In the shadows of the roof beam, Yue Tingzhou’s knuckles gripped the crossbeam. The Heart Method of Turtle Breath and Hidden Shadow was suppressed to an extreme slowness, each breath like shifting a step on ice. The steam of tea rose, misting up from the Eight Immortals table below. The celadon cup held *Wuliqing*—a third-grade spiritual tea picked from the thousand-year-old ancient tea tree in the back mountains of Qingcheng. Yet now, it was used to moisten those low, thick-as-honey voices of negotiation. He had a ledger in his sleeve. Wrapped in oilcloth, its pages were so brittle a single touch would stir up dust from years past. It was an old account book brought from the Bing-Numbered secret vault of the Hall of Ten Thousand Mirrors. He recognized the handwriting of the vermillion annotations—it was the hand of Zhu Hanli’s father from his youth. A pear branch seal was pressed in the corner, like a scar branded onto the paper. "Thirty marriage contracts." The voice came from the rosewood table in the southeast corner, muffled as if mixed with tea froth. The Qingcheng Sect elder surnamed Chen tapped his knuckles on the tabletop. With each tap, the spiritual patterns along the table’s edge glowed faintly. "In exchange for ten years of stable spiritual veins." The middleman sitting opposite him had his sleeves gathered, the cuffs embroidered with dark golden fretwork patterns. It was the mark of the inner hall of the Canal Alliance. Yue Tingzhou’s breathing did not falter. But he heard his own heartbeat pounding against his eardrums—once, twice, like a trapped beast sharpening its claws at the bottom of a cage. According to the law, this private trading of sect disciples’ marriage contracts already violated Article Seven of the *Jianghu Alliance Covenant*. Based on the evidence, this ledger in his sleeve was enough to strip the Ten Thousand Mirrors Escort Agency of three layers of skin in a public hearing. Yet he did not move. A spiritual sense, like quicksilver, was seeping over from behind the corridor pillar in the northwest corner of the tea gathering. The sensation was icy, viscous, crawling up along the gaps in the roof beams, sifting through every shadow inch by inch. The Wind Listener under Huo Qingya’s command had a cultivation level of at least mid-stage Diewen, specializing in detection-type techniques. Yue Tingzhou lowered his eyelids slightly. He saw Zhu Hanli’s back below, standing by the west window. She held a palm-sized bronze mirror in her hand, its surface tilted toward the old locust tree outside the window—the Mirror Flower, Water Moon technique was in effect. The tree’s shadow swayed faintly under the moonlight, creating the illusion of a figure flitting past. This was her assigned cover. Elder Chen’s teacup was filled again. "Thirty is not enough," the middleman finally spoke, his voice like sandpaper grinding over slate. "The spiritual vein tremors this year are worse than expected. The main vein in Qingcheng’s back mountains already cracked at three array nodes last month." "Then forty." "Forty marriage contracts, in exchange for twelve years of vein stability." The middleman paused. "But the list must be screened by us. Those with a compatibility rate below seventy percent will not be accepted." "Deal." Two words, lightly dropped into the steam of tea. Yue Tingzhou’s fingernails dug into the flesh of his palm. He counted the rhythm of that spiritual sense sweeping past—one cycle every three breaths, each time it probed to the third tenon on the eastern side of the beam, it would hesitate for half a beat. That was a spiritual power discontinuity caused by an old injury. It could be exploited. But he could not move now. Because Elder Chen added another sentence: "What about Ten Thousand Mirrors… has the old account been cleaned up?" The middleman laughed, a short, abrupt sound. "Zhu Wanshan burned most of it before he died. The remaining scraps are being haggled over by that aunt of his family. Rest assured, no one will overturn this mess at the public hearing." The ledger in Yue Tingzhou’s sleeve suddenly felt scalding hot. He remembered last night in the secret vault, Zhu Hanli’s pale face as she stared at the pile of ashes. She had said, "The escort agency cannot fall apart." She had said, "Hundreds of people are waiting to eat." She had not mentioned this Bing-Numbered ledger hidden at the very bottom of the secret compartment, nor the annotations within it—"First trial shipment of the *Mandate of Heaven Transport*, seventeen batches total. All recipients died suddenly Yue Tingzhou stepped out of the tea house alley, the account book in his sleeve pressing against his forearm bone. The moonlight cast the bluestone-paved road in a pale white, like a thin layer of frost. Zhu Hanli followed three steps behind him, her footsteps so light they were almost inaudible. "You heard everything." She