Yue Tingzhou’s finger traced the rim of the teacup three times. As the third circle was completed, the base of the cup touched the sandalwood table, producing an extremely faint, crisp tap. The sound was drowned in the clamor of the Hall of Ten Thousand Sects’ Public Deliberation, yet it made Zhu Hanli, seated behind and to his side, lift her eyes. The silver abacus she was idly flicking backwards paused for half a beat. The hall’s dome was high and vast, seventy-two coiling dragon pillars supporting a dim, yellow spiritual light. Representatives of various sects and families sat cross-legged according to their assigned seats, the colors of their robes forming distinct boundaries. The seat of the Department of Discipline and Law was in the southeast corner, adjacent to the Cao River Alliance and the Jiangnan Crane-Shore Academy. Xie Wuchen sat in the third seat from the left below the main seat in the north, the sleeves of his bluish-grey Daoist robe smoothed without a single wrinkle. He was currently looking down, reviewing the jade slip of the agenda. His fingertips occasionally brushed the slip’s surface, stirring faint ripples of spiritual patterns. Huo Qingya stood seven paces behind Xie Wuchen, like a sword sheathed in its scabbard. “Following the standard procedure, the next item for deliberation is the transit tax regulations for the Northern Steppe Caravans.” The voice of the elder presiding over the public deliberation was dry. “Chief Banner Envoy Qi of the Cao River Alliance, please presen—” His voice was not loud, yet it was like a piece of ice dropped into boiling oil. The buzz in the great hall abruptly ceased. The spirit mirrors embedded in the seventy-two coiling dragon pillars simultaneously shimmered with ripples, all gazes converging. “Yue Tingzhou of the Department of Discipline and Law,” the presiding elder frowned, “one cannot arbitrarily interrupt the agenda of a public deliberation. What urgent matter requires you to first report to your department—” “Evidence.” Yue Tingzhou cut him off, drawing a scroll of dark-yellow parchment rubbing from his bosom. The edges of the parchment were worn, but the sigils at its center, under the hall’s spiritual light, revealed cold, blue tracings. Those tracings resembled blood vessels, or perhaps the veins of some intricate algorithm, slowly circulating in the air. “I wish to accuse Chief Administrator Xie Wuchen of the Destiny Book Operations Department, of using the name of a Jianghu marriage contract to conduct screening and harvesting.” Immediately, an uproar exploded like a tidal wave. The representative from the Northern Steppe Caravans slammed the table and stood up abruptly. The elder from the Shu region’s mechanical device clan, who had been stroking his beard, froze mid-motion. From the seats of the Jiangnan Crane-Shore Academy, Rong Qiwu gently tapped his jade ruler three times. “Preposterous!” a senior from a Xie family branch shouted harshly. “Yue Tingzhou, you are but a mere investigator of the Department of Discipline and Law. How dare you slander the Chief Administrator at the Ten Thousand Sects’ Public Deliberation? Where is your proof!” Yue Tingzhou did not look at him. His gaze passed through the agitated crowd and landed on Xie Wuchen. Those eyes were deep as an ancient well, utterly calm. He did not even rise, merely placing the jade slip in his hand gently on the table. The crisp sound of jade meeting sandalwood was exceptionally clear amidst the clamor. “Investigator Yue.” Xie Wuchen spoke, his voice steady and refined. “May we all have a look at the item in your hand?” Yue Tingzhou unrolled the rubbing. Zhu Hanli rose at that moment and walked to his side. From her sleeve, she drew out a small bronze mirror, aimed its surface at the rubbing, and channeled a wisp of true essence into it. The bronze mirror projected a sheet of light, suspended in the center of the hall. On the light screen, the blue sigil tracings rapidly enlarged and reassembled, forming clear entries. On the left side of each entry were a name, sect, and cultivation realm. On the right was a string of complex numbers and symbols. At the very bottom was stamped a spiritual pattern seal—the shape of that seal was identical to the pattern subtly embroidered on the cuffs of Xie Wuchen’s Daoist robe. “This is a rubbing of a copy of a ‘Destiny Marriage Contract,’ transported seven years ago by the Ten Thousand Mirrors Escort Agency.” Zhu Hanli’s voice, carrying the gentle cadence characteristic of the southern dialect, rang out, each word driven like a nail. “The list on the left contains thirty-seven individuals, all He did not look at the rubbing, nor at the light screen. He merely smoothed the sleeve of his Taoist robe—that eccentric gesture, yet in this moment, it carried a mountainous sense of oppression. The commotion in the great hall was suppressed by the very posture of his rising, as if an invisible hand had gripped its throat. Xie Wuchen’s voice remained steady, even more composed than before. Yet this sentence struck like thunder, jolting everyone until their scalps tingled. “The Mandate Book Operations Division is indeed under my charge. The marriage contract screening algorithm was also designed by me.” Xie