The Defiler

"...Defiling the national emblem?"

Ryuk's voice sounded like a dull knife scraping bone. He held an apple core that had shriveled completely and turned black, nearly crumbling to dust. His crimson eyes burned in the gloom, fixed on me without blinking.

"He said you defiled the national emblem? Wow... woooow..." He gave a strange, stifled chuckle, as though some enormous absurdity had caught in his throat. "A guy who kills people by writing their names accuses another guy who kills people by writing their names... of defiling a symbol? That's just... that's the funniest joke I've heard in centuries!"

At last, he couldn't hold it in. He erupted into shrill, grating laughter that nearly blew the roof off, rotten apple crumbs spraying from his gaping mouth.

"Hahahaha! Defiling! He said defiling! Hahahaha!"

I didn't laugh. I didn't move, either.

That final accusation still seemed to echo in my ears, distorted and laced with cold fury.

"Who gave you permission... to defile the national emblem?"

Permission.

That word defined his position more clearly than any threat could. He wasn't some detached "mentor." He was a defender of that system, perhaps even someone who considered himself one of its loyal members. He tolerated my "judgments" perhaps because those targets were themselves parasites within the system, and my existence happened to help him carry out "cleanups" he couldn't conveniently perform himself. But once I touched the symbol that system depended on, once I crossed that invisible line in his mind, his anger became so... real and personal.

Defiling.

In his eyes, perhaps I had always been the "False God" who needed to be guided, restrained, even exploited-a dangerous tool. But now, I had become a defiler.

That meant the nature of the game had changed. He was no longer trying to "coach" or "control" me. He might destroy me at any cost.

An icy thrill burst down my spine, bringing a faint shudder.

Destroy me? You? Mentor?

You haven't even touched the hem of my clothes.

But you've finally stopped hiding behind that electronic mask, so cool and composed, haven't you?

The next target. I had to answer his anger. I had to tell him that what defiled the symbol had never been the ritual, but the core behind it, rotten long ago. I had to tear his hypocrisy apart with a judgment he could no longer condemn by invoking any "rule" or "symbol."

The target had to be an enormous, living, impossible-to-ignore "symbol" himself, someone whose very existence was the greatest defilement of the "national emblem." His death couldn't be an act of atonement. It had to be... exposure. I had to drag that normalized rot, bloody and raw, into the sunlight.

My gaze swept across every stream of information on the screen related to Li Mingyu's death like the most precise scanner. Mourning, shock, another round of promises to "investigate thoroughly"... and, beneath all the uproar, the candidate whose name had swiftly surfaced, the man about to take over the Liu Jianming case from Li Mingyu.

Zhou Huaian. Deputy secretary of the Provincial Political and Legal Affairs Commission. A veteran with a reputation for integrity, widely regarded as a "steadying hand," skilled at "appropriately handling" all manner of thorny issues. He was also... the higher-level "protector" left unmentioned in Li Mingyu's suicide note but obliquely indicated in Sun Ming's email. A substantial portion of all the bribes that flowed to Li Mingyu ultimately went to the "charitable foundation" Secretary Zhou's daughter had established overseas.

A true "big shot." A man who had long since fused himself seamlessly with the "system," an embodiment of some of its "rules."

Going after him would no longer mean challenging the rules, but challenging the people who made them.

His death had to strip away every halo and reveal the ugliest truth beneath.

I walked over to the desk and opened the notebook. A nearly sacred anger held my pen perfectly steady.

[Zhou Huaian]

Cause of death: exposure of the truth. Time: nine o'clock tomorrow morning, at the opening of the emergency task force meeting he would chair on the Liu Jianming case. Cause of death: piercing his own eardrums with the red pen provided at the venue, while continuing to write. Before dying, he must publicly overturn the meeting's predetermined line, deny that the Liu Jianming case had any "protectors," then describe in detail how he received illicit payments through his daughter's foundation and personally directed Li Mingyu to mislead the investigation. Finally, he must write the foundation's account details and the names of everyone who handled the transactions on the meeting minutes in blood and ink.

Place: the conference room. Time: a work meeting. Method: a pen. Content: the meeting minutes.

Every element fell within the rules on which his survival depended.

Yet every element ground those rules into dust.

Nine o'clock the next morning.

Conference Room Three in the Provincial Party Committee building.

Zhou Huaian sat at the head of the table and tapped the microphone, his expression grave. He was preparing to deliver an important speech on "Li Mingyu's disciplinary violations and criminal offenses," to steady everyone's nerves and bring their thinking into line.

"Comrades, we must reflect deeply on Li Mingyu's case, but we must also trust the organization and not be misled by outside rumors. This case..."

His words abruptly stopped.

His face turned deathly pale in an instant, his pupils dilating as though he had seen something utterly terrifying.

Then, under the astonished gazes of everyone present, he snatched up the red pen beside him and, without a moment's hesitation, drove it viciously into his left ear!

Squelch!

The microphone amplified the faint sound of something rupturing.

Blood surged out at once, staining the side of his face and the collar of his white shirt.

The room fell deathly silent. Everyone was stunned.

Yet he seemed unable to feel the pain. With his blood-soaked hand, he grabbed another pen and began writing frantically on the meeting minutes before him!

"There were no protectors!" he screamed, his voice warped by his ruptured eardrum and sheer terror. "I did it all! The foundation's account is XXXXX! I ordered Li Mingyu to suppress the first investigation! It was me! The list also includes Wang..."

The red pen's tip suddenly swung around and plunged hard into his right ear!

More blood sprayed out, spattering the gleaming conference table.

He convulsed, choking rasps rising from his throat, then finally collapsed in his chair, his fingers still locked around the red pen.

The conference room descended into utter chaos.

In my room, the screen displayed fragments of horrifying news leaked through various internal channels.

Ryuk no longer laughed or ate anything. He merely crouched silently in the corner, his enormous body hunched into a ball. His crimson eyes watched me, and for the first time, there was no mockery or curiosity in them-only a scrutiny that bordered on... awe.

Amid the extreme chaos, the phone took a full half hour to ring.

The ringtone no longer followed any familiar pattern. It was a monotonous, repetitive buzzing, as though a program had malfunctioned.

I answered.

There was no breathing.

No static.

Not even an immediate word.

Only a deeply suppressed, faint hum, like some precision instrument operating on the verge of overload.

A long, long time passed.

At last, the electronic voice sounded.

It was no longer cold, no longer angry, no longer carried any emotion.

All that remained was an absolute, deathly still calm, as though it came from the depths of the void.

"The fiber composition of the paper used for the meeting minutes contains five percent synthetic fluorescent agent."

"This material was phased out three years ago."

"Next time..."

"Pay attention to the details."

The call ended.

A busy tone.

I stood in the center of the deathly silent room, holding my phone.

Outside the window, the sunlight blazed.

Slowly, very slowly, I lowered my head.

My shoulders began to tremble slightly.

Then I started laughing without a sound.

I laughed harder and harder, until involuntary tears seeped from the corners of my eyes.

Pay attention to the details?

Mentor.

Are you still checking the details?

Within those flawless rules of yours,

did the color of blood

meet the standards too?