Chapter 2: Old Tang, Can You Take a Beating?

Tang Wu was a military general, a man who had not only slain countless enemies but had also massacred hundreds of thousands on the battlefield. Even ordinary people, upon seeing him, would instinctively recoil in fear from the fierce aura that surrounded him.

Not to mention some high-ranking ministers at court, who felt suffocated under the invisible pressure he exuded. Yet, Tang Chaochao seemed completely unaffected. She tilted her head back and looked directly at her father, speaking each word deliberately.

“I want to open the coffin and examine the body!”

The muscles in Tang Wu’s face tightened instantly. Whether at the mansion or in the military camp, no one had ever dared defy him so openly. This youngest daughter, having just returned, not only looked him squarely in the eye but also dared to contradict him. Even his eldest daughter, Tang Mumu, had never disobeyed him. Under the tutelage of Song Rongzhi, Tang Mumu was obedient and well-mannered, never stepping out of line. Yet Tang Wu always felt that such a daughter was somehow lacking.

Tang Chaochao was different. Upon their first meeting, she hadn’t even greeted him as “father” or “mother,” and she dared to oppose him outright. Still, Tang Wu felt a strange joy within his heart. Seeing his expression, Song Rongzhi knew her husband must have been angered. She quickly attempted to smooth things over.

“General, Chaochao has just returned and doesn’t understand many things yet. Please speak to her gently; don’t frighten the child.”

As a mother, she wanted nothing more than for her daughter’s reunion with her father to be peaceful. Tang Chaochao stood proudly amidst the falling snow, showing no sign of retreat. She was determined to open that coffin. Her sister’s death was shrouded in mystery, and she refused to believe that her father, a powerful minister of the court, was completely unaware.

Tang Wu pressed his lips into a thin line. The two of them stared silently at each other on this first meeting. Finally, he relented.

“You’ve traveled far today. Go rest well. As for opening the coffin, do not mention it again.”

Hearing this, Song Rongzhi smiled faintly and prepared to take her daughter away. Unexpectedly, Tang Chaochao wrenched her hand free and leapt right in front of Tang Wu. Due to their height difference, she had to keep looking upward at her father.

“Old Tang, I have no intention of discussing this with you. I will open the coffin today. Either you send someone to guide me, or I will find out myself. This entire Huai City—I refuse to believe no one knows where the general’s eldest daughter is buried.”

Though Tang Chaochao had never met her twin sister, her talent had become renowned in the capital long before she came of age. The old Taoist often teased that she only knew how to wield blades and climb mountains to gather herbs, lacking any semblance of femininity. So he collected many of Tang Mumu’s poems and embroidery for her to study.

He pointed to those items, instructing Tang Chaochao on how a proper young lady should be. She initially sneered but, driven by curiosity, flipped through several pieces. She couldn’t deny her sister’s remarkable talent. Gradually, reading her sister’s works became habitual, evolving from disinterest to curiosity, then to fondness.

She began to look forward to meeting such a sister. But now, her sister was dead—an inexplicable death from a sudden illness she could not comprehend. How could such a devastating disease claim a life in mere days?

Tang Wu met his daughter’s resolute gaze, his fist clenched tightly within his sleeve. For the first time, he felt the urge to strike this rebellious child. Yet he restrained himself. His voice calm but firm, he commanded:

“Guards! Bind the second young lady and take her to her room. Do not let her out without my orders.”

In an instant, five or six maids surrounded her. Tang Chaochao glanced over them with a faint smile. A handful of weak girls thought they could seize her?

Song Rongzhi hurriedly looked at Tang Wu. “General, please don’t hurt Chaochao. She’s still a child.”

Touched by his wife’s plea, Tang Wu was about to relent when suddenly there were sounds of thuds and screams. The maids who had tried to restrain Tang Chaochao were kicked flying, some kneeling or sprawled in the snow, their faces contorted in pain.

Tang Wu looked at Tang Chaochao’s defiant expression and clenched his fists again, his voice cold once more.

“You useless lot! Take her down at once!”

After a while, Tang Chaochao found herself faced with a courtyard full of wailing maids, servants, and even guards sprawled on the ground. She thought these people were utterly useless, only good for keeping her limbs limber.

Song Rongzhi’s worry shifted to astonishment as she realized just how different this youngest daughter was from the eldest.

Tang Wu’s eyes twitched as he surveyed the chaos. Tang Chaochao taunted him.

“Old Tang, why don’t you come yourself? Don’t tell me you’re too old for this. You can pick a weapon you’re comfortable with. But let me warn you—if you lose, you can no longer stop me from opening the coffin.”

Having said this, if her so-called father still refused, she was prepared to tear the entire general’s mansion apart.

Back in the mountains, whenever she wanted something and the old Taoist refused, she would dismantle his decrepit temple. After several such episodes, the Taoist gave up, sitting on the ground, clutching her legs and wailing about her ingratitude, how hard it had been to raise her, and how she had repaid him.

Tang Chaochao would grow weary of his nagging and relent. The only thing the Taoist forbade was leaving the mountain before she turned sixteen. To prevent her from running away, he forced her to swear a deadly oath. Ordinary people might not believe such things, but having cultivated with the Taoist since childhood, Tang Chaochao did.

She had always been carefree and willful, but that oath was like a thunderbolt—breaking it meant death and annihilation of her soul. For cultivators, the worst fate was to lose one’s path and be utterly destroyed.

Tang Wu’s temper flared as she called him “Old Tang” from left to right. Today, as her father, he had to assert his authority; otherwise, this large general’s mansion would be ruled by this wretched girl.

Yet there was no need for weapons to teach her a lesson. Tang Chaochao watched as her father tucked his robe into his belt and kindly warned him:

“Old Tang, are you sure you don’t want a weapon?”

Another “Old Tang”! Tang Wu wanted to shout, “I’m only thirty-five, not old!” But what came out was:

“You brat, don’t start crying later!”

Tang Chaochao curled her lips. Crying? Not a chance. Whether he used a weapon was his business. As for her, she slapped the sword at her waist, drawing it smoothly into her hand without leaving its sheath. Holding the hilt horizontally before her, she raised her brow and challenged her father, who was cracking his knuckles.

“Old Tang, can your body handle this? I won’t go easy on you. As they say, there are no fathers or sons on the battlefield.”

Tang Wu’s brow twitched violently. Suddenly, an idea struck him.

“Bring me my spear!”