Wuchen took two steps forward, standing at the edge of the seating platform. The spiritual light within the hall fell upon his face, outlining a cold and stern profile. “But Investigator Yue only spoke half the truth. The other half is this—over the past seven years, this algorithm has reduced the number of cultivators who died due to marital contract disputes and clan feuds by sixty percent.” He raised his hand, fingertips swirling with faint spiritual light. The light traced through the air, forming an illusory data flow diagram. On it, two curves intersected: one representing “traditional marital conflict casualties,” which had begun a steep rise seven years ago; the other representing “losses after algorithm optimization,” which had begun a gentle decline from the same point. “The resources of the jianghu are limited; the lifespans of cultivators are finite. Allowing inefficient matches and blind marriage alliances would only lead to more people dying in vain through internal strife.” Xie Wuchen’s fingertip swept across the diagram, the spiritual light rippling in response. “What the algorithm does is merely identify those doomed-to-fail marriage contracts in advance, minimizing the cost of conflict. As for those people on the list—” He paused, his gaze truly falling upon Yue Tingzhou for the first time. “Their deaths were accidents. But their deaths allowed more people to live. This is what we call ‘loss reduction optimization.’” The anger on many faces froze, replaced by a complex, dazed expression. Xie Wuchen’s logic was like a set of cold gears, perfectly meshed and self-contained. Every word he spoke seemed to state some irrefutable law of nature. Nails digging into his palm brought a clear, stinging pain. He could sense Zhu Hanli’s breathing beside him growing slightly rapid, and he could feel that subtle undercurrent of agreement slowly taking root in the great hall—the representatives of the major sects, the elders in charge of resource distribution, their eyes held no anger, only calculation. “So,” Yue Tingzhou spoke, his voice colder than before, “in your eyes, human lives are merely calculable losses.” “Costs,” Xie Wuchen corrected. “Any order requires costs. The cost of chaos is higher.” “Did those thirty-seven chosen individuals ever consent to become ‘costs’?” “When they signed the marriage contracts, did they know of this algorithm behind them?” “They did not,” he stated frankly. “If they had known, they would not have signed. But precisely because they did not know, they made choices most true to their hearts. The algorithm merely observed; it did not interfere.” “And after observing?” Zhu Hanli suddenly interjected, her voice trembling with suppressed emotion. “After observing, why was the list leaked to certain sects? Why did those ‘accidents’ always happen on the eve of their breakthroughs, or when they were about to discover the truth of their contracts?” His gaze remained calm, but Zhu Hanli felt a chill crawl up her spine. It was the look of a predator sizing up its prey, devoid of emotion, only assessment. “Young Mistress Zhu,” Xie Wuchen said slowly, “when the Ten Thousand Mirror Escort Bureau undertook the transport of this rubbing, did your father ask about its purpose?” Yue Tingzhou shifted sideways, blocking half her body with his shoulder. This subtle movement did not escape Xie Wuchen’s eyes; the corner of his mouth lifted faintly, like a cold sneer. “Your father did not ask because he knew that some business must not be questioned,” Xie Wuchen continued. “Such is the jianghu. Everyone survives within the rules—some seek fame, some seek profit, some seek… order.” “Investigator Yue, you stand here today using a seat of the Bureau of Balance and Law, wearing the robes of the official establishment. When you accuse me, have you ever considered why the Bureau of Balance and Law can exist? Precisely because there are those who maintain order, those who calculate costs, those who—do the things that cannot be brought into the light.” His gaze swept across the great hall. He saw Shen Lichuan sitting at the forefront of the Bureau of Balance and Law’s seats, his back straight as iron, but his right knee trembling imperceptibly—an old injury acting up. Old case. Rainy night. Testimony from a dream. Details he thought had long been buried were dug up by Xie Wuchen in the calmest of tones, laid bare in the hall of the Ten Thousand Sects Assembly. His fingers released the teacup and pressed against the token at his waist. The Bureau of Balance and Law token, forged from dark iron, its edges worn smooth by handling. On the back were carved his name and rank; on the front, legal statutes. This token represented his ten years of perseverance, and also the shackles he could never escape. "It's different." Yue Tingzhou heard his own voice, cold as ice. "I was wrong back then. That's why I stand here today." "So, what do you intend?" he asked. "Use this rubbing to convict Xie? Let the Ten Thousand Sects Assembly decide that the Celestial Mandate Book algorithm should be abolished? And then—what? Let the Jianghu marriage alliances return to chaos, watch the number of cultivators who die next year from broken alliances double? Will their blood stain your hands?" The ripples on the spirit mirrors shook violently, as if unable to bear some invisible impact. Many representatives paled; some instinctively pressed a hand to their chests. Lu Jianwei finally lifted her head. Her gaze pierced through the crowd and met Yue Tingzhou's for a fleeting moment. That look was immensely complex—concern, warning, and a deeply buried guilt. He suddenly understood why Lu Jianwei had been sitting there all along, why she hadn't stepped forward to corroborate the moment the rubbing was revealed. It wasn't that she didn't dare, but that she was waiting—waiting for Xie Wuchen to finish speaking, waiting for this entire logic to be fully exposed before everyone. Because only then would people see: the evil of order often wears the most reasonable guise. "I am not convicting you." Yue Tingzhou released the token and retrieved something else from his robes. It was a palm-sized fragment, neither metal nor jade, its surface covered in fine, dense cracks. At its center was embedded a dim crystalline core, within which flowed a light—the color of that light was identical to the blue sigils on the rubbing, yet deeper, colder, like congealed blood. All the spirit mirrors emitted a sharp, piercing hum simultaneously. The dragon carvings on the seventy-two coiled dragon pillars seemed to come alive, their scales parting, their eyes glowing with a red light. For the first time, a crack appeared in Xie Wuchen's expression—his breathing hitched imperceptibly for half a beat. An uproar erupted again, but this time laced with panic. Many representatives shot to their feet, knocking over their seats. Huo Qingya's sword was fully drawn, its frost-white blade-light illuminating half his face. There was no hesitation in his eyes, only the coldness of executing an order. His gaze was fixed unwaveringly on the fragment in Yue Tingzhou's hand. The motion of smoothing his sleeve cuff returned—once, twice, and on the third time, his fingertips turned slightly pale. "Where did you get that?" Xie Wuchen asked, his voice still steady, but Yue Tingzhou detected a faint thread of tension. "That is not important," Yue Tingzhou said. "What matters is that a fragment of the Mother Scroll is here. The algorithmic imprints on a rubbing can be forged, can be disputed. But the resonance between a Mother Scroll fragment and the Chief Administrator's own innate true essence—that cannot be denied." At first, it was just a faint glimmer, like a candle in the wind. But as Yue Tingzhou slowly infused his true essence—the power of his Golden Core origin, carrying the pain of being on the verge of shattering—the light within the crystalline core grew brighter, colder. Where the light passed, a crisscrossing network of sigils appeared on the floor of the great hall. That network matched the trajectories on the rubbing exactly, ultimately converging towards a single point— The innate spirit mirror beneath his Daoist robe emitted a low hum of resonance. The sound was like a mournful cry of recognition, echoing ceaselessly in the silent hall. Xie Wuchen closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them again, all emotion had vanished from his eyes, leaving only a clarity that bordered on ruthlessness. He no longer concealed, no longer maneuvered. He simply stood there, like a solitary peak. "Correct," he said. "Xie is the Chief Administrator in charge of the Celestial Mandate Book's operation." Utterly, publicly, he had admitted it before the Ten Thousand Sects Assembly. A deathly silence fell over the hall. Not even the sound of breathing could be heard. Everyone looked at Xie Wuchen, at Yue Tingzhou, at that glowing Mother Scroll fragment, as if watching a nightmare from which they could not awaken. "Therefore They wore the uniforms of the Tianming Division's field agents, their weapons gleaming with an eerie blue poison light. Their positions were precise, sealing off all exits, leaving only the main northern direction—where several sect elders friendly with the Xie family were seated, their faces now ashen, yet none moved. Instead, he took a step forward, completely shielding Zhu Hanli behind him. The Mother Scroll fragment in his palm erupted with a blinding, intense light, like a tiny sun exploding inside the hall. In the brief moment of blindness, Yue Tingzhou felt a hand grab his wrist. That hand was cold, yet trembling slightly, the force at its fingertips unusually firm. She didn't speak, just held him tightly, as if clutching the last piece of driftwood. Her breath hit the back of his ear, rapid and scalding. Yue Tingzhou gritted his teeth, channeling the last surge of his true essence into the Mother Scroll fragment. Cracks instantly spread across the fragment, the crystal core emitting the sound of unbearable strain, on the verge of shattering. The coiling dragon pillars shook violently. Spirit mirrors shattered one after another, fragments raining down like a storm. The exclamations, screams, and curses of the representatives mingled into a chaotic roar. Amid the turmoil, Yue Tingzhou pulled Zhu Hanli toward the only direction not fully sealed. It was the farthest exit, the hall doors half-closed, a sliver of dim streetlight from outside filtering through the crack. Yue