Chun stood by the docks of Kumitari, their presence as still and unyielding as the ancient stones beneath their feet. For a moment, they allowed themselves to indulge in the rare luxury of serenity. The gentle lapping of the river against the wooden pilings, the distant calls of birds, and the soft rustle of the wind through the reeds—these were the sounds that filled the air, a symphony of simplicity that Chun rarely had the chance to appreciate.

  Since becoming a Faceless Judge, Chun had forsaken much of what it meant to be human. Earthly desires, personal identity, even their birth name—all had been cast aside in their relentless pursuit of the Dao of Judgment. They had become a vessel of judgment, a physical incarnation of fairness and order. To achieve this, they had sacrificed their sense of smell, their sense of touch, their gender, and even their sight. Their world was no longer defined by the physical, but by the spiritual, by the flow of qi and the weight of truth.

  Yet, among the many sacrifices, one sense remained: hearing. For a Faceless Judge, hearing was not a luxury but a tool, a means to listen to testimony, to weigh words, and to deliver judgments. It was a sense that served their purpose, a reminder of their duty. But here, in this quiet moment by the river, Chun allowed themselves to use it for something else.

  They closed their spiritual sense, the ability that allowed them to perceive the world through the flow of qi, and focused solely on the sounds around them. The world became a tapestry of noise—the rhythmic creak of the docks, the distant chatter of villagers, the occasional splash of a fish breaking the surface of the water. It was a rare indulgence, a fleeting connection to the mortal world they had long since left behind.

  For Chun, these moments were precious. They were a reminder of what they had given up, but also of why they had chosen this path. The serenity of the river, the simplicity of the sounds—it was a stark contrast to the chaos and corruption they so often encountered. It was a reminder of the balance they sought to uphold, the order they were sworn to protect.

  But even as they stood there, listening to the world around them, Chun knew this moment could not last. Their duty called to them, a constant pull that could not be ignored. They were a Faceless Judge, and their purpose was greater than any personal indulgence. With a slow, deliberate breath, they reopened their spiritual sense, the world once again becoming a landscape of qi and energy.

  A surge of qi flared behind Chun as they reopened their senses, the source unmistakably belonging to the person they had been waiting for. Chun turned slowly, their featureless mask giving nothing away as they faced the newcomer. Standing before them was a cultivator clad in white and gold robes, the intricate embroidery of a golden lotus shimmering in the light. The cultivator had a youthful appearance, their hair neatly tied into a bun, and their demeanor carried an air of formality. The robes marked them as a member of the Gilded Lotus, another of the Great Eight, though their rank within the sect appeared to be relatively low.

  “How long were you standing there?” Chun asked, their voice distorted by the strange power of the mask they wore, making them sound mechanical.

  The young cultivator bowed deeply, his hands clasped in a gesture of respect. “I apologize if I have offended you, Senior. I was instructed not to interrupt a Faceless Judge when they are making a judgment.”

  “I was not making a judgment,” Chun replied, their tone even but firm. “Where is Tao Xue? And who are you?”

  The cultivator straightened slightly, though their posture remained respectful. “Tao Xue is currently with Elder Wei, still investigating the blast that destroyed an entire sect. Unfortunately, there is nothing meaningful to report about their investigation at this time. As for me, my name is Ping Qing, honorable senior,” he said, bowing again.

  Chun’s mask remained impassive, but the air around them seemed to grow heavier. “I see. Then please report back to Elder Wei and the other leaders of the Righteous Alliance that my sect and I have scoured Liuhe and found no presence of demonic cultivators.”

  Ping Qing nodded eagerly, relief flickering across their face. “That is good to hear. I’ll—”

  Chun raised a hand, cutting them off mid-sentence. “However, I did find something else concerning.”

  Without warning, Chun reached into their spatial ring and pulled out a gruesome sight: a cluster of decapitated heads, tied together by their hair. The heads were lifeless, their expressions frozen in various states of shock and terror. Chun tossed the macabre bundle at Ping Qing’s feet with a casualness that was almost more disturbing than the act itself.

  Ping Qing stumbled back, his face pale and his composure shattered. He nearly screamed, their hand flying to their mouth to stifle the sound. The sight of the heads, presented so callously, was horrifying enough, but the implication of being handed such a grisly token—like a demonic cultivator trading in human remains—was almost too much to bear.

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  “Senior, I—” Ping Qing stammered, his voice trembling. “What is the meaning of this?”

  Chun’s voice was cold and unyielding. “These individuals were rogue cultivators and bandits, operating outside the laws of the Righteous Alliance. They were causing chaos, exploiting mortals, and disrupting the balance. I delivered judgment.”

  Ping Qing swallowed hard, his eyes darting between Chun and the heads at their feet. “I… I understand, Senior. I will report this to Elder Wei as well.”

  Chun nodded once, their featureless mask betraying no emotion. “See that you do,” they said, their tone sharpening like the edge of a blade. “But more importantly, what you need to report is that these rogue cultivators were trading with demonic cultivators.”

  Ping Qing bowed deeply once more, his voice barely above a whisper. “I see… What were they trading with those demonic cultivators?”

  “Everything abhorrent that a demonic cultivator would desire,” Chun replied, their voice cold and detached. “Slaves, human remains, children with even the faintest trