The bell toll was ice water, poured over his head. Yue Tingzhou stood on the flagstone slab at the center of the Heart-Questioning Platform. The chill from beneath his feet crawled up his leg bones. Three paces to his left, Zhu Hanli stood with her hands hanging at her sides. The late-summer wind of the south passed through the tall, broad colonnades of the Public Deliberation Hall, stirring a few stray strands of hair at her temples. She wasn’t looking at him; her gaze was fixed on the seats opposite — where her aunt Zhu Jianlan sat, along with Qi Zhaoye of the Cao River Alliance, members of the Qingcheng Sect, the Heting Academy… a dense mass of heads, their stares like needles. Needles pricking his back. "Dong—" The final bell toll settled, its lingering resonance humming and circling among the beams and pillars. Rong Qiwu, seated in the presiding position, lightly tapped a jade ruler. Her voice was not loud, yet it suppressed all other faint noises. "The thirty-first session of the Ten Thousand Sects Public Deliberation is now open." She paused, her gaze sweeping across the Heart-Questioning Platform. "Persons of interest Yue Tingzhou and Zhu Hanli, step forward to stand trial." Yue Tingzhou took a step forward. The flagstone was carved with intricate array patterns, now dull and lifeless, like hibernating snakes. Following protocol, he unbuckled his sword and placed it on the stone block at the platform's edge — the soft clink of the scabbard against stone was especially clear in the silence. He suddenly remembered the afternoon his master, Shen Lichuan, taught him his first lesson on interrogation. The old man had lit a brazier of poor-quality charcoal in the interrogation room, the smoke stinging the eyes until they watered. "Tingzhou," Shen Lichuan had patted his shoulder with those calloused hands, the force heavy as if trying to nail him into the ground, "Rules are a wall. You're inside the wall, the wall protects you. You step outside—" "And the wall topples over to crush you." Yue Tingzhou drew a breath. The air smelled of incense ash and old wood. He saw Shen Lichuan walk in through a side door, wearing the black official uniform of the Department of Laws and Discipline, the silver threads on his epaulettes gleaming coldly under the light. The old man didn't look at him, walking straight to the witness seat below Rong Qiwu. As he sat, his right knee stiffened almost imperceptibly. A gloomy, rainy day. His old injury was acting up. "I call upon former Chief Investigator of the Department of Laws and Discipline, Shen Lichuan, to present evidence," Rong Qiwu said. Shen Lichuan took out a palm-sized bronze mirror from his robes. The mirror's surface was covered in dust, its edges carved with the *xiezhi* emblem of the Department of Laws and Discipline. He raised his right hand, index and middle fingers pressed together, and lightly traced them across the mirror's surface— *Hum.* The bronze mirror lit up. Not ordinary light, but a bluish-white, flickering flame that gushed from the mirror's center, unfolding a phantom image in mid-air. A City God temple. A dilapidated altar table. Piled on the table were booklets, their pages curling, blackening, and turning to ash in the flames. Bluish-white tongues of fire licked the edges of the paper, swallowing the densely packed names and numbers, spitting out charred fragments. Yue Tingzhou's back instantly tensed. He recognized that fire. Three nights ago, in the abandoned City God temple west of the city, when he threw the copied ledgers obtained from Ding Xueqiao into the brazier, the flames were exactly that color — fire mixed with Zhaomai True Qi, burning cleanly, leaving not even a trace of ash behind. The phantom image in the mirror continued to shift. The flames gradually died down. From the embers stood a figure's back. Dressed in black martial attire, shoulders squared, bending over to poke at an unburned corner of paper with a sword tip. That figure turned halfway, revealing a face— Yue Tingzhou's breath hitched. It was his own face. Sweat beaded on his temple, his eyes cold and hard, lips pressed into a thin line. The "him" in the mirror looked up, gazing in a certain direction outside the temple door, then swiftly turned, kicking over the brazier with one foot, scattering the remaining flames. The scene froze there. The bronze mirror's light dimmed, the phantom image dissipating into the air. But the afterimage of that bluish-white "Based on this," Shen Lichuan continued, his hand pressing down on the desk, knuckles white, "the Henglu Division, in accordance with Articles Seven, Thirteen, and Twenty-One of the *Division Regulations*, hereby brings three charges against covert agent Yue Tingzhou." He paused, enunciating each word clearly: "First, betrayal of the Division — disobeying a secret order from his master, privately communicating with a subject under investigation." "Second, destruction of evidence — destroying key material evidence, obstructing official investigation." "Third, collusion with the enemy — forming an alliance with a party involved in the case, leaking Division secrets." The moment his words fell, Shen Lichuan's right hand slammed down violently— *Boom.* The bluestone slabs beneath Yue Tingzhou's feet came alive. Those dim array patterns suddenly blazed with a piercing golden light, like countless red-hot iron chains drilling out from the stone, coiling around his ankles, calves, waist, and abdomen. It wasn't a physical sensation, but spiritual pressure — the Heart-Interrogation Platform's array had been fully activated, resonating with something dormant within his body. Yue Tingzhou's knees buckled. Excruciating pain. As if countless red-hot needles were driving along his meridians, stabbing all the way from the soles of his feet to the crown of his head. It wasn't the pain of an external injury, but the backlash of the "Law Seal" — every Henglu Division covert agent, upon entering the Division, had a spiritual seal planted deep within their dantian. Normally dormant, once triggered by a judgment array like the Heart-Interrogation Platform, it would become like living thorns, tearing at the meridians from the inside out. Cold sweat instantly beaded on Yue Tingzhou's temples. The clothes on his back were soaked through, clinging to his skin, icy cold like a burial shroud. He clenched his jaw, the grinding of his teeth unnaturally clear in the silence. He sank to one knee. His right hand braced against the ground, the chill of the bluestone seeping through his palm into his bones. His left hand was clenched into a tight fist, nails digging into his palm, the sharp pain barely suppressing the searing burn churning in his meridians. He kept his head lowered, watching the bulging veins on the back of his hand, watching sweat drip onto the bluestone, spreading into a small, dark patch. The edges of his vision began to darken. "Yue Tingzhou." Shen Lichuan's voice came from above, cold and hard, without a ripple of emotion. "The spiritual mirror's recorded image is here, the three charges are clear." The old man paused. Yue Tingzhou could hear him draw a breath, deep, as if moving something heavy. "According to the law, do you plead guilty?" Utter silence filled the hall. All eyes were nailed to the kneeling figure at the center of the Heart-Interrogation Platform. Zhu Hanli stood three paces away, her fingers clenched tightly within her sleeves. She could hear her own heart pounding wildly in her chest, *thump-thump-thump*, striking her ribs painfully. She saw Yue Tingzhou's hand, braced on the ground, trembling. A very slight tremor, but it was definitely trembling. She suddenly shifted half a step forward. The moment her toes moved, she felt a gentle resistance — the gaze cast by her aunt, Zhu Jianlan. Warning. Heavy. Zhu Hanli stopped, her nails digging into her palms. On the platform, Yue Tingzhou slowly raised his head. His face was frighteningly pale, but his lips were pressed into a tight line. Sweat from his temples streamed down his cheeks, gathering into a single drop at the tip of his chin before falling. He looked at Shen Lichuan. His eyes held no plea for mercy, no anger, only a kind of almost cruel clarity. Then he spoke, his voice hoarse, but each word bitten out clearly: "Chief Inspector Shen." He paused, swallowing the taste of blood rising in his throat. "The spiritual mirror image you just presented — it is real. The three acts listed in the charges — they are also true." The Public Deliberation Hall erupted in a wave of astonished murmurs. Shen Lichuan's pupils contracted slightly. Yue Tingzhou, braced on his hand, slowly, very slowly, rose from the ground. His knees trembled, but he stood straight. The soaked