Tingzhou could feel that bone-piercing chill pressing against his back, getting closer and closer. His golden core was on the verge of complete shattering under the intense pain, his meridians burning as if scorched by fire. He reached the northern door, kicked open the half-shut portal— But the scene outside froze his blood in an instant. The long street outside the northern gate was densely packed with black-armored warriors. They held long halberds, wore powerful crossbows at their waists, their formation as orderly as a wall of steel. At the forefront of this wall stood a large banner, embroidered with the insignia of the Tianming Division. The heavy, dark iron gate leaves, driven by mechanisms, began to close inward, the gap narrowing rapidly. Through that narrowing slit, Yue Tingzhou saw the shadowy figures of ambushers beyond the city walls, saw the cold glint of drawn bowstrings, saw— A banner of the Caohe Alliance, fluttering and snapping in the wind. Qi Zhaoye stood beneath the flagpole, watching him from afar, his face devoid of any expression. The hum of the Frost Falcon Sword was so clear it seemed to ring against his eardrum. *** A crisp sound, yet it silenced the uproar in the hall. Xie Wuchen lifted his eyes, his gaze devoid of ripples, only an unfathomable depth. His sleeves were smooth, without a single wrinkle. "Since the two of you insist on asking," he began, his voice not loud, yet it instantly quieted the great hall, "then let us speak." Yue Tingzhou's knuckles were white with tension. He saw fine spiritual light begin to swirl around Xie Wuchen's fingertips, those points of light sketching in the air like flowing water, or like some illusory diagram. A data stream. Cold, calculating data. "What is the jianghu?" Xie Wuchen asked, not needing an answer. "It is sects, families, the transmission of techniques, the struggle for resources. And more than that, it is human lives." "Each year, over three thousand seven hundred die fighting for spirit mines, secret realms, and ranking positions. Five hundred and twenty cultivators are crippled due to technique conflicts or meridian backlash. Forty-three households are extinguished due to marriage disputes or family feuds." Numbers spilled from his mouth like reading an account book. "Who bears these losses? Their masters, their families, the vitality of the jianghu itself." Xie Wuchen's gaze swept over the faces of the sect representatives in the hall; some instinctively averted their eyes. "Disorderly conflict, meaningless sacrifice. This is the 'free' jianghu you all speak of." Zhu Hanli's hand clenched beneath the table. The beads of her silver abacus were icy cold. "Therefore," Xie Wuchen's fingertips continued their dance of spiritual light, sketching out an illusory net with countless points of light, some bright, some dim, "it needs optimization." "To minimize losses." Xie Wuchen's tone was as calm as discussing the weather. "Through the marriage matching algorithm, we screen out those individuals... who are inherently prone to being lost in conflict. Their meridians are unstable, their temperaments flawed, or their families are weak. Rather than letting them die meaninglessly in some future struggle, it is better to bring them into the system early, transforming their 'loss' into a controllable "A necessary price," Xie Wuchen corrected, smoothing his sleeve. "Without order, the price would be greater. Consider, all of you, if not for the 'loss reduction' of the Mandate Book over the past decade, how many more disciples from the sects gathered here today would have been sacrificed? How many more resources expended?" Yue Tingzhou saw the wavering in the eyes of some in the hall. Especially among the representatives of the major sects. Their faces held no anger, only a complex, almost grim acceptance. Xie Wuchen's logic was like ice water, dousing the initial righteous indignation of some, leaving behind only cold calculations of profit and loss. "According to the law," Yue Tingzhou spoke, each word seeming forced through gritted teeth, "human life is not a commodity, its value cannot be calculated. Using an algorithm to determine life and death is a heretical art, not the righteous path." "The righteous path?" Xie Wuchen shook his head gently. "Commissioner Yue, the statutes of the Henglu Division uphold the prestige of the existing sects, the rules of those who already hold vested interests. My algorithm upholds the very foundation of the Jianghu's survival. Which is more important?" "You stand here today, accusing me in the name of 'justice.' Yet behind you stands the entire Yue clan, about to be struck from the Reverse Ranking, their cultivation qualifications stripped; behind you stands the Wan Mirror Escort Bureau, its banner about to fall, its century-old foundation on the verge of collapse." Xie Wuchen's voice remained steady. "How much is your 'justice' worth? How many can it truly protect?" Yue Tingzhou felt Zhu Hanli's hand find his wrist under the table. Her fingertips were cold, but her grip was vise-tight. That grasp held no words, only a temperature, and the force of refusing to let go when falling together into an icy abyss. "At the very least," Zhu Hanli lifted her head, her