The Splendor of the Tang Dynasty

Stories always begin with “once upon a time.” Cai Cong’s story is a long one. He started wandering at a very young age, unsure whether he could truly be called alive. He had stolen, robbed, and even snatched scraps from a dog’s mouth just to survive.

Now, on the day of his death, he suddenly realized he had never done a single good deed in his life. He had joined a notorious gang of thieves at sixteen, rising from an illiterate ruffian to leader by twenty-two, orchestrating a string of international heists. He had paid a heavy price—years of hard study, the sickening weight of murder, betrayal, and ruthless ambition—so much that he could hardly bear it.

So he thought of surrendering himself. It had nothing to do with others’ lives or deaths; he simply wanted release. But no one believed him. Now, as he stood surrounded by his own men, the irony gnawed at him.

“In the past, when you surrounded me like this, it was always to cheer for me. Today, you’re cheering for me again—cheering for my death!” Cai Cong’s expression was calm; whether he died in prison of old age or at their hands made little difference.

“You know, we’re all sick in the head,” said a polite, respectful white man. If not for the silenced pistol in his hand, you might have thought he was giving a business report to his boss.

“Yes, everyone is twisted,” Cai Cong replied, “and I suppose I’m just sick too. But talking about this now is meaningless. Barney, put away your gun. Han, you do it. Your knife is an art—let me die without pain!”

“Rest assured. This will be the fines