Chapter 129: Tang Clan's Paper Flower

Qing mentally judged the previous standoff as the Tang Clan’s second victory, but that wasn’t quite accurate.

In reality, it was their third victory.

Why? Because the Imperial Censor, by implementing the blockade, had presented the Tang Clan with a deadly dilemma: starve to death trapped inside, or eventually face execution for treason outside.

The Tang Clan’s defiant response? Ostentatiously throwing their leftover food waste right out over the walls, often landing suspiciously close to where the imperial soldiers or Embroidered Uniform Guards were stationed.

And the Tang Clan’s official stance on this provocative act?

‘Oops? Why were you gentlemen standing right there in our garbage trajectory?’

The Imperial Censor, eyes practically rolled back in fury by now, had frantically turned Chengdu upside down, desperately trying to locate the Tang Clan’s secret food supply lines.

But how could such a task possibly be easy?

Chengdu was an ancient capital, prosperous for over two thousand years even by the standards of Central Plains historians, a land where powerful dynasties had once nested.

In other words, there were already plenty of passages dug by ancestors, to which the Tang Clan themselves had spent hundreds of years meticulously adding to and improving their own labyrinthine system of secret underground passages beneath the city and their compound.

It simply wasn’t a sacred realm that could be easily breached or comprehended by the shallow wisdom of mere humans who had lived only fifty-odd years.

Consequently, the six elite Embroidered Uniform agents and thirty regular soldiers who eventually located and attempted to infiltrate three suspected secret passages became eternal guests—ones who would never return.

Because the Tang Clan, anticipating such attempts, had thoroughly converted the discovered sections of those passages into deadly poison fields, retrieving even the corpses became impossible. Thus, the expression ‘guests who don’t return,’ implying wanderers lost forever, was quite literally accurate in this case.

Regarding this incident, the Tang Clan’s official public stance was, naturally:

‘Oh dear! We were just recovering and disposing of all the dangerous poison inadvertently spread by that mischievous wild cat earlier. Why were Your Excellency's brave soldiers attempting to pass through our designated hazardous waste disposal area?’

Meanwhile, amidst all this clandestine activity, two more small red dots were precisely marked with satisfaction on the Tang Clan’s detailed map of Chengdu. They had now successfully pinpointed the exact locations of two more cleverly concealed imperial artillery batteries.

Victory number four for the Tang Clan in the ongoing shadow war.

After this continuous string of humiliating defeats, the Imperial Censor finally, truly realized that he was utterly no match for the Tang Clan—not in shamelessness, not in rudeness, and certainly not in leveraging the advantages of their deeply entrenched local infrastructure.

“Damn these bastards to hell,”

The Imperial Censor gritted his teeth, feeling utterly powerless.

The option of planting false evidence under the guise of conducting a search had been permanently scuttled thanks to the unpredictable rampages of that damned invincible, poison-immune super-cat.

He couldn’t starve them into submission either, thanks to their hidden supply lines.

Only one viable strategy remained: the provocation gambit.

Just one hit. He needed the Tang Clan to strike one of his men, just once.

Even a light, seemingly accidental tap on the back of a soldier’s hand would suffice.

After that? He could finally roar, “How dare you damage the Emperor’s sacred army! You truly are traitors!” and then legitimately unleash the cannons, send in the soldiers, and turn the entire Tang compound into a smoldering wasteland.

And so, the Imperial Censor racked his brains, seething with resentment, trying desperately to figure out how to effectively anger these infuriatingly calm Tang Clan traitorous bastards. How to definitively piss them off enough to make them finally lose control and strike first?

Eventually, poring over reports and intelligence, he finally identified what he believed to be the Tang Clan’s ultimate weak spot, their untouchable reverse scale —a point of pride they absolutely couldn’t endure being insulted. A truly satisfied, vicious smile finally spread across his face.

Thus dawned the fifteenth day of the siege, and the beginning of the fifth decisive confrontation.