southern accent clear and firm, "we do not treat living people as entries on a ledger." Xie Wuchen looked at her. After a moment, he let out a very soft sigh. The instant that sigh left his lips, figures in the shadows of the hall's four corners moved. Huo Qingya descended like a weightless wisp of smoke from the rafters, soundlessly positioning himself before Lu Jianwei's table. Behind him, eight black-armored swordsmen materialized like ghosts, blocking all paths to the main hall doors. Their blades remained sheathed, but killing intent had solidified into a tangible frost; white traces appeared on the floor. Lu Jianwei did not move. She still held a half-rolled medical text in her hand, but her knuckles were white with tension. She looked up at Huo Qingya, her lips moving soundlessly. Cries of alarm, angry shouts, and the sound of overturned tables and chairs erupted into chaos. Representatives from some smaller sects stumbled back in panic, knocking over incense burners. The scent of sandalwood was suddenly tainted by a rust-like, metallic stench. Yue Tingzhou's hand slipped into his robe, touching the warm yet piercing fragment he always kept close to his skin — the core piece of the original mother scroll. Carved upon it were not mere copied runes, but flowing, living spiritual essence. He did not throw it at Xie Wuchen, nor at Huo Qingya. He hurled it straight toward the very center of the hall's domed ceiling, at the ancient colored painting depicting "The Myriad Immortals Paying Homage." There was no loud explosion, only light. A blinding, pure white radiance that stripped away all vision, as if a miniature sun had been born within the hall. Everyone was momentarily blinded; shouts of alarm turned into blind confusion. In the darkness, Zhu Hanli's hand unerringly grasped Yue Tingzhou's wrist. "North Gate!" she said into his ear, her breath rapid. Yue Tingzhou gripped her hand in return, his other hand already pressed against the Henglu Division token at his waist. The jade was cold, carved with the characters 'Zhi Ge' ('Halt Arms'). Without hesitation, his fingers clenched, internal energy erupting. The token shattered in his palm, jade dust sifting through his fingers. At the same moment, Zhu Hanli drew a small golden flag from her sleeve — the Wan Mirror Escort Bureau's transport token. With a flick of her fingertip, true fire ignited. The golden flag curled, blackened, and turned to ash in the flames. From this moment on, Yue Tingzhou was no longer a Commissioner of the Henglu Division, and Zhu Hanli was no longer the young master of the Wan Mirror Escort Bureau. They were fugitives, public enemies, desperadoes who had to carve a bloody path through the siege within this great hall There was also the cold glint of crossbows being drawn, like scales thirsty for blood in the fading daylight. The heavy grinding sound of door hinges turning crushed through all the clamor, piercing their ears with clarity. And behind them, the short sword named "Frost Falcon" in Huo Qingya's hand had already begun to emit a clear, cold hum, like the breath of death pressing close against their backs. Yue Tingzhou crashed through the corridor door, and a thicker darkness and a choking smell of aged timber mixed with dust assaulted his senses. The corridor was deep and gloomy, with tightly shut doors and windows on both sides. Only at the far end was there a sliver of daylight—the exit leading to the northern courtyard. Zhu Hanli followed closely behind him, slamming the heavy wooden door shut with a backward "bang." The door bolt had long since rotted away. Without hesitation, she drew the short spear from her waist and wedged it horizontally into the gap between the door frame and the door panel. Metal ground against wood, producing a grating screech that set teeth on edge. Yue Tingzhou didn't look back. His eyes were fixed intently on the far end of the corridor. "It'll buy us enough time to reach the courtyard." Before his words faded, a heavy impact sounded from behind. The wooden door shuddered violently, dislodging a shower of dust. The spear shaft wedged in the gap groaned under the strain, bending visibly. The two of them hesitated no longer and sprinted toward the light at the end. The corridor wasn't long, yet it felt as if they would never reach the end. Behind the paper windows of the side rooms, it seemed as though countless eyes were watching, the silence utterly terrifying. Only their own footsteps, ragged breaths, and the increasingly frequent pounding on the door behind them echoed through the passageway. Yue Tingzhou felt his Golden Core spinning frantically within his dantian, a needle-like pain radiating from the cracks. Forcing his internal energy like this only worsened his meridians, which were already on the verge of collapse. But he couldn't stop. Stopping meant death, and it would implicate Zhu Hanli, implicate those allies still fighting for their lives in the main hall. They finally burst out at the corridor's end. The daylight was blinding as they stumbled into a spacious but desolate courtyard. In the center was a dried-up lotus pond, its bottom covered in withered leaves. Directly opposite stood the enormous north gate, already beginning to swing shut.