suddenly spoke. It wasn't a question. Yue Tingzhou didn't stop walking, only pulling his sleeve tighter. "According to the law, such transactions should be apprehended on the spot." "And then?" Then the Henglü Division would intervene, the Qingcheng Sect would retaliate, the Caohé Alliance would cut off all land and water supply lines. The hundreds of people at the Wan Mirror Escort Bureau would become the first sacrifices in the ensuing purge. Yue Tingzhou's Adam's apple bobbed. He recalled his master Shen Lichuan's iron-like face, the words he always said—"Law as the guiding principle, personal sentiment as the last resort." But now, the law had become a fig leaf for collusion. Every person sitting in that tea house haggling over prices wore the skin of a sect elder or alliance executive. Armed confrontation was futile. Kill one Elder Chen, and ten Elders Zhang and Li would take his place. Overturn one table of deals, and a hundred, a thousand more would continue in darker places. This wasn't the evil of a single individual; it was the entire martial world's tacit silence—exchanging the lives of some for the spiritual vein stability of others. "To the City God Temple." Yue Tingzhou said. Zhu Hanli's breath hitched for a moment. "Now?" "Now." He needed to reveal that account book. He needed to see the look in her eyes when she faced her father's handwriting. He needed to know if this alliance, born from political marriage matchmaking, tangled with schemes and survival, could withstand the weight of the truth. Under the moonlight, his shadow stretched long. Like a crack in the ground. The ruins of the City God Temple resembled the ribs of a giant beast under the moonlight. Wind poured in through the collapsed rear wall, sweeping up dried leaves and incense ash from the ground. Yue Tingzhou stopped in the shadow of the deity statue. Half the clay-sculpted City God's face had peeled away, revealing the darkened straw beneath. He turned, retrieving an oilcloth bundle from his robe. "What is this?" Zhu Hanli's voice was soft. Yue Tingzhou didn't answer. His movements were slow as he unwrapped the oilcloth, one layer, then another. The fine dust of brittle paper floated up in the moonlight like tiny fireflies. Finally revealed was a thread-bound booklet, the ink characters on its cover faded to a brownish hue—"Wanjinglou B-Type · Transport Record." "I found it in the hidden compartment at the very back of the secret vault," he said. "Pressed beneath thirty-year-old escort documents." Zhu Hanli's fingers curled slightly. Yue Tingzhou opened the booklet. The paper emitted a faint tearing sound, like the trembling of a butterfly's wing. He flipped to a middle page, where moonlight happened to leak through a hole in the broken temple roof, illuminating the vermilion annotations. "Look here." His fingertip stopped beside a line of small characters at the page margin. Zhu Hanli took two steps closer. Her shadow covered half the page. That line was written with an extremely fine wolf-hair brush, the strokes vigorous and sharp, the turns carrying the unique sharpness of youth: "Third month, seventh day of the Bingyin Year, transporting three crates of 'Mandate of Heaven Initial Test Volumes,' to the rear cliffs of Qingcheng Mountain. Recipient: Qingcheng Sect Internal Affairs Hall. Note: This shipment not recorded in public accounts, uses separate 'Pear Branch' secret route." At the page's bottom was a vermilion seal imprint. The seal pattern was a slanting pear branch, with three half-opened flowers at its tip—the "Pear Branch Seal" uniquely created by Zhu Hanli's second grand-uncle. In all the world, only he knew how to carve this pattern. The seal paste was mixed with gold powder; even after thirty years, it still emitted an extremely faint glimmer under the moonlight. Zhu Hanli's breathing stopped. "Look at this page." Yue Tingzhou's voice was like water flowing beneath ice, terrifyingly steady. He turned the page. This page had more annotations. The ink shades varied, clearly not written at one time. The earliest note was still in that vigorous hand: "Initial Test Volumes transport completed. Qingcheng Sect paid 'Spiritual Vein Stability Fee' three hundred spirit stones. Thirty percent commission deducted. Remaining two hundred ten spirit stones entered into 'Pear Branch Account.'" A few lines below, the handwriting Yue Tingzhou unfolded that half-yellowed waybill stub. The edges of the paper had already become brittle, showing a texture like withered leaves under the moonlight. It bore the same "Pear Branch Seal," the ink seeping into the paper fibers, its veins clearly discernible. And beside it, that line of cursive signature—Zhu Wanshan's handwriting from his youth, the final stroke habitually flicking upward, sharp as a blade. "There are seventeen such stubs in the secret vault." Yue Tingzhou's voice was