The Imperial Censor strode boldly through the main gate of the Tang Center—still shattered and unrepaired from previous incidents—and scanned the assembled ranks of Tang Clan elites blocking his path.

And among them, he quickly located the weakness he sought.

Of course, anyone possessing functional eyeballs could have found her easily. Standing slightly apart from the main group, seemingly surrounded by an almost illusory aura of radiant light and fluttering flower petals, was the peerless beauty herself.

The Tang Clan’s precious golden-leaf-jade-branch, the Poisonous Speaking Flower, Tang Nanah.

They say, the Censor recalled with grim satisfaction, that she was raised showered with the family’s adoration, considered their ultimate pride and joy.

Could they truly endure watching such a precious, delicate flower be publicly insulted and degraded?

This, the Censor believed, was the Tang Clan’s critical vulnerability.

“Listen here, Imperial Censor,” Tang Touzhong began preemptively, starting the familiar script. “Let me tell you in advance, actually, late last night, a truly mischievous wild cat once again managed to cause havoc in the main storage—”

“That is quite enough of that now!” the Censor interrupted sharply, holding up a hand. “I have long since realized that you Tang bastards are merely beasts, incapable of being reasoned with!”

“In that case,” Tang Touzhong replied smoothly, “shouldn’t Your Excellency simply turn back now without wasting your precious breath on further discussion?”

At this, the Imperial Censor smiled, a vile, predatory expression.

“Ah, but this time, I have come specifically out of pity for you wretched traitors, to graciously offer you a potential path to survival.”

“A path to live?” Tang Touzhong asked cautiously.

“The national law is strict and absolute,” the Censor declared grandly. “The crime of treason is a capital offense, punishable by the extermination of nine generations of the family [^(A severe punishment involving executing the convicted plus relatives spanning nine degrees of kinship)]. Thanks to your actions, every single person bearing the surname Tang originating from Sichuan province will inevitably die without exception. However,” he added, leaning forward slightly, “if you could still somehow manage to leave behind the Tang bloodline itself… perhaps it would not be considered a complete annihilation of your clan, would it?”

Tang Touzhong’s complexion darkened for a moment.

What kind of absolute bullshit is he preparing now, he wondered, that requires such a long and ominous introduction?

However, his facial muscles immediately tightened into knots of barely suppressed fury at the Imperial Censor’s very next words.

“Therefore,” the Censor continued, his voice dripping with feigned generosity and unconcealed lust, “I shall do you the special honor of taking that passable little wench over there”—he pointed directly at Tang Nanah—“and instead of having her summarily executed like the traitor she is, I shall graciously take her into my household and utilize her as a personal slave. And then, should she happen to get knocked up with some bastard brat later on, I shall not necessarily force her to abort it and cut off your lineage entirely. In this way,” he concluded with a magnanimous flourish, “you might still be able to preserve the faintest trace of your dirty traitorous bloodline for future generations! How does that sound? Does that not seem like an incredibly generous offer?”

Tang Touzhong’s face contorted severely with rage.

In direct proportion, the Imperial Censor’s face brightened with smug satisfaction.

Moreover, just thinking about possessing the renowned Most Beautiful Woman in Sichuan caused a sudden, unwelcome surge of heat to pool in his lower regions, exciting him considerably.

“Even if it is the bloodline of dirty traitors,” he added, leering openly at Nanah now, “once the merciful Imperial Censor himself generously shares his noble seed, the offspring will be half loyal subject, half traitor scum! Would that not be sufficient stock to utilize as household slaves for generations to come?”

“If you do not watch your words—” Tang Touzhong began, his voice dangerously low.

“‘If I do not watch my words,’ what?” the Censor interrupted mockingly. “Are you daring to threaten an Imperial Official carrying out His Majesty’s direct jade command? Is that not precisely the behavior one would expect from traitors to the world?!”

