Shi Jian was temporarily lodged in a guest room within Qin Changqing's official residence.
The night was deep. Rain drizzled steadily, tapping the earth with the patience of something that knew it had all the time in the world. Jiangzhou slept—at least, that's what it thought.
Suddenly, Shi Jian sat bolt upright.
He dressed without hesitation, slipped out the door, vaulted the courtyard wall, and vanished into the night like a shadow that had grown legs.
His destination was clear.
Jiwang Temple.
By now, the temple was empty. The common folk had long since gone home, and even the Daoist priests were snoring with the serenity of people who firmly believed nothing interesting ever happened after midnight.
Jiwang Temple wasn't guarded. After all, who in their right mind would cause trouble here?
By the dim glow of the ever-burning oil lamp before Jiwang's statue, Shi Jian withdrew a strip of yellow silk from his sleeve. His subordinates had prepared it earlier—writing included.
He tied it neatly to a beam before the statue and let it unfurl.
Bold characters glared out in silence:
"The Magistrate of Jiangzhou—cruel in office, ruthless in taxation, an affront to heaven and earth."
Shi Jian read it once. Then again.
Satisfied, he nodded, chuckled softly, and left.
By the time dawn arrived, he was already back in bed, sleeping like a man who had done nothing at all.
Morning in Jiangzhou felt… noisy.
The air buzzed with voices, excitement, and the unmistakable scent of gossip freshly baked.
Shi Jian stepped into the streets and didn't even need to ask.
"Have you heard? Something appeared in Jiwang Temple!"
"That silk banner—those words were vicious!"
"Whoever did that must have a death wish!"
"But it appeared inside Jiwang Temple…"
"And right in front of Jiwang's statue!"
The tone shifted.
Slowly.
Dangerously.
"Well… who would dare hang something there?"
"Exactly."
"If no human would dare—then who did?"
The conclusion arrived like a badly reasoned but emotionally satisfying answer.
"It was Jiwang."
"A divine decree!"
"Last night, Jiwang himself descended!"
"Daoist Zheng saw it with his own eyes while relieving himself!"
Shi Jian nearly choked.
Nearby, Dao Xuan Tianzun—observing through the small avatar Shi Jian carried—let out a quiet, helpless sigh.
"So it begins," he muttered. "One retelling: acceptable. Two: exaggerated. Three: completely divorced from reality."
Unfortunately for Qin Changqing, the rumors wouldn't survive long enough to reach a fourth round.
Qin Changqing arrived at Jiwang Temple in a fury, dragging yamen runners behind him like accessories to his bad decisions.
He stopped before the silk banner.
"Tear it down!" he bellowed.
The yamen runner beside him froze. "Magistrate… this is Jiwang Temple."
"And?" Qin Changqing snapped. "Does that make it immune to law?"
The runner swallowed. Local-born, raised on Jiwang's incense smoke—he would sooner slap his own ancestors than touch that banner.
"M-Magistrate… perhaps we should investigate—"
Qin Changqing kicked him aside.
He grabbed the silk and ripped.
Riiiip.
Dao Xuan Tianzun chuckled softly.
"Well. That answers the question of whether he has sense."
His presence faded.
Qin Changqing wasn't finished.
He overturned sacrificial tables, kicked prayer mats, and shouted like a man determined to offend every deity within earshot.
"Which bastard did this?! If I catch you, I'll chop off your head!"
Then—
A trembling voice rose from the crowd.
"L-Look…"
Everyone looked up.
Rain fell gently.
And from the gray sky descended a colossal figure.
Eight meters tall.
Familiar face.
Unmistakable presence.
Jiwang.
"Jiwang has come!"
"He's enormous!"
"Jiwang—Jiwang!"
The commoners dropped to their knees in unison, as though gravity itself had suddenly remembered them.
Only Qin Changqing remained standing.
Briefly.
Then he fell.
Hard.
The gigantic Jiwang stood before him.
Qin Changqing's mouth opened. Nothing came out.
Jiwang spoke, his voice deep, slow, and crushingly patient:
"Qin Changqing. Do you confess your sins?"
Qin Changqing scrambled backward, terror stripping him of dignity.
"I—I—this official—no—"
"Silence."
Jiwang reached down.
And lifted him.
Just like that.
High above the ground.
Held between two fingers.
The rain kept falling.
And somewhere beyond the clouds, Li Daoxuan thought to himself:
Ancestor Houji… I hope you don't mind. I'm borrowing your face—but the work? That's all mine.