The light faded, the phantom shadows dissipated, but the spiritual pressure of the Heart-Questioning Platform did not diminish. Yue Tingzhou still knelt there, his back heaving violently, each ragged breath carrying the sweet, metallic tang of blood. The gazes of the entire assembly were like an invisible net, pinning him to the center of the blue stone platform. "Zhi Ge." Shen Lichuan called him by his courtesy name. It was an address used within the master-disciple lineage, reserved only for the one who imparted the teachings. The ice in his voice had receded by half, leaving something deeper behind—interrogation, and perhaps a trace of pain and regret so faint it was almost imperceptible. "What else do you have to say for yourself?" Yue Tingzhou raised his head. A line of blood seeping from the corner of his mouth traced his jawline and dripped onto the veined patterns of the blue stone. Behind Shen Lichuan, in the shadows of the side door of the Public Deliberation Hall, the figure of Huo Qingya became clearly visible. Dressed in black, arms crossed, the corner of his mouth holding that signature icy, mocking smile. The Frost Falcon Guards had not yet shown themselves. But the net woven of spiritual energy was already tightening, sealing off all exits. The air was thick with the oppressive weight before a storm; each breath felt like swallowing iron sand. Yue Tingzhou pushed himself up from the ground, slowly straightening his posture. His knees trembled, his meridians burned, but he stood up. His gaze swept across the assembly—the representative from the Qingcheng Sect had a gloomy countenance; Qi Zhaoye of the Caohé Alliance toyed with a ship's anchor pendant; Rong Qiwu of the Heting Academy lightly tapped his jade ruler three times. Zhu Hanli gripped her jade hairpin, her fingertips white. Yue Tingzhou turned his gaze back to Shen Lichuan. He raised a hand, using his sleeve to wipe the blood from the corner of his mouth, the movement slow as if performing a ritual. Then he spoke, his voice hoarse from pain yet exceptionally clear: "The order, I did indeed violate." As the first word fell, another wave of uproar rose from the seats. A cold snort came from the Qingcheng Sect's area; someone from the Caohé Alliance slammed a teacup heavily onto the table. Yue Tingzhou did not pause. The trembling in his right knee had spread to his entire leg, but his voice was steady, as if reading from a case file that had nothing to do with him: "The evidence, I did indeed burn. Forming an alliance with Zhu Hanli, the young mistress of the Myriad Mirrors Escort Agency, is also true." With each admission, Shen Lichuan's expression darkened further. The old man's right hand pressed against the array patterns on the edge of the Heart-Questioning Platform; the spiritual pressure did not lessen but instead piled upon Yue Tingzhou's shoulders like invisible mountains, layer upon layer. The burning sensation of the "Law Seal" within his meridians shifted from needle pricks to knife cuts, each heartbeat wrenching his internal organs. Sweat beads slid down his temples, dripping into the cracks of the blue stone. "But the word 'traitor'—" Yue Tingzhou took a deep breath, the air passing through his scorched throat, carrying the taste of blood, "Yue does not accept it." Before his words had fully faded, the spiritual pressure abruptly intensified. The blue stone beneath his feet cracked with a sound, spiderweb-like fissures spreading; his knees went soft again, almost buckling. But he used his scabbard to brace against the ground, holding himself up by sheer force. The entire hall fell silent. Even the sect representatives poised to attack held their breath. They had seen too many people weep and wail or quibble sophistically before the Heart-Questioning Platform, but never one like this—someone who admitted all the facts while resolutely denying the charge. Shen Lichuan's voice came from above, each word like an ice spike: "Article Three of the Iron Laws of the Bureau of Impartial Law: Agents operating undercover must act with the Bureau's mandate as their guiding principle; they must not privately collude with the subjects of their investigation. You violated orders first, burned evidence afterward, and formed an alliance with Zhu Hanli—these are the facts of colluding with the enemy. Which of these three does not warrant the word 'traitor'?" "According to the law," Yue Tingzhou raised his head, his gaze piercing through the glaring afterglow of the spiritual mirror to look directly at Shen Lichuan, "they indeed do warrant it." He paused, the corner of his mouth pulling “As for forming an alliance…” Yue Tingzhou’s voice dropped, not from weakness, but from something heavier. “If I had followed orders, what I should be doing right now is escorting Zhu Hanli back to the Department of Equilibrium and Law, detain her on charges of ‘interfering with the investigation,’ and wait for the people from the Mandate Book system to come and ‘interrogate’ her. And then? She would become like the people recorded in those case files—the next statistical entry of an ‘unexpected demise.’” He looked at Shen Lichuan again, his eyes holding no anger, only a clarity that bordered on exhaustion. “Master, when you taught me to investigate cases, you said—‘Evidence can speak, but the dead cannot.’ There are already enough dead. Enough that… they can’t even be bothered to fabricate new causes of death.” The spiritual pressure fluctuated suddenly. Not weakening, but becoming disordered. Shen Lichuan’s hand resting on the array pattern trembled slightly; the old scar on his face twitched. Behind him, the light of the spiritual mirror flickered unsteadily, reflecting something shattering in his eyes—not his conviction, but the very foundation upon which that conviction stood, cracking under the weight of Yue Tingzhou’s words, one by one. “Therefore,” Yue Tingzhou finally said, his voice as light as a sigh yet overriding all other noise in the hall, “what I have betrayed is not the ‘righteousness’ that protects the common people, but the ‘law’ that sees the weak unaided and evil unpunished! If this counts as betrayal—then Yue, today, has betrayed it!” The moment the last word left his lips, a certain shackle within him shattered with a *crack*. It was not a breakthrough, but something more fundamental—that mark branded upon him since youth, equating “obedience” with “justice,” finally turned to ash under the dual scorching of agony and resolve. The spiritual pressure remained, the intense pain did not fade, but he stood ramrod straight. The entire hall was deathly silent. Shen Lichuan did not refute him. The old man simply stood there, his right hand still resting on the array pattern, but his fingertips had lifted half an inch from the stone surface. He stared at Yue Tingzhou, his gaze as complex as if looking at a stranger—no, as if looking at a shadow that had torn itself free from the mold he himself had shaped, bloodied and battered yet with a spine unbent. In the shadows by the side door of the Public Deliberation Hall, the cold smile at the corner of Huo Qingya’s mouth vanished. His posture of crossed arms remained unchanged, but his eyes turned cold, as if reassessing the threat level of his prey. The silence lasted a full ten breaths. Then, with a loud *bang* from the Qingcheng Sect’s seating area, a fair-skinned, beardless middle-aged man in Taoist robes slammed the table and stood up, pointing a finger directly at Yue Tingzhou, his voice sharp and piercing: “Nonsense! You are slandering the reputations of all the sects!” **Scene 3: Introspection** The lingering echo of the jade hairpin’s shattering still reverberated on the bluestone platform, like a fine needle piercing the silence that enveloped everyone. Zhu Hanli stood there, warm shards at her feet. She could feel the weight of every gaze—Qi Zhaoye of the Caohe Alliance narrowing his eyes, the Qingcheng Sect representative’s hand suddenly tightening on the armrest, Rong Qiwu of the Heting Academy ceasing the light tapping of his jade ruler. And her aunt. Her aunt had not moved, but the column of sandalwood incense smoke had tilted, slanting to the left as if its spine had been snapped by something invisible. She did not look down at the jade dust. Her palm was empty. The warm, smooth texture she had rubbed day and night for ten years was gone, replaced by a sharp, almost naked lightness. It was as if shackles that had long bound her wrists had suddenly broken, exposing her skin to the air, chilling it to the point of pain. Her heart was still pounding wildly, but the rhythm had changed. No longer the panicked thudding trying to escape her chest, but a deeper, heavier pulse from somewhere within—the wheel had begun to turn. She remembered what her father had said when teaching her to read escort route maps: Once the path is chosen, don’t look back and count how many steps you’ve lost, only look ahead to see how many mountains remain to be crossed. Now, the mountain was right before her. The tip of Yue Tingzhou’s sword still rested on the ground half an inch from the toe of She looked down and saw a sharp shard of jade had somehow pierced the base of her thumb. A bead of blood seeped out, gathering into a tiny drop on her pale skin, a glaring red. This pain was concrete, more real than any imagined "ruin and disgrace." She did not pull it out, letting that sliver of pain crawl up along her veins, all the way to her heart, like a red-hot needle, searing through the last vestiges of hesitation. What was she afraid of? Afraid of losing face? But that face was already hollowed out. The escort mission her father had undertaken—the "Mirror Pivot" rubbing—was no ordinary lost shipment. It was a core component for Xie Wuchen's construction of the Destiny Book's algorithm. The Zhu family had "borrowed" it from the forbidden vault of the Crane Marsh Academy, using thirty years