“…I am merely stating,” Tang Touzhong replied, forcing himself to remain calm though his fists were clenched white, “that it would be better for everyone if you were to close that vulgar mouth of yours.”

He took a deliberate step back, signaling restraint.

The Censor ignored him, focusing his leering gaze entirely on Tang Nanah now. “Hey, wench! Don’t just stand there silently like a mute! Why don’t you show off that body of yours a little? Right,” he added, stroking his chin thoughtfully, “I suppose I should also verify if you are still a virgin. Then again, with a pretty face like that, I wonder if any man would possibly have left you untouched for this long? That dirty traitorous blood of yours must have been writhing constantly in filthy lust, like a common whore, every single day!”

Tang Nanah’s face turned deathly pale, her eyes flashing with horrified fury.

“What, feeling wronged?” the Censor taunted her. “If not, why don’t you lie down right here and spread your legs? After all,” he sneered, “isn’t that the easiest way for people to visually confirm whether your chastity remains intact or not?”

Tang Nanah, who had studied medicine extensively and become a master of toxicology despite her young age, was inherently intelligent, regardless of her spoiled upbringing.

She knew, with sickening clarity, that in this politically charged situation, she had absolutely no choice but to endure the vile insults pouring down upon her. Striking back now would give the Censor the exact pretext he needed.

Just as Tang Nanah’s eyes began to moisten with tears of humiliation and rage, her hands trembling slightly at her sides…

Suddenly, a light weight seemed to press down on her head from above. A semi-transparent, shimmering membrane-like object draped down around her, forming a protective screen, a one-layer barrier separating her from the hostile world outside.

“Excuse me,” a clear, calm voice cut through the tense silence. “Imperial Censor? Elder?”

The Imperial Censor’s eyes widened in shock.

The veiled woman—the one who had irritatingly brought up food waste during their last confrontation—had seemingly just passed her veil over to Tang Nanah. And standing there now, where the veiled woman had been, was… another peerless beauty, perhaps even more stunning than Nanah herself.

Qing stood demurely, hands clasped politely before her, and raised her voice, ensuring everyone could hear clearly.

“It has been said since ancient times that children are inevitably mirrors of their parents,” she stated calmly. “Do not a person’s words and actions ultimately stem directly from the conduct and character demonstrated by their own parents?”

“Was there truly such a saying?” the Censor asked, momentarily distracted by Qing’s sudden appearance and unexpected words.

Of course, no such specific saying existed verbatim in the Central Plains classics.

But as soon as he heard it, he immediately understood the underlying meaning.

The Central Plains were home to many proverbs, including one that suggested children inherit both the appearance and mannerisms of their parents.

The Precious Mirror for Enlightening the Mind, a collection of aphorisms, included the proverb "Plant melons, get melons; plant beans, get beans," meaning that actions have consequences.

Furthermore, Lord Mengchang, who served as Chancellor of the State of Qi during the Warring States period, reportedly said, "Generals inevitably come from generals’ families, and chancellors inevitably come from chancellors’ families."

All these sayings conveyed the same fundamental idea—that children invariably take after their parents—expressing a universal human truth recognized and sympathized with by cultures across the globe since ancient times.

“The words Your Excellency the Censor is speaking right now,” Qing continued, her voice still calm but laced with sharp steel, “are so profoundly vulgar and vile that only the lowest, most worthless trash mongrel under heaven would utter such things. However,” she added with an air of thoughtful consideration, “since Your Excellency’s own parents were clearly precisely that kind of trash mongrel themselves, you have merely inherited their unfortunate speech patterns and behavior. Therefore, perhaps we shouldn’t blame Your Excellency Censor directly for your deplorable lack of refinement?”

“What—?!” the Censor sputtered, taken aback.

“It means,” Qing clarified sweetly, “that if you don’t want to publicly smear shit all over your parents’ faces and legacy, you’d better watch that filthy mouth of yours very carefully. Though,” she added as a thoughtful aside, “judging by the current level of your family’s apparent education and upbringing, the shit has likely already been thoroughly smeared quite some time ago.”