exceptionally clear in the ruined temple, each word as if weighed on a scale. "Corresponding to seventeen shipments. The recipients were all rising local talents who died suddenly within the next three years, the cause of death uniformly 'cultivation deviation, meridian rupture.'" He gently placed the stub beside the open account book. The two items lay side by side in the slanted moonlight. The brittle edges of the paper curled slightly, trembling gently with the night wind blowing in from outside the temple, raising fine dust that danced in the column of light. Zhu Hanli stared at those characters, not blinking, her pupils constricted to pinpoints under the moonlight. The fingers inside her sleeve tightened unconsciously, nails digging into her palm, sending a faint, sharp pain. "Why show this only now?" she asked. Her voice was flat, like a stagnant pool of dead water, without a single ripple. "Because until now, I still hoped it was false." Yue Tingzhou raised his eyes, his gaze landing on her face like a weight. "I hoped someone had forged these, hoped the hidden compartment in the vault was someone else's scheme. It wasn't until tonight, hearing the Qingcheng Sect elder say with my own ears, 'Thirty marriage contracts, in exchange for ten years of stable spiritual veins'—that I understood. This isn't the evil of one person." He took half a step forward. The moonlight stretched his shadow, covering the account book. "This is a transaction. Using the lifeblood foundations of some, to exchange for the spiritual vein stability of others. Your Zhu family was responsible for transport and circulation, the Qingcheng Sect for testing and selection, other sects tacitly permitted or even participated for a share. The entire jianghu is in this chain. Everyone's hands are stained with blood. Some have it on their fingertips, some in the ink stains of their ledgers." Zhu Hanli's lips moved. She wanted to say something, but her throat felt blocked. Her hand finally fell, fingertips touching her father's line, 「This shipment bears sin.」 The paper felt rough and cold, the indented texture of the ink strokes clearly discernible under her fingertip, every turn and flourish of the brush familiar enough to make her heart tremble. It was real. Those habitual pauses, those details only family would know—her father always liked to lightly tap twice at the end of a sentence when writing, as if hesitating whether to continue. Every annotation on this page had those two small dots at the end of the sentence, like silent sighs. Her shoulders slumped a little. A very slight amount, but Yue Tingzhou saw it. He saw her bite her lower lip, a faint metallic tang seeping between her teeth; saw her eyes begin to redden, yet she forcefully held back the tears; saw her other hand clenching her sleeve cuff, knuckles stretched white, veins faintly bulging under the moonlight. "I didn't know." She finally spoke, her voice hoarse as if scraped by sandpaper. "Father never mentioned it... In the months before he died, he would always wake up in the middle of the night, sit in his study, and stare blankly at the account books. I asked him. He said it was old debts of the escort agency, told me not to worry." She raised her hand, roughly wiping her eyes with the back of it, the motion crude as if trying to scrub away something dirty. "When he died, he was still clutching an account book in his hand. I thought it was an ordinary shipping list. Now, thinking back... it must have been a Bing-class one too." The wind blew in again, rustling the account book pages as it flipped one over. The moonlight shifted on that page, illuminating another annotation: 「Saw another test subject today, not yet twenty-eight, eyes already vacant. I asked the escorting disciple. Answered, 'Voluntary.' Yet their wrists bore binding marks, old and new overlapping.」 Zhu Hanli's breathing suddenly became ragged. She turned abruptly, her back to the account book, shoulders heaving violently. In the ruined temple, only the sound of the wind and her suppressed, choked gasps remained, like the low growl of a wounded, trapped beast. Yue Tingzhou stood where he was, unmoving. His hand inside his sleeve clutched the Heng Lü Si command token, the cold copper edges pressing into the flesh "The ledger is in my hands," he said. "I can hand it over to the Heng Lü Si, making the Zhu family the first target for public censure. Or...I can burn it." Zhu Hanli whirled back around. Her eyes were bloodshot, but her gaze was sharp as a newly honed blade. "Burn it? And what about these lives? Those test subjects, those 'volunteers'—their accounts will just be settled like that?" "If you don't burn it, you die. And so do the hundreds of people in the Ten Thousand Mirrors Escort Bureau." Yue Tingzhou's voice remained calm, calm to the point of coldness. "The Qingcheng Sect will be the first to