of transport rights and her marriage contract as collateral, all under the lofty pretense of "for the greater good of the jianghu." In reality, it had become the rope binding the entire clan to a pirate ship. Did Father know? She dared not think too deeply. She only remembered those years when Father would often stare blankly at an ancient mirror late into the night, his reflection growing increasingly gaunt. Later, he died suddenly on the escort mission. His body bore no external injuries, only an extremely faint, water-stain-like bluish-gray ring on the inside of his wrist—identical to those she had seen on the "specimens" in the City God Temple cellar. Beneath the facade, blood had long been flowing. Her blood. Father's blood. And the blood of those nameless souls lured into the sect by "high-compatibility marriage contracts," reduced to waste within three months. Before, she had simply kept her eyes covered, pretending not to smell the metallic scent, and learned from her aunt's example to sprinkle perfume over it, cover the ledgers, and wrap everything up in glossy words like "jianghu rules" and "family survival." It could no longer be wrapped. Yue Tingzhou had torn the first rip in the wrapping. Now, it was her turn to peel this rotting, splendid robe from the bones with her own hands. Zhu Hanli raised her bleeding hand. The bead of blood slid along the curve of her thumb and dripped onto the bluestone, landing precisely in an ancient groove of an oath. The dark red liquid meandered along the channel, as if re-infusing the long-dried words "keep faith, honor promises" with warmth—only this warmth was scalding. She spoke. Her voice was steadier than she had imagined, even carrying a clarity that bordered on coldness, as if taking stock of an unavoidable bad debt: "Seven years ago, the Ten Thousand Mirrors Escort Agency undertook a secret shipment." With the first sentence, the collective breath in the hall tightened sharply. Zhu Jianlan finally moved. She closed the ledger on her lap, the movement slow, as if closing a coffin lid. The sandalwood incense stick had broken; the last segment of ash fell onto the cover. She did not brush it away. Zhu Hanli did not look at her aunt. Her gaze remained level, fixed ahead on the banners of various sects hanging behind the representatives' seats. Those silks embroidered with dragons, tigers, mountains, rivers, and stars swayed slightly in the draft, like so many splendid fig leaves. "The shipment was a volume of the original 'Mirror Pivot' rubbing, stored in the forbidden vault of the Crane Marsh Academy." She paused, hearing her own voice grate like sandpaper. "The client was the then-Keeper of Collections of the Academy, Xie Wuchen." A low wave of murmurs spread like a tide. Someone in the representatives' seats shot to their feet, only to be pulled back down by the sleeve. Rong Qiwu's jade ruler halted mid-air, his fingertips white from the force of his grip. Zhu Hanli continued. Each word felt like carving out her own flesh, but the deeper she carved, the faster the stagnant blood clogging her chest seemed to dissipate: "The collateral was the Ten Thousand Mirrors Escort Agency's priority transport rights on all official roads and waterways for the next thirty years, and—" She drew a breath. "—and this junior herself. Upon reaching eighteen, I was to accept the Destiny Book's marriage contract match and be incorporated into the algorithm pool as a 'test sample.'" Dead silence. This time, it was true dead silence. Even the wind seemed to have stopped. She saw Qi Zhaoye's face darken like the sea before a storm, a vein throbbing at the temple of the Qingcheng Sect representative. And in the distant shadows, Huo Qingya, who had stood silent all along, finally lost the last trace of that icy curve at the "Since then, thirty percent of the 'special consignments' transported by the Ten Thousand Mirrors Escort Agency have passed by the edges of forbidden zones such as Weeping Blood Valley and Blackwater Marsh. The cargo manifest is always one page short of the actual count." Zhu Hanli's words began to accelerate, like floodwaters finally breaching a dam. "In the hidden compartment of the agency's account book 'Bing-Character Number Seven,' there are nineteen 'test sample transport subsidy' receipts personally signed by Huo Qingya, the external operations commander of the Xie faction, totaling two thousand seven hundred top-grade spirit stones. The earliest signature date can be traced back to the twelfth month, six years ago—" "Enough!" A sharp shout exploded. It did not come from the representatives' seats, nor from Huo Qingya in the shadows. It was Zhu Jianlan. This ever-steady, rock-like chief manager finally stood up. She did not look at Zhu Hanli, but faced the entire assembly. For the first time, a crack appeared on that face so skilled in calculation—not anger, but a weariness bordering on sorrow. "Hanli." Her voice was hoarse. "Do you know..."