clothing on his back clung to his skin; a gust of wind blew, icy and piercing to the bone. Meeting Shen Lichuan's gaze, he spoke word by word: "But—" That single word, "but," was like a basin of cold water, dousing the clamor filling the hall. Everyone held their breath. Yue Tingzhou drew a breath. The pain made his voice tremble “It is a ‘law’ that sees the weak and does not save them, sees evil and does not eradicate it!” “It is not the ‘justice’ that protects the common people!” The final word fell, its lingering echo trembling among the beams and pillars, refusing to dissipate. The hall was deathly silent. Shen Lichuan slowly stood up. The old man stared at Yue Tingzhou. Deep within those eyes, always cold and hard as iron, something was violently churning, like an undercurrent beneath the ice. His jaw was tight, his Adam's apple bobbed, and in the end, he only forced a sentence through clenched teeth: "Zhi Ge." He used Yue Tingzhou's courtesy name. Not "Yue Tingzhou," not "the covert agent," but "Zhi Ge." Like many years ago, on the training grounds behind the Heng Lü Division, when the master called the young boy who had just mastered the first form of "Zhen Yue." The clothing on Yue Tingzhou's back was already soaked through with cold sweat, icy and sticky against his skin, a stark contrast to the scorching pain within. He could feel the spiritual pressure from the formation underfoot still persisting, like countless poisoned needles churning in his meridians, trying to pry open his mouth. But he stood very straight, his spine like a spear. He met Shen Lichuan's gaze, opened his mouth, his voice hoarse yet each word clear: "Yes." As this word fell, Zhu Hanli saw Yue Tingzhou's right hand move ever so slightly at his side—three fingers curled, the ring finger and pinky extended. It was the signal they had agreed upon earlier. "Ready." Her heart sank like a stone. At that very moment, from the direction of the side door of the Public Deliberation Hall, came a sudden, cold laugh. "What a fine 'justice that protects the common people.'" The voice was not loud, but it pierced the silence like an icicle, carrying undisguised mockery. Everyone turned to look. From the shadows, Huo Qingya's figure slowly emerged. He wasn't wearing official robes, but a suit of dark black martial attire. The silver-thread embroidered frost falcon pattern on his shoulder gleamed with a cold, dark light in the shadows. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, a cold curve on his lips, but his eyes were sharp as knives, stabbing straight at Yue Tingzhou. "Yue Tingzhou," he began, each word seeming weighed, yet also like a slow dismemberment, "you burned the ledger, formed the alliance, and stand here lecturing on 'justice.'" He took two steps forward, into the sunlight. His face appeared exceptionally pale in the light, but his eyes were frighteningly bright. "Then dare you tell all the esteemed seniors present—" He paused, his gaze sweeping across the hall like a venomous snake, finally fixing dead on Yue Tingzhou's face: "How many lives does that 'weak' you protect have on their hands?" "And how many innocent lives has that 'law' you betrayed protected?" As his words fell, he raised his hand and gave a light wave. From the surrounding eaves, behind the pillars, even from the shadows on the beams, dozens of black shadows soundlessly appeared. Black clothes, black blades, black scabbards. Frost Falcon Guards. They seemed to have grown from the shadows themselves, settling soundlessly at every exit and key passage of the Public Deliberation Hall. The blades were not drawn, but their chilling spiritual energy had already woven an invisible net, sealing off all routes of escape, as if even the air had congealed. The curve on Huo Qingya's lips deepened, yet the smile did not reach his eyes. "Public deliberation is public deliberation," he said deliberately, his voice exceptionally clear in the taut silence. "Private grievances are private grievances." "Esteemed seniors, please continue the interrogation." He looked at Yue Tingzhou, his eyes as cold as a midwinter pond: “The interrogation is over—” “Now we settle accounts.” The Qingcheng Sect’s Discipline Elder, Daoist Xuanzhen, abruptly stood up. His robes stirred without wind, his voice like a poisoned awl, piercing the brief stalemate: “Slander! Yue Tingzhou, you burned