denounce the Zhu family as the mastermind. The other sects will follow suit, dumping all the filth on you. When that happens, no one will investigate the testing chain. Everyone will just be busy carving up what's left of the Ten Thousand Mirrors Escort Bureau—its assets, its spirit vein quotas, its transport routes." He paused. Moonlight illuminated his profile, outlining a rigid, cold silhouette. "Your father wrote in his notes, 'This shipment carries a curse.' But he never dared expose it, even to his death. Why? Because he knew the price of exposure would be the entire Zhu family buried with him. And the true masterminds would still be sitting in their elegant tea rooms, trading the life force of the next batch of 'volunteers' for the stability of their own cultivation." Zhu Hanli stared at him. Moonlight fell on her face, illuminating the tear tracks that hadn't dried yet, and also illuminating something gradually coalescing in her eyes—not anger, not sorrow, but something colder, harder, almost desperate in its resolve. "So your suggestion is that I follow his example, hide the ledger, and pretend nothing ever happened?" "I'm asking you," Yue Tingzhou said. "The ledger is in my hands, but you are of the Zhu family. You have the right to decide its fate." He threw the question back to her, like weighing a piece of scalding iron. This was the final test. He wanted to see what she would choose—to protect her family's century-old foundation, or to tear open this festering wound. He wanted to know if this fragile alliance, born from calculations of interest, could survive under the weight of the truth. Zhu Hanli didn't answer immediately. She walked over to the ledger, crouched down, and began turning the brittle pages one by one with her fingers. Moonlight flowed over the characters with her movements, illuminating annotation after annotation, one "Pear Branch Seal" after another. Her movements were slow, her fingertips brushing the paper as gently as if caressing a tombstone. The fine dust stirred up by the turning pages danced in the column of light, settling on the back of her hand, bringing a faint, tickling sensation. When she reached the last page, she stopped. In the corner of that page was a line of extremely small characters, the ink so faint it was almost illegible: "If one day someone sees this ledger, I hope they know: I refused the shipment three times, but was overruled each time by the Elder Council. My strength is meager. I can only record this here—if this chain is not broken, the Jianghu will surely fall." It was her father's handwriting. The strokes trembled, the ink was pale, as if written with his last ounce of strength. Zhu Hanli pressed her fingertip to that line of text. She held it there for a long time. She could feel the texture of the paper, the indentation of the ink, feel the powerlessness and unwillingness that must have flowed from her father's fingertips as he wrote those words. Then she lifted her head and looked at Yue Tingzhou. "If I choose to burn it," she said, "what would you think of me?" Yue Tingzhou met her gaze. "I would understand. Self-preservation is instinct. Everyone in the Jianghu does it." "And if I choose to make it public?" "Then you and I will become enemies of the entire Jianghu. The Ten Thousand Mirrors Escort Bureau will be the first to be torn apart. Our names will be carved onto the public enemy list. We probably wouldn't live to see the end of the next Hundred Sects Assembly." Zhu Hanli smiled. It was a faint smile, the corner of her mouth lifting, but there was no trace of mirth in her eyes—only cold, resolute determination. "My father recorded it for thirty years, and never dared to expose it, even to his death," she said, her voice echoing in the ruined temple. "If I also choose to hide it, then this debt of sin will be passed to the next generation, and the next. Someday, a generation will have He recalled the way she had shielded him in the secret vault, spiritual energy coalescing into a blade in her palm. He remembered her gaze when she said, "The betrothal is elevated to an alliance," sharp as a drawn sword. And tonight, outside the tea gathering, the heavy understanding in her low voice when she asked, "And then?"