heart.

Old Zhao's body jerked violently, his pupils suddenly dilated, and his mouth opened as if he wanted to shout something, but not a sound came out.

Fresh blood snaked down the grooves of the dagger and dripped onto the bluestone slabs, splashing open like dark red flowers.

Chen Wuwang did not pull out the blade.

He just stood there, one hand pressing on the traitor's shoulder, the other holding the dripping dagger, like an iron-cast god of war standing in a pool of blood.

The wind suddenly stopped.

The banners did not move, and there was no sound of people.

Everyone looked at that pool of blood, watching it slowly crawl along the cracks in the stone, spreading out like a spider web.

After several seconds, someone finally applauded tremblingly.

Clap, clap, clap.

The sound was very light, as if afraid of waking something up.

Then, an elderly Artifact Refining craftsman knelt down, his forehead touching the ground. Another followed, the old steward of the Medicinal Field. Then another, the leader of the apprentice group from the mecha workshop.

More and more people knelt down; no one gave an order, and no one organized it.

They just knelt down one by one, kowtowing in silence.

Chen Wuwang finally pulled out the dagger.

He turned around, scanned the surroundings, and his gaze swept over every face.

"Today he dared to touch the Medicinal Pill; tomorrow he would dare to lead external enemies to slaughter the village," he said. "If I do not tolerate it, then it cannot be tolerated."

He paused, his voice still not loud, yet it felt like a knife carving into stone:

"Starting from today, the logistics department will implement a three-day rotation inspection System. All raw materials entering and leaving will require dual verification and three-level filing. If any link goes wrong, those who handled it will be equally guilty, and will be severely punished without exception."

No one answered.

But everyone remembered it.

Chen Wuwang sheathed his blade and turned to walk down the high platform.

His steps remained steady; a corner of his cloak rolled up, stained with a few drops of blood, and he did not wipe it off.

He passed through the crowd; wherever he went, the clansmen spontaneously cleared a path, lowering their heads and averting their eyes, no one daring to look him in the eye.

Not until his figure disappeared behind the gates of the mansion did faint discussions break out in the square.

"That was truly ruthless..."

"But if it weren't for him, we would all be drinking poison right now."

"Who would dare to have crooked thoughts in the future?"

A young clansman looked at the pool of blood on the ground and muttered, "This blood... can it be washed away?"

No one answered.

The wind rose again, making the banners snap loudly.

The black iron stele on the high platform stood quietly, and the sunlight shone on the four characters "Family Rules are Like Mountains," shining dazzlingly bright.

Chen Wuwang returned to the mansion and walked straight into the secret chamber.

The door closed, isolating all sounds from the outside world.

He sat on the stone chair, closed his eyes for a moment, and deep within his consciousness, the family rise system interface quietly emerged.

The new directive had not yet been generated, and fifty-nine minutes remained on the countdown.

He was in no rush to check it.

He merely raised his right hand, looked at the unwiped bloodstain on the dagger, and gently wiped it with his thumb.

The blood had already half-congealed.

The corners of his mouth lifted slightly, a very faint smile that vanished in an instant.

Then he opened his eyes, stood up, and walked toward the inner hall.