A heretical cultivator in Bureau 749, I'm the fiercest at pulling out tendons and skinning peop

Director Lin paused, his gaze sweeping over every solemn face present.

"It turned into a live broadcast for the entire Qi cultivator community, a public trial of evil."

"It unearthed a den of iniquity disguised as a noble family."

"It has won us at least ten years of stable development and the confidence to say no in future competition."

"However! In this public announcement, his name, Chen Mo, will most likely only appear in the general term 'Undercover investigator who unfortunately sacrificed his life,' and won't even have his full name."

"Is it a loss or not?"

Director Lin asked, his voice soft but heavy as a hammer blow.

The mourning hall was so quiet you could hear a pin drop; someone was biting their lip tightly.

I feel like I'm getting ripped off.

Director Lin answered his own question in a calm, almost cold tone.

"A complete loss. You traded your life for this result: obscurity, no profit, your wife and children are long gone, and you don't even have a single close relative to collect your pension or be proud of you. You've lost everything."

"but!"

His tone abruptly shifted, his voice rising sharply, and that suppressed, iron-gray energy beneath the calm surface finally surged forth, making one's eardrums buzz:

"This is the weight of our uniform!"

"This is the significance of our number 749, with the words 'Great Han' at the beginning!"

"What we want has never been personal fame or fortune, nor a few more merits recorded in our files!"

"What we want is for evil spirits to dare not openly run rampant on this land!"

"Those filthy things lurking in the shadows will instinctively tremble at the mere mention of '749'!"

"It's about enabling every ordinary person, including our own parents, wives, and children, to sleep soundly at night without having to live in constant fear that some madman might suddenly appear and take their life, ruining their life!"

"These heretical practitioners kill my compatriots and disrupt my order; they deserve to be punished!"

"These powerful families are a scourge, colluding with evil spirits and poisoning the lives of the people; they must be destroyed!"

"And 749 is the sword hanging over their heads! It's the shield blocking the path of hundreds of millions of people!"

"Comrade Chen Mo has fallen, but his spirit and his will remain on this banner! Remain in the hearts of each and every one of us! This banner must not fall! The fire in our hearts must not be extinguished!"

"Today, we bid farewell to a hero here. Tomorrow, we will carry on his legacy and move forward."

"The road ahead is long, and the darkness will not recede on its own. But as long as one of us stands, this flag will forever point towards evil and protect the people!"

"Everyone has it—"

Director Lin suddenly straightened his back, his voice resolute:

"To Comrade Chen Mo—"

"salute!"

"Whoosh—!"

Inside the mourning hall, regardless of rank or age, everyone wearing the 749 uniform or regular clothes instantly raised their arms, put their five fingers together, and pointed their fingertips at their temples.

Their movements were synchronized, clean, and efficient.

Like a pine tree that suddenly stands tall.

Ji Zuodao stood at the end of the line and slowly raised his hand. His posture was not standard, but it was unusually steady.

He looked at the bright red flag, and at his comrades-in-arms whom he had never met, who were sleeping peacefully beneath it. Something in his heart was struck hard.

Uncle Zhang called him and asked him to carry out this mission. At first, Ji Zuodao thought it would be fun and he could also make some extra money.

Not long ago, he was even calculating how many spirit stones those spoils were worth.

But now, standing here, among these silent, solemn colleagues, their eyes filled with tears yet their backs ramrod straight, listening to those simple yet weighty words, he suddenly realized—

Behind the "benefits" he amassed, and the Zhou family and the evil cultivators he helped to dismantle, lay a heavy burden of human lives and a profound, silent entrustment.

The ceremony was conducted in a solemn atmosphere.

There was no loud wailing, only suppressed sobs and clenched teeth.

Someone in the queue, with a trembling yet firm voice, began to hum a melody softly.

Soon, a second and a third voice joined in.

It was a nameless war song circulating within Bureau 749, with a simple and even somewhat rough melody.

It tells the story of those who walk in the darkness, the story of the sacrifices of the nameless, and the story of those who, even in death, would go wherever the flag points.

The singing wasn't loud, but it seemed to carry a kind of penetrating power, lingering and echoing in the solemn funeral hall.

Ultimately, they converged into an invisible torrent, crashing against everyone's chest.

Ji Zuodao didn't sing along; he didn't know how.

But he listened quietly, his gaze passing over the shoulders of the crowd, landing on the bright red flag, and on the ordinary plate of wild dates beneath it.

He suddenly remembered that sentence in Chen Mo's notebook.

"Some people always have to walk in the dark for the light to shine rightfully."

He used to think that this was a bit pretentious and silly.

Now he seems to understand a little.

The light is indeed bright.

It was so bright it was almost blinding.

It stung him, a man accustomed to seeing the shadows and operating in the gray areas, and even made his eyes sting.

The ceremony is over.

People stepped forward one by one and gently placed the white chrysanthemums in their hands in front of the urn.

Ji Zuodao was the last one.

He put down the flowers, looked at Chen Mo's calm eyes in the photo, and suddenly muttered something under his breath, so softly that only he could hear it:

Brother, rest in peace.

"If there are any more heretical cultivators down there... just tell them my name, and say..."

He paused, then gave a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth.

"Take Ji Zuodao from the 749th Bureau of Jinghai as an example. We'll settle accounts with them sooner or later."

After saying that, he turned around and walked out of the mourning hall.

The others also quietly dispersed, returning to their respective dangerous or tedious posts.

Outside, the afternoon sun was a bit dazzling, but the sky was very blue.

He narrowed his eyes, took a deep breath of the chilly air, and felt the fleeting sense of elation he had felt from reaping so much benefit suddenly settle into a heavy, solid reality.

This trip to Yunnan was well worth it.

It's not just about having made enough money.

Some things are more important than money.

He thought that perhaps Director Lin's somewhat underhanded methods, his schemes, his calculations, and his willingness to bear the infamy for what he did were not just for power or personal revenge.

Beneath this silent red flag, behind those lives that have passed away quietly, there must always be someone who does the dirty work, the hard work, and even the less-than-honorable work.

Using ruthless methods to show a compassionate heart? Perhaps not entirely.

But by using necessary "undignity" to protect the "dignity" of more people, by using a knife in the darkness to fight for peace under the sun...

This is probably the path that all of them, whether they are undercover agents who died in the shadows, enforcers struggling in the gray area, or even Director Lin who started to learn how to exploit the ill-gotten gains, chose together.

The road was difficult to walk on and very dirty.

But someone always has to leave.

Ji Zuodao took one last look in the direction of the mourning hall, finally lit a cigarette between his lips, took a deep drag, letting the spicy smoke fill his lungs, and then slowly exhaled.

Amidst the swirling smoke, the usual cynicism in his eyes seemed to have subsided somewhat, replaced by something else—something harder and more silent.