—as if she had already seen the end of the road. "I need to think it over," he finally said. Before his words had fully faded, hurried footsteps suddenly sounded outside the temple. More than one person. Their steps were light but astonishingly fast, closing in on the City God Temple from three directions. One of the auras Yue Tingzhou recognized well—Lu Jianwei, her spiritual energy fluctuations carried the gentle, rhythmic quality unique to medical cultivators. Another had the distinctive footfall of a mountain dweller, landing with varying weight, which should be Shamashi. The third... The third set of footsteps was extremely heavy. With each step, the gravel on the ground trembled slightly, and the spiritual energy fluctuations rolled like muffled thunder. Yue Tingzhou and Zhu Hanli turned simultaneously to look at the temple door. The moonlight cast the path outside bone-white. At the end of the road, three dark figures were rapidly approaching. The one in front was Lu Jianwei, her white coat drifting like a ghostly shadow in the night, her sleeves stained with dark blotches. In the middle was Shamashi, holding a short bow, the string taut. At the back— was a tall man. Dressed in black martial attire, he carried a person slung over his shoulder. The person's limbs hung limp, swaying with the motion of the run. The moonlight illuminated a deathly pale face, a trail of blood winding down from the corner of the mouth, stark and shocking in the darkness. It was Narisu. Lu Jianwei was the first to rush through the temple door. Before her breath had even steadied, she spoke urgently, her voice carrying an unusual panic: "Frost Falcon Guards have found our hiding place! Narisu took an arrow covering our breakout—it was laced with Corrupted Meridian poison. I've temporarily sealed his heart meridian, but the poison has already invaded the Hand Shaoyin meridian. He won't last more than an—" She was the first to rush through the temple door, her breath not yet even as she spoke urgently: "Frost Falcon Guards have found our hiding place. Five streets away, they're closing in on this location." Behind her, Shamashi already had her short bow braced on her arm, the arrowhead gleaming coldly in the moonlight. She didn't speak, just tilted her head toward the outside—meaning *go, now*. Yue Tingzhou didn't move. He looked down at the ledger in his hands. The oilcloth wrapping had come loose, the yellowed pages trembling slightly in the night wind like dying moths. Zhu Hanli still knelt on the tattered prayer mat, her fingers digging hard into the cracks between the blue bricks, her knuckles pale to the point of bluish. She wasn't looking at anyone, only staring at the patch of moonlight on the ground—fine dust from the ledger floated within it. "We can't leave," Yue Tingzhou said. His voice was very calm, as if commenting on the weather. Lu Jianwei was stunned. "What?" "If Huo Qingya's 'Wind Listeners' could track us to the hideout, they can track us here," Yue Tingzhou closed the ledger; the paper made a crisp, dry-leaf sound. "We run, they chase. We run again, they chase again. Until we collapse from exhaustion, or are surrounded and killed in the next alley." He raised his eyes, his gaze sweeping over everyone in the temple. Moonlight poured down from the broken hole above his head, illuminating one half of his body stark white, the other half sinking into deep shadow. The heavy chill of the Discipline Commander's token at his waist seeped through the fabric of his clothes, like a piece of ice pressed against his ribs. "Half an incense stick's time," Shamashi's voice was hard, carrying the distinctive cadence of the Yi dialect. "At most half an incense stick, the first wave of arrows will fly in." Yue Tingzhou's fingers brushed over the ledger's cover. The paper felt cold, fragile, yet heavy as a thousand pounds. He could feel the "Law Qi" he had maintained in his dantian for many years trembling faintly—it was the foundation of the Discipline Division's cultivation method, emphasizing uprightness, fairness, and adherence to rules. And now, this breath of qi was fracturing inch by inch along with the evidence of crime about to be erased beneath his fingertips. Burn it, or reveal it? Protect himself, or gamble everything? The questions pierced his consciousness like ice spikes. But the answer was She pushed herself up from the blue bricks, her movements slow, as if she had exhausted all her strength. Moonlight fell on the side of her face, revealing tiny specks of dust clinging to her eyelashes. She did not look at the ledger in Yue Tingzhou’s hand, but rather at his waist—where the shape of a token was faintly visible beneath his robe. “Lord Yue.” She spoke, her voice hoarse yet unusually clear. “According to the rules of the Henglu Division, what is the punishment for privately destroying evidence?” Yue Tingzhou’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Stripped of rank, crippled of cultivation, expelled from the sect.” He heard his own voice, as if it came from somewhere far away. “If the evidence involves a major case, it is considered harboring a criminal, punishable by… summary execution.” “Summary execution.” Zhu Hanli repeated the words, then suddenly smiled. The smile was faint, yet it cut like a blade across ice, leaving a clear mark. “Then, Lord Yue, are you waiting for them to come in and ‘execute’ you, or…” She paused, her gaze returning to the ledger in his hand. “…or are you giving yourself a reason to ‘execute’ yourself?” Her