Chapter 87: The "Big Fish" Takes the Bait

At this moment, the atmosphere within the county office was tense and fraught with subtle undercurrents. Magistrate Zhao’s eyes betrayed panic as he stared at Fang Xu before him.

Fang Xu regarded Zhao with an icy gaze, as if he were looking at a dead man.

“Have I... have I perhaps done something to displease you, Young Master?” Magistrate Zhao made one last desperate attempt, for in his heart, he truly believed Fang Xu might actually take his life.

“Did you not just say that I could have whatever I wanted, Magistrate Zhao? Or do you intend to break your word?” Fang Xu’s lips curled into a slight, mocking smile as he watched Zhao.

“Young Master... surely you must be jesting?” Zhao tried to force a smile.

“If you are not satisfied, Young Master, I am willing to offer four more chests. I hope this will be to your liking.” Zhao still assumed Fang Xu was only bargaining for more wealth.

“Tsk tsk, it seems you have certainly lined your pockets well here, Magistrate Zhao,” Fang Xu remarked with a hint of derision.

“You flatter me, Young Master—it’s but a modest sum,” Zhao replied, missing the sarcasm in Fang Xu’s tone and believing that his offer had finally appeased the young man.

Internally, he wiped the sweat from his brow and cursed Fang Xu as a bloodsucker. If not for the presence of Old Wu and his men from the Imperial Guard, Zhao might not have shown Fang Xu so much deference.

“Unfortunately for you, I find your life far more interesting than your wealth. What do you propose we do?” Fang Xu suddenly asked. Zhao’s hand, which had just been dabbing at his cold sweat, froze midair.

“Young Master... Are you still not satisfied?” Zhao looked at Fang Xu, visibly troubled. Fang Xu remained silent.

“Then... I will offer five more chests! Truly, I cannot give more, not even with the Imperial Guards present!” Zhao raised his palm in a difficult gesture.

This meant he was offering ten chests in total—a sum greater than he had ever presented to the Prefect of Danyang.

“The Imperial Guards, eh? Old Wu, it seems you all are worth quite a bit!” Fang Xu teased the man beside him. Old Wu could only shake his head with a wry smile.

“Young Master, Magistrate Zhao’s not swayed by our status, but by the privileges of the Imperial Guards,” Old Wu replied, having already handed the chest to his attendant.

Hearing Fang Xu’s banter, Old Wu could only laugh ruefully.

“Oh? And what privileges might those be? Could it be the right to execute first and report later?” Fang Xu quipped, while Old Wu looked at him in shock.

“You truly have remarkable foresight, Young Master! The Imperial Guards indeed possess the right to act before reporting,” Old Wu replied with a respectful salute, while Magistrate Zhao watched the exchange intently.

To Zhao, it was clear that Fang Xu and Old Wu were putting on a show for his benefit.

“Young Master... I swear, there is nothing more! Ten chests at once—I might as well be signing my own death warrant!” Zhao’s face was drenched in sweat, his whole body trembling.

“Very well. I am not an unreasonable man. Let us say I exchange your life for these ten chests. How does that sound?” Fang Xu clapped Zhao on the shoulder, as if proposing a friendly bargain.

“Sir, have you not heard the saying ‘leave room for future encounters’? One should never go too far,” Zhao growled, his expression twisted.

He had not intended to completely break with Fang Xu; such things often led to trouble down the line. He had hoped to buy his way out of this predicament.

But Fang Xu appeared determined to take his life—how could Zhao surrender so easily?

With no other recourse, he decided to abandon all pretense.

“I’ve heard it, indeed. But have you heard of my name, Young Master Fang?” Fang Xu replied, a hint of disdain curling his lips.

If one always left room for others, then perhaps they would meet again under better circumstances. But what of the common folk who suffered? To leave such scoundrels unchecked was to allow the rot to spread and the innocent to be oppressed.

Besides, Fang Xu thought, he had already made enough enemies on this journey south—what fear did Magistrate Zhao inspire in him?

As for why Fang Xu had not acted against Zhao yet, there were two reasons.

First, to catch a thief, one must have evidence. If he could not produce Zhao’s ill-gotten gains, others could use it as leverage against him—Fang Xu understood the importance of this.

Second, he was waiting for a bigger fish. Zhao was merely the bait to lure that fish out, and that fish should be arriving any moment now.

Zhao, no longer bothering with pleasantries, asked, “May I know your name, Young Master?”

“Listen well. My surname is Fang, my given name Xu,” Fang Xu replied with a smile.

“Fang Xu? You are Fang Xu, the Living Judge of Hell?!” Zhao’s face turned ashen.

He had heard the rumors of Fang Xu, the Living Judge of Hell, but had always scoffed at them.

Why? Because those Fang Xu had executed were, in his mind, mere small fry—nothing compared to himself. More importantly, he believed he could give Fang Xu what others could not, and he had powerful patrons to back him.

But now, faced with Fang Xu in person, fear crept into Zhao’s heart.

“The Living Judge of Hell, is it? An apt title. Since you call me that, let me show you why I have earned it!” Fang Xu declared, drawing the embroidered Spring Blade from Old Wu’s waist.

In a flash, the blade was at Zhao’s throat, the keen edge already nicking the skin.

“Stop!” came a commanding voice from just outside the county office, before Zhao could even plead for his life.

At the sound, Fang Xu’s lips curled upward in satisfaction.

At last, the big fish he had waited for had appeared. His earlier actions had been calculated to provoke just such a response.

“Lord Zhang! Save me!” Zhao wailed, clearly terrified by the newcomer’s arrival.