The Brocade Continent was a land of the extraordinary, home to inexplicable wonders.
The wonders of the Brocade Continent had begun fifteen hundred years ago. For humanity, that was already an immensely long time, enough for a lineage to record dozens of generations in its genealogy. Set against the history of the universe, however, it was only the beginning.
The Brocade Continent had dozens of kingdoms, and the Anhe Kingdom was merely one of them. Throughout the continent's history, kingdoms with two-character names had generally been small or middling states, while the truly great powers had one-character names, such as the Zheng Kingdom, the Lang Kingdom, and the Li Kingdom.
Every kingdom had its own supernatural power in which it placed its faith. In the Anhe Kingdom, that power was the Daoist Sect. Yet the Anhe Kingdom was far from the only state that followed it: the Daoist Sect was the most widespread religious order on the Brocade Continent.
The Daoist Sect did not control mortal kingdoms by governing them outright. Instead, it remained behind the scenes, an emperor above the emperor. Of course, under the continent's prevailing order, there were also examples of cultivator lineages holding the imperial court-in fact, quite a few.
Though it did not exercise complete control, the Daoist Sect only left matters of ordinary livelihood to others. This dangerous continent held many supernatural threats that mortals could not handle, requiring the Daoist Sect to intervene. Thus, lofty as the sect might be, it was still far from living untouched by the smoke of mortal hearths.
Spiritual energy had revived on the Brocade Continent fifteen hundred years ago, giving rise to the path of cultivation and granting humans the opportunity to climb higher in individual ability. Yet animals were clearly better suited than humans to receiving the nourishment of spiritual energy, producing countless demonic beasts, as well as all manner of bizarre beings.
It was precisely these inexplicable dangers that had led countless Daoists to watch over their own territories. Having received from Heaven, they patrolled and tended the world on Heaven's behalf: this was the responsibility of human cultivators.
So-called Tiji like Hou Niao were actually the lowest of the low among cultivators. They pursued mysterious threats in small localities and occasionally took a hand in major criminal cases, occupying a profession with a very indistinct boundary between mortals and Daoists.
There was no other reason: they were simply too weak and had no potential, leaving them fit only for such duties. Supporting their families was real enough; transcending the ordinary and entering sagehood was merely a forever-unattainable dream, something to think about and nothing more.
Hou Niao came from a family of criminal-law clerks. His father, Hou Xuan, had been a veteran criminal-law clerk in Fufeng City, knowing Anhe's penal statutes like the back of his hand and able to recite them backward. Yet although he understood criminal law, he was far from clean himself. Throughout his life, he had taken bribes, exacted favors, obstructed others for gain, skimmed money, settled matters for people, and framed the innocent often enough. Such was also the atmosphere of Anhe officialdom; without doing so, one could not get by in this cruel world, and even survival would be difficult.
Hou Xuan was an old hand among petty officials, yet he had always held his only son to strict standards. Perhaps he meant to fulfill through his son the dreams he himself could not achieve? Or perhaps he intended to wait until his son was fully mature before passing on every last one of his sordid private practices?
But he had misjudged his allotted lifespan. He taught his son the bright side of criminal law, only to die suddenly before he could teach him its dark side. The result was a rash young fellow as harsh as the penal code in his dealings with others!
After Hou Xuan died, Hou Niao took his father's place. This was perfectly ordinary within the Anhe Kingdom's system: a son inheriting his father's trade.
He was no fool. At first, he had known that his temperament would probably struggle to adapt to the realities of officialdom, particularly without his father to look after him, so he had still managed to keep his tail tucked between his legs. But a stroke of extraordinary luck brought him into the ranks of cultivators, giving him confidence from the bottom of his heart.
Although his cultivation had remained at the lowest level, Pulse Movement, throughout the years since he began cultivating, he had been raised from childhood to believe in governing the world through law, and he finally revealed his true colors as a ruthless lawman. With the Daoist Sect at his back, he found it harder and harder to restrain himself.
Over those years of cultivation, he had also come to understand that he was not cut out for it. His entry onto the Dao had merely been a lucky coincidence, and this was as far as he would ever go. Like the vast majority of Daoists who began cultivating, he would struggle at the bottom all his life. Draped in a Daoist's skin, he was really only a little stronger and quicker to react than mortal martial artists, and might well be inferior to the formidable fighters among them.
He was broad-minded, and from then on he stopped fretting over cultivation. Instead, he returned to his old trade and became a Tiji of the Daoist Sect in Fufeng City. With this Daoist skin on him, he could finally give full rein to his ambitions.
Then, inevitably, he offended every level of the powerful elite in Fufeng City. Simply put, how could anyone get by in criminal justice without knowing how to read faces, raise the rod high but let it fall lightly, and recognize the wisdom of playing the fool?
Without that Daoist skin, there was no telling how many times they would already have done him in!
...A secluded courtyard. The Daoist Sect could not handle internal disciplinary matters in full public view; it was a matter of face.
Apart from Hou Niao, who still stood silent and straight, only Daoist Chongling and his two companions were present. This was an internal trial of the Daoist Sect, and here Chongling would decide his fate.
Daoist Chongling lifted his teacup and took a sip. "It seems you already know how this ends for you?"
Hou Niao showed no fear. He had known from the moment this Daoist master called out his name.
"Yes. From the moment you recited that poem, 'Say not the pear blossom is frail; the willow catkin is more pitiful still,' I knew."
Daoist Chongling chuckled. "Oh? So you're blaming me now? But do you know that whether or not you killed that Young Master Wang would make a great difference to your punishment?"
Hou Niao smiled calmly. "What difference? Without the Daoist Sect's protection, without this little bit of Daoist power, the things I've done before would be the King of Hell coming to claim my life!"
Some things needed no elaboration. Meng Qiaolian, for instance, had been a blossom brutally crushed in the wilderness, and Old Meng, finding no door open to his desperate appeals, had endured in silence before taking revenge. As the Tiji responsible for maintaining order in Huangguo Town, Hou Niao had also reported the matter to the prefect and requested a thorough investigation. All such efforts had proved so powerless amid official buck-passing, concealment, and layer upon layer of mutual protection.
A single poem from Daoist Chongling showed that he knew the truth of the matter inside out. Yet he had chosen to stand with the Fufeng authorities. How much helplessness lay behind this? How many bargains? How many hidden circumstances? Hou Niao did not want to know. He was merely a lawman, doing only what he ought to do!
He and Old Meng truly were not accomplices, yet they truly were. They had never colluded in any way, but on the principle that guilt must be punished, they were remarkably of one mind.
Had he not killed Young Master Wang, the Daoist Sect would have stripped away his cultivation, and the authorities would have expelled him from their ranks. Unless he left his homeland, staying in Fufeng City would sooner or later mean being toyed to death by the powerful people he had offended!
For a man who upheld the penal law, this was intolerable!
So he had chosen the fiercest resistance, bringing the last fish to slip through the net to justice!
This was his final stand, and only at this moment did he understand the true meaning of law: in this world, the extent of one's ability determined how far one could uphold it.
Sadly, he wasn't worth a damn! All he had was that one defiant breath in his chest...
Let life and death come before me! Today, I shall take stock of this mortal frame. Why these long years as enemies, my throat like a scorched cauldron? Now I roam unbridled, my spirit like racing thunder. You speak of contentment; enlightened souls, past and present—once drunk, why not die and be buried where you fall? You provide works by The Sword Was Originally Demonic author Duo Duo