words fell, and the temple fell into a deathly silence. Only the wind remained, wailing without end. Yue Tingzhou felt cold sweat seeping from his palm, dampening the edge of the ledger. The “Law Qi” in his dantian trembled even more violently, almost on the verge of breaking through the constraints of his meridians—a sign of backlash from his cultivation method. If he circulated his energy now, this breath would be like a blade against the current, wounding himself first, then others. But he did not circulate his energy. He only slowly, deeply, drew in a breath, pulling into his lungs the mingled scents of scorched earth and mildew in the night wind, along with the faint, elusive scent of blood drifting from afar. Then, he looked at Lu Jianwei. “Miss Lu, do you have a fire striker on you?” Lu Jianwei’s pupils contracted slightly. She stared at Yue Tingzhou for two breaths before fishing out a slender copper tube from her sleeve and tossing it over. Yue Tingzhou caught it. The copper tube was cold to the touch. He pushed open the cap with his thumb and gave it a light flick. *Scratch.* A small flame sprang up, flickering in the darkness, casting his face in shifting light and shadow. The firelight reflected in his eyes, where something was shattering, collapsing, and then, amidst the ashes, slowly coalescing into something harder, more resolute. He raised the flame, bringing it close to the ledger. The edges of the paper began to curl and blacken under the heat. “Yue Tingzhou.” Zhu Hanli suddenly called his name—not “Lord Yue,” but his full name. Her voice was soft, yet it struck his heart like a hammer. “Think carefully. Once this fire is lit, you… can never go back.” Yue Tingzhou’s hand was steady. The flame had already licked the pages. The bitter scent of burning paper spread through the air. He lifted his gaze, looking past the ruined temple to the streets and alleys swallowed by the night. The footsteps of the Frost Falcon Guards were drawing closer; he could almost hear their hushed commands. The encirclement was tightening, like a noose around his neck. Then, he turned his gaze back, meeting Zhu Hanli’s eyes. “I could never go back.” He said. His voice was soft, yet each word was like a nail driven into every inch of brick and stone in this ruined temple. “From the moment I chose to protect you and escape from the secret vault… Yue Tingzhou of the Henglu Division was already dead.” The moment his words fell, his wrist lowered. The flame completely engulfed the ledger. Lu Jianwei’s face still bore the flush from their earlier flight. Shama Ashi’s bowstring was taut, her muscles coiled and ready. Zhu Hanli… she finally raised her head, her eyes rimmed red, but she did not cry. Something burned in those eyes—not anger, not sorrow, but something hotter, tempered by fire, a resolute determination. “What now?” Lu Jianwei’s voice was tight. “Wait for death?” “No.” Yue Tingzhou said. He turned and walked to the half-collapsed statue of the City God in the temple. The statue’s head was long gone, leaving only half a body, its painted lacquer peeling away to reveal the cracked clay beneath. He placed the ledger on the offering table—a table missing one leg, propped up with bricks. Then, he took something out from his robe. Lu Jianwei The laughter was soft, rolling up from deep in his throat, tinged with a rasp of self-mockery. He thought of the words he’d overheard from the rafters at the Hundred Schools Tea Gathering. He recalled the utterly matter-of-fact tone of the Qingcheng Sect elder saying, “Thirty marriage contracts, in exchange for ten years of stable spiritual veins.” He remembered the annotations by Zhu Wanshan in the ledger. He saw again Xie Wuchen’s placid, water-like face projected through the token as he announced the stripping of all his titles and positions. Legal principles? He clenched the token. His knuckles whitened with the force, the sharp edges of the dark iron biting into his palm, sending a clear, sharp pain. Then he let go. The token clattered onto the offering table, lying side by side with that old ledger. “Physician Lu,” Yue Tingzhou said, “do you have fire?” Lu Jianwei stared at him, momentarily stunned. Shamashi moved first—she pulled a flat iron case from the pouch at her waist, opened it. Inside lay three yellow paper talismans. On them, twisted patterns were drawn in cinnabar, with faint red light swirling deep within the lines. “True Fire Talismans,” Shamashi said, handing the case over. “For burning things. They ignite with a touch, and cannot be extinguished.” Yue Tingzhou took one. The talisman paper was thin, slightly warm to the touch. He could feel the spiritual power sealed within pulsing slowly, like a tiny heart. He looked at Zhu Hanli. Zhu Hanli was also looking at him. Their gazes collided in the air—no words, no accusations, no explanations. Just that collision. Then