The old beggar, his face and nose bruised, huddled in the corner of the yamen. His small eyes, filled with hatred and misery, stared at the corpse beneath the distant notice board.

He had previously attempted to retrieve his grandson but failed. Instead, the yamen runners had beaten him, leaving him unable to stand.

"What the young man said yesterday was right. I'm old, and I don't want to deceive anyone..." The old beggar’s bitter smile deepened.

As expected, the government office faced south—welcoming the wealthy and powerful but blind to the cries of the poor. If he had known the consequences, he would never have reported the incident to the authorities.

He should have found a quiet place to dig a grave and bury his grandson. At least then, the boy could have rested in peace.

But instead, the grandson's body was taken away, exposed under the relentless sun. The kind benefactor who had helped him had been falsely accused as a cannibal, and even the two ingots of silver given to him had been rendered useless.

Isn’t good supposed to be rewarded with good, and evil punished with evil?

God was so unfair...

Sighing, the old beggar watched as some officials emerged from the yamen. They hung a white cloth on its signboard and replaced the lanterns with white ones marked with the character "甸."

The yamen was preparing for a funeral—for the county magistrate's son.

Hearing this, the old beggar’s self-deprecating smile softened into something genuine, almost triumphant.

"Hehe, a fitting end..." he muttered under his breath.

......

Today, the Changqing City County Magistrate's Office no longer carried its usual air of solemn dignity. Servants scurried about with tense expressions, their movements brisk and purposeful.

A mourning tent had been erected in the backyard of the government office. White mourning banners adorned every corner, even inside the courtroom. The scene exuded a heavy atmosphere of grief, unusual for a place such as the yamen, which was typically reserved for matters of governance. Yet, as with many other rules in Yan State, Zhao Shuanghe paid no heed to tradition.

At the center of the mourning tent stood an exquisite nanmu coffin, polished to a gleaming finish. Surrounding it were Changqing City's most affluent and influential figures, draped in fine silk garments that signaled their status. Each guest bore a look of feigned sorrow as they murmured their condolences.

The county magistrate’s son, Zhao Jing, had passed away, and attendance at the funeral was a matter of necessity for the city's elite. To ignore such an event risked drawing Zhao Shuanghe's ire—a consequence no one wished to face, given the magistrate’s reputation for vindictiveness and cruelty.

"Things change so quickly," one guest lamented, his voice tinged with faux melancholy. "Who could have imagined Mr. Zhao would pass so suddenly?"

"Such a talented young man," another chimed in. "He was a shining star, taken too soon—God must have been jealous of his brilliance!"

"This loss is not just the magistrate’s to bear but a tragedy for all of Changqing County. And that wretched Chen Zhou! What he did is unforgivable."

......

Their voices carried a symphony of sorrow, yet beneath the surface, many harbored quiet satisfaction. For some, Zhao Jing’s passing was a bittersweet relief—his misdeeds had left lasting scars, particularly among the women of prominent households. 

Others were eager to seize the opportunity presented by the fall of the Han Mansion, a once-powerful estate now ripe for division among the city's elite. The thought of newfound wealth was enough to mask any genuine grief.

In the dim recesses of the mourning tent, Zhao Shuanghe sat slumped in his chair, a shadow of the authoritative figure he had once been. His face was pallid, his shoulders drooped, and his eyes betrayed the weight of his loss. In the span of days, he seemed to have aged a decade.

One by one, guests approached to offer their condolences, their words hollow and formulaic.

"Master Zhao, you must take heart," one said. "The county needs you now more than ever."

"Yes, think of the people, sir," another added. "Without you, what would become of Changqing County?"

......

But Zhao Shuanghe barely acknowledged their words. He remained silent, his gaze fixed on some distant point, his indifference leaving the flatterers uneasy.

Shang Wenshu stood silently nearby, his head wrapped in a white mourning cloth. His sharp eyes betrayed a flicker of disappointment as he observed Zhao Shuanghe’s lifeless demeanor. Why doesn’t the old man lash out anymore? he mused bitterly. He was so fierce with the pen holder earlier—why has that fury vanished?

Yet Shang quickly masked his discontent, bowing his head as he approached Zhao Shuanghe. “Sir,” he whispered softly, “the time has come.”

"Hmm..." Zhao Shuanghe rose slowly, his movements stiff and heavy. Clearing his throat, he addressed the gathering with a sharp “Ahem,” cutting through the low murmur of conversation. The room fell silent at once.

All eyes turned to the magistrate. Among them was a mixture of envy, fear, and resentment, but it was awe that dominated. Even in his grief-stricken state, Zhao Shuanghe’s authority was undeniable.

Drawing a manuscript from his sleeve, Zhao Shuanghe unfolded the paper with trembling hands and began to read the eulogy aloud:

"My son Zhao Jing, today you return to heaven and earth. As your father, I am heartbroken and shed countless tears..."

"You were brilliant from your youth, kind to others, loyal and righteous. Yet, a villain’s treachery has brought your life to an unjust end..."

......

At the gate of the government office, an old beggar collapsed in a corner. Suddenly, a panicked cry broke through the heavy silence. The beggar raised his head just in time to see a strange creature rushing toward the yamen.

The creature resembled a cat, but half of its body was scorched and burned. Its terrifying appearance sent the gatekeepers scrambling in fear as it stormed through the gates into the courtyard.

The beggar, still in shock, then noticed a radiant bird descending from the sky. Its feathers shimmered with a golden glow and phoenix patterns. Atop the bird stood a majestic young man, his presence otherworldly. In his hand, he held a golden lightning spear crackling with immense power, like the weapon of a god.

Inside the government office, the funeral had reached its peak. Guests sobbed uncontrollably, and some cried aloud, their grief filling the air. Zhao Shuanghe, overwhelmed with emotion, struggled to finish the eulogy, his voice breaking:

"You are my father's memory and thoughts... Rest in peace, my son..."

But before his voice could fade, a loud, commanding roar came from the heavens:

"Your son will not rest in peace!"

The crowd froze, their eyes wide with shock and fear. Before anyone could react, the half-burned cat demon stumbled into the courtyard, her face twisted in terror. She scanned the room frantically before shouting:

"Save me, Zhao Shuanghe! Save me!"

In an instant, a golden lightning spear descended from the heavens with unstoppable force, striking the cat demon dead. The explosion rattled the ground, leaving the crowd in stunned silence as the light of judgment faded.

Boom!!!