In the current era, under all the heavens, there was likely no one who could possibly match Ximen Qing when it came to creatively and devastatingly insulting someone’s parents.

This was because, in the Central Plains, directly insulting someone’s parents was considered the gravest possible offense, equivalent to formally challenging them to an immediate life-and-death duel, essentially declaring, “Let’s see who lives and who dies today, right here, right now.”

However, having come from a society of largely unfilial children where casual parental insults were commonplace, Qing’s ‘study’ in this particular field of verbal combat had already reached a realm worthy of discussing the title of ‘Greatest Under Heaven.’

“You… You bitch…!” the Censor finally managed, trembling with rage.

“Ending every single sentence with ‘you bastard,’ ‘you wench,’ or ‘you bitch’,” Qing remarked conversationally. “I guess that’s just how your dear mother and father habitually address people back home?”

“You dog-like—” the Censor started again, losing control.

“Imperial Censor,” a calm voice interjected. “Please, calm yourself.”

At that moment, the third-in-command of the Embroidered Uniform guard contingent standing beside him, Commander Wei, gently placed a restraining hand on the Censor’s shoulder, subtly intervening.

The Imperial Censor glared murderously at Qing while panting heavily, gradually calming his ragged breathing and regaining some semblance of his original composure and official dignity.

Just then, Qing felt a subtle touch against her fingertips. Something small and hard was pressed into her palm, and then the sensation slipped away as quickly as it had appeared.

It was a familiar size and shape—another one of Poison Grandpa’s [Grand Clan Lord Tang Jae-un’s] special little poison bottles.

Only after regaining a measure of control did the Imperial Censor open his mouth again, attempting a different tactic.

“Your words are laughable, girl. How dare traitors possibly call themselves ‘people’? My own parents always taught me that traitors are no different from ungrateful beasts. Therefore, I am simply doing as I was taught. Courtesy,” he declared righteously, “is a virtue extended only to fellow humans.”

Seriously? Is that really the best comeback you could manage after all that? Qing thought, profoundly unimpressed.

She deliberately widened her eyes, putting on an expression of innocent shock as she asked back sweetly,

“Oh? Excuse my impertinence, Your Excellency, but might I perhaps inquire as to which one of the Imperial Censor’s esteemed parents is the actual beast? Your father, or your mother?”

“WHAT?!” the Censor roared again, losing his composure instantly.

“Well,” Qing continued reasonably, “just now, you were talking about graciously sharing your noble seed with our dear Nanah and whatnot. But you just stated that traitors are beasts. Does that mean, then, that you perhaps inherited your charming hobby of enthusiastically mating with beasts directly from your parents as well?”

“Wha—”

“AH!!! NOW THAT I'M LOOKING CLOSELY AT THE IMPERIAL CENSOR!!” Qing suddenly shrieked again, pointing dramatically. “I CAN CLEARLY TELL ONE SIDE OF HIS FAMILY MUST BE PIGS! DID YOUR FATHER! HAPPEN TO MATE WITH A PIG! AND THUS GIVE BIRTH TO YOUR EXCELLENCY?! OR WAS IT PERHAPS YOUR MOTHER! WHO MATED WITH A PIG! AND THEN GAVE BIRTH TO YOUR EXCELLENCY?! Hmm. Well,” she added thoughtfully, tapping her chin, “either way, I suppose it means you’re just a half-human, half-pig fat fuck, doesn't it?!”

Qing deliberately raised her voice again, completely cutting off any potential response from the Censor, rapid-firing her insults like venomous darts.

Her lung capacity already surpassed human limits, so even amidst the thunderous volume, her beautiful voice rang out with perfect, bell-like clarity, easily carrying beyond the Tang Clan’s main gate and outer walls, ensuring everyone in the vicinity heard every single word.