Zhu Hanli pushed herself up from the ground. Her movements were slow, her knees trembling slightly, but she stood upright. She walked to the offering table and stood shoulder to shoulder with Yue Tingzhou. “Made up your mind?” she asked. Her voice was terribly hoarse. Yue Tingzhou didn’t answer. He pinched the True Fire Talisman, his fingertips brushing its edge. Then he raised his hand—the talisman aimed at the open ledger. “Wait,” Zhu Hanli said. Yue Tingzhou’s hand stopped mid-air. Zhu Hanli took a deep breath. She reached out, flipped through the ledger, and found the page with her father’s annotation. The paper was brittle and yellow, the ink blurred. Zhu Wanshan’s sharp, forceful running script was clearly visible in the moonlight: *Seventeenth day of the third month, Bingxu Year. Three batches of test subjects for the Celestial Mandate Division, totaling twenty-seven individuals. Escort fee settled. Enter accounts on this basis.* She stared at that line for three breaths. Then she lifted her hand—*riiiip—* She tore that page out. The motion was decisive. The sound of tearing paper was piercingly sharp in the silent temple. Lu Jianwei gasped sharply. Shamashi’s bowstring tightened another fraction. Yue Tingzhou didn’t move, just watched her. Zhu Hanli folded the torn page in half, then in half again, folding it into a small square, and tucked it into the inner pocket of her robe, close to her body. Having done this, she raised her eyes to meet Yue Tingzhou’s gaze. “The ledger can be burned,” she said. “But I must remember. Remember what the Zhu family has done, what debts it owes.” She paused, her voice even hoarser: “And remember… exactly how my father died.” Yue Tingzhou nodded. That was enough. This was enough. He pinched the True Fire Talisman, his fingertips rubbing together—a spot of golden-red light ignited at the talisman’s edge. That point of light rapidly spread; in the blink of an eye, the entire talisman was ablaze. The flames were not the usual orange-yellow, but a bluish-white, the core nearly transparent. They burned with extreme quiet, almost no sound at all. Yue Tingzhou released his hand. The burning talisman drifted down, landing on the open ledger. *Hiss…* The moment the bluish-white flames licked the paper, the ledger shuddered violently—not from wind, but because all the old ink sealed within the pages, those cinnabar annotations, those invisible talismanic imprints, were ignited by the True Fire. The ink twisted, blackened, carbonized in the flames. The talismanic patterns burst into tiny sparks. The pages curled and shriveled, their edges rapidly charring black. The firelight illuminated the offering table, the half-collapsed statue, and the faces of the four people. Lu Jianwei pressed his lips tightly together, his eyes fixed unblinkingly on the flames. Shamashi’s "From this day forth," he said, "Yue Tingzhou, styled Zhige, defects from the Department of Balance and Law, and severs himself from the Mandate Register system. The token I held is here, the position I bore is here, the laws and discipline I relied upon—all are here." He pointed to the dark iron token on the offering table. The flames were blazing fiercely, the token gleaming coldly in the firelight, the characters "Balance and Law" clearly and sharply visible upon it. "I am no longer an enforcer of the law," Yue Tingzhou continued. "I am a breaker of the law. Since the Mandate Register uses marriage contracts to screen, harvest, and orchestrate the masses, I will weave a net—a net beyond its control, to allow wandering cultivators to access spirit vein illumination, to allow those of humble origins to catch their breath, to allow those deceived into 'high compatibility' matches… to emerge alive." He paused, turning to Lu Jianwei and Shamashi. "This net is called the 'Commonfolk Spirit Vein Illumination Network.' Right now, it has nothing: no territory, no resources, no legitimacy. It has only the four of us, and an account book that is currently burning to ash." "Are you willing to join this net?" For a moment, the temple was silent. Only the soft crackle of the flames, and the mournful wail of the night wind through the broken walls. Lu Jianwei smiled first. It was a faint smile, carrying the weariness unique to a physician who has seen through life and death. "I've always been a wandering physician. A wandering physician is a wandering physician anywhere, with or without a net." She paused, her voice turning serious. "But if you're establishing illumination points, count me in. My mother back then… died from a misdiagnosis because she couldn't afford the sect's fee." Shamashi did not smile. She stowed her short bow and fished something else from her leather pouch—a cord knot woven from animal sinew and feathers, its color a dark red, as if soaked in blood. "A 'Blood Oath Knot' from Yi lands," she said, placing