the evidence, and now with nothing but empty words, you dare to smear the good name of my Qingcheng Sect!” Yue Tingzhou’s fists clenched at his sides, nails digging deep into his palms, the stinging pain barely suppressing the burning sensation coursing through his meridians. He met Daoist Xuanzhen’s eyes, wide with fury—this elder, famed for upholding the sect’s reputation, had ten years ago jointly submitted a petition demanding severe punishment for the “gross negligence” of the covert agents in the “Escort Agency Massacre Case.” “Elder Xuanzhen.” Yue Tingzhou spoke, his voice hoarse from pain yet steady as bedrock. “Every word Yue has spoken can be traced to solid evidence.” “Evidence?” Xuanzhen sneered, a fierce gust of wind rising with his sweeping sleeve. “You burned the evidence, yet claim to have proof? The greatest absurdity under heaven!” “Physical evidence can be burned, but traces are hard to erase.” Yue Tingzhou raised his left hand, his fingertip tracing lightly in the air. A faint, almost invisible wisp of “Illuminating Meridian” true qi struggled forth from his fingertip, sketching several twisted, intricate patterns in the air—the verification seal pattern of the core algorithm of the Life-Borrowing Certificates, which he had forced himself to memorize. The true qi pattern glowed faintly, illuminating the cold sweat on his temples. “This pattern is called the ‘Essence-Draining Verification Seal,’ unique to the Life-Borrowing Certificate algorithm.” The pattern at his fingertip flickered with the input of true qi, betraying his current weakness. “Its function is to implant a mark deep within the spiritual meridians of both parties at the moment the marriage contract is formed. When the time is ripe, the master scroll can remotely drain the spiritual meridian essence without leaving external wounds. The drained, at best, suffer meridian atrophy and total loss of cultivation; at worst… their vitality withers. Outwardly normal, but inside, they are like those seventeen ‘accidentally deceased’ young talents.” A wave of suppressed gasps rose from below. Several representatives of neutral factions who had been sitting indifferently leaned forward involuntarily, their eyes fixed on the gradually dissipating true qi pattern in the air. “Empty words!” Xuanzhen thundered, his voice shaking the rafters. “You say it is, so it is? Who knows this isn’t another deceitful tale fabricated by your Discipline Department to escape blame!” “If the Elder does not believe it,” Yue Tingzhou withdrew his hand, the true qi pattern completely dissipating. A sweet taste rose in his throat, and he forcefully swallowed the surging blood. “I request the esteemed sect to investigate thoroughly—all disciples who joined the sect through ‘Heaven-Decreed Marriage Contracts’ in the past decade, especially those ‘exceptionally gifted’ ones whose cultivation stagnated after joining, or those who ‘died prematurely by accident’—examine the depths of their spiritual meridians to see if this pattern remains.” Xuanzhen’s expression changed. Not merely anger, but a momentary stiffness and pallor. He turned slightly, looking at Zhu Hanli. Zhu Hanli stood there, her face pale but her gaze firm. She gave him a very slight nod. Yue Tingzhou turned back to face the entire assembly. “Seven years ago, the Wanjing Escort Agency was tasked with transporting a batch of ‘Mirror Pivot’ rubbings from the Tang Clan in Shu to the Heting Academy in Jiangnan. The escort in charge was precisely Zhu Hanli’s father, Zhu Changfeng.” He paused, each word falling like a heavy weight. “During the journey, the rubbings resonated with the escort’s golden banner. The master scroll’s imprint was accidentally activated, invading Zhu Changfeng’s spiritual meridians and… through the bloodline connection, affecting his only daughter, Zhu Hanli, who was accompanying him at the time.” He raised his right hand, pointing at Zhu Hanli. “The ‘Calamity Mark’ on her wrist is not innate, but the master scroll’s marking of ‘high-quality nourishment.’ This mark will blaze with light and resonate when near the ‘Heaven-Decreed Book: Operations Compendium’—a fact that those present, if observant, would have witnessed at the opening of the Twenty-Four Chapters Public Inquiry.” The assembly below began to stir. Some whispered amongst themselves, others flipped through the recording crystals of the proceedings they carried. Rong Qiwu’s jade ruler stopped moving Shen Lichuan remained standing in place, his back turned to Yue Tingzhou. His right hand was no longer trembling; instead, it was clenched tightly into a fist, the knuckles protruding. Yue Tingzhou knew his words had taken effect—and had angered more people. But he did not stop. “I disobeyed orders because the secret command demanded I ‘monitor the victims,’ not ‘rescue them.’ I burned the evidence because that ledger itself was a butcher’s blade. My secret liaison with Zhu Hanli…” He paused, his voice carrying, for the first time, something almost tender, “was because she is a witness, an ally, the first crack in this chain of blood, daring to resist.” He turned toward Shen Lichuan’s back. “Chief Inspector Shen, when you taught me the law, you once said: ‘The law is a tool; it should protect the good and punish the evil.’ But what if the tool itself… has become an accomplice to evil?” Shen Lichuan’s shoulders tensed. He did not turn around. But Yue Tingzhou saw it—the slight, almost imperceptible tremor in Shen Lichuan’s left hand, hanging at his side. “I stand here today,” Yue Tingzhou withdrew his gaze and faced the entire hall, mustering the last of his strength to project his voice to its loudest, “not to exonerate myself. I admit to disobeying orders, to burning evidence, to the secret liaison. I ask for only one thing—” He paused, letting each word sink in. “I ask you all to open your eyes and look. Look at those fellow disciples around you with ‘extraordinary talent’ who have inexplicably fallen. Look at those destined couples who wither away after marriage. Look at this ‘Book of Destiny’ system and see what exactly it is using… to feed its ‘order.’” Having said this, he unclenched his tightly gripped fist. In his palm were four deep crimson marks from his fingernails, slightly oozing blood. He said no more, just stood there. The shirt on his back was soaked with sweat, then dried, clinging to his skin; a gust of wind made it icy cold. The residual pain from the “law seal” in his meridians surged in waves, making his knees weak, but he did not kneel. The hall was silent. This silence was heavier, more tense than before. As if something immense was slowly cracking open above everyone’s heads, and no one knew what would fall when it broke. Daoist Xuanzhen opened his mouth as if to refute, but in the end, no sound came out. The elders behind him looked ashen; some subconsciously covered the location of their own spiritual meridians. Rong Qiwu put down her jade ruler. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and when she opened them again, there was a new resolve in her gaze. Qi Zhaoye stood up. He did not look at Yue Tingzhou but toward the shadows at the entrance of the Public Deliberation Hall—where a few black-clad figures stood silently. Then, he smiled. A cold smile, carrying the gambler-like ruthlessness unique to the jianghu. “Interesting,” he said. His voice was not loud, but it carried clearly throughout the hall. “From now on, the boats of the Caohe Alliance… will not transport the ‘Book of Destiny’s’ cargo.” A single sentence, like a stone thrown into water. The ripples had not yet spread— “Preposterous! Absurd!” The side door of the Public Deliberation Hall was violently pushed open. A middle-aged man in deep purple official robes, embroidered with the character “书” (Book) on his chest, strode in, followed by four attendants holding spirit mirrors, their expressions cold and severe. The man’s face was lean, his eyes sharp as blades. He walked unhurriedly, but each step carried a heavy, oppressive authority that made people along the way instinctively shift aside to avoid him. He stopped three zhang away from the Heart-Interrogation Platform, looked up, and gazed at Yue Tingzhou on the platform. “Yue Tingzhou,” he began. His voice was not loud, but each word was clear, carrying the commanding tone of one long accustomed to high position. “What you have just said is nothing but transgression and slander, every word of it. The ‘Book of Destiny’ is a public institution of the jianghu. How can a renegade spy like you stand here spouting heresy to confuse the masses?” Yue Tingzhou recognized him. Ding Xueqiao’s superior, the chief of the three chief transcription officers under Xie Wuchen’s command—**Wen