“Shu—” the Censor started, trying to interrupt.

“WOW!!! HEY, EVERYONE! NEIGHBORS!!! ALL YOU MIDDLE-AGED MINION UNCLES OVER THERE!!! DID YOU ALL JUST HEAR THAT!!?” Qing yelled to the crowd. “THERE’S A MONSTER CHILD STANDING RIGHT HERE!! APPARENTLY BORN BETWEEN!! PARENTS WHO GOT IT ON!! WITH A PIG!! EVERYONE LOOK AT THIS IMPERIAL CENSOR!! LOOK AT THIS ESTEEMED ELDER!! HOW CAN SUCH AN ABOMINATION POSSIBLY EXIST IN THIS WORLD!!”

“You—” the Censor choked out again.

“WOW!!! THEN DOES THAT MEAN WE CAN OFFICIALLY CALL YOUR MASTER BEDROOM A PIGSTY NOW!? COME TO THINK OF IT, THE IMPERIAL CENSOR’S MOTHER!! SHE IS EITHER A PIG HERSELF!!! OR SHE DEFINITELY GOT IT ON WITH A PIG!!! EITHER WAY, SHE’S JUST A FILTHY SOW OBSESSED WITH BESTIALITY, ISN’T SHE?! IT MUST BE SO NICE FOR YOU!!! TO HAVE AN ACTUAL SOW!!! AS YOUR MOTHER!!!”

“You—”

“WAIT!!! WHAT?!? ARE YOU ACTUALLY EMBARRASSED!!! ABOUT YOUR MOTHER RIGHT NOW!? WHY CAN’T YOU SAY IT PROUDLY?! IMPERIAL CENSOR!!! YOUR MOTHER!!! GOT IT ON WITH A PIG!!! IMPERIAL CENSOR!!! YOUR MOTHER!!! IS A DIRTY PIG BITCH!!! UWAAAAAAAH!!! HOW CAN SUCH A TERRIBLE THING HAPPEN!!!”

Listening nearby, Grand Clan Lord Tang Jae-un trembled slightly—not with fear, but with suppressed emotion, perhaps mirth or admiration.

By tonight, he thought with satisfaction, the shocking rumor about the Imperial Censor’s mother’s porcine infidelity will undoubtedly spread throughout Chengdu, accepted as absolute fact. And new 'facts' circulating rapidly in Chengdu inevitably spread throughout all of Sichuan province within days. Within a year, the entire world under heaven would likely accept it as established truth. The downfall was inevitable.

The Imperial Censor, as the esteemed head of the Censorate, belonged to the high Second Rank of officials; the family that produced such a figure was originally among the most prestigious of the empire's noble houses.

However, now… their complete ruin was clearly visible on the horizon.

Immediately, they would be despised and cut off from relationships both above and below them within their political faction. And simply for the sake of preserving the Imperial Family’s own face and dignity, they surely couldn’t possibly keep someone burdened with such an indecent, widespread rumor in a high official position for long.

Hoh. Hoh hoh, the Grand Clan Lord chuckled internally, deeply pleased. This old man has spent decades researching the ultimate poison—one capable of filling the entirety of one’s remaining life with unbearable suffering through humiliation worse even than death itself…

And yet, here before him was a scene where that ultimate poison, the pinnacle of his life's research, was being effectively realized and administered through nothing more than a sharp, three-inch tongue.

How could he possibly not tremble with profound emotion?

It possesses no physical substance, he marveled, analyzing Qing's technique, its poisoning effects cannot possibly be prevented, and there is absolutely no need for any antidote or detoxification! Truly, that vicious gossip itself is the very definition of genuine Formless intangible Poison!

The Grand Clan Lord, muttering slightly like a senile old man completely lost in admiration, took out all the various poisons he had 'personally fiddled with' from his sleeves and carefully swept them together into a separate, ornate poison pouch.

It was clearly intended as a gift bundle for Qing.