the knot on the offering table beside the burning account book. "Wearing this means we are sworn brothers and sisters, sharing life and death. My sister was deceived by a marriage contract; three months later, she was left a wreck. I want revenge, and I want to ensure the other girls in the mountains are not deceived again." She looked at Yue Tingzhou, her gaze like a fire-tempered blade. "You weave the net, I follow you." Yue Tingzhou nodded. Then he looked at Zhu Hanli. Zhu Hanli was not looking at him. Her eyes were fixed on the shrinking flames—the account book was almost completely burned, only the last stack of pages stubbornly curling and carbonizing. The blue-white firelight illuminated her profile, her eyelashes casting slender shadows on her cheeks. Suddenly, she reached into her bosom and took something out. It was a small silver abacus, only palm-sized. Its beads were polished to a shine, and the edges of its frame were carved with intricate interlocking vine patterns—the emblem of the Myriad Mirror Escort Agency. She had a quirk of flipping the beads backwards when she was thinking. Now, she raised the abacus and held it above the flames. "Zhu Hanli," she began, her voice still hoarse but steady, "young mistress of the Myriad Mirror Escort Agency, known in the jianghu as 'Mistress Li.'" She paused, enunciating each word clearly. "From this day forth, the Myriad Mirror Escort Agency withdraws from the Mandate Register's transport roster and will no longer accept any escort business related to marriage contract testing or sample transportation. All branches of the agency are open to the 'Commonfolk Spirit Vein Illumination Network'—as waystations, as liaison points, as places for healing. Escorts may stay or leave as they wish; severance pay will be settled at triple the rate." Her fingers loosened. The small silver abacus fell into the flames. A soft *clack*. Silver does not burn in fire, but the intense heat quickly blackened and warped the abacus frame, the beads glowing red-hot within the flames. Zhu Hanli watched it melt, watched the beads she had flipped countless times lose their shapes one by one, watched the agency's emblem twist into an unrecognizable lump within the fire. "My father passed this down to me," she said softly. "On his deathbed… he pushed this abacus into my hands and said, 'Hanli, you must keep the agency's accounts clear.'" She lifted her gaze. Her eyes were still red, but there were no tears. "Now I have kept them clear." The flames finally dwind They would issue the verdict. They would pass judgment. They would mobilize every resource to strangle the "People's Pulse Network" in its cradle. Yue Tingzhou tightened his grip on the bronze buckle. Hot. "Let's go," he said. "Before the public debate, there's one more thing we must do." "What?" Lu Jianwei asked. Yue Tingzhou didn't answer. He stepped out of the temple gate. The night wind met him, carrying the chill of early autumn and the faint clamor of the distant market. Zhu Hanli followed, Shama Ashi brought up the rear, and Lu Jianwei walked in the middle. The four figures vanished into the night. The ruined temple was left empty. On the altar table, the pile of ashes was given one final stir by the wind, scattering completely. The dark iron command token lay alone on the table. Moonlight fell upon the characters for "Impartial Law," cold and stark, like a tombstone. In the distance, within the shadow of a rooftop. Huo Qingya withdrew his divine sense. He had been "watching" all along. Watching Yue Tingzhou burn the register. Watching Zhu Hanli cast aside the abacus. Watching those four walk out the temple gate. Having seen it all, the corner of his mouth lifted in an icy smile. The smile was shallow, gone in an instant. He turned and leapt silently from the roof ridge, his black robe billowing like crow feathers in the night. Upon landing, he made a gesture towards the shadows—three dark figures immediately flashed out, dropping to one knee. "Orders," Huo Qingya said. "The day of the public debate, the Ancient Mirror Platform. All 'Wind Listeners' to their posts. All 'Frost Falcon Guards' on standby." He paused, his voice growing colder. "Since Yue Tingzhou has burned the register and sworn his oath, he is no longer a member of the Impartial Law Department. At tomorrow's public debate... show no mercy." The shadowy figures chorused, "Yes!" Huo Qingya lifted his head, looking towards the direction of the Ancient Mirror Platform. Deep in the night, the outline of that high platform was faintly visible, like a crouching beast. He recalled Xie Wuchen's instructions this morning: "Qingya, the public debate is the final courtesy. If they insist on tearing off the pretense... then tear it." So be it. Let it be torn. Huo Qingya turned and disappeared into the depths of the alleyway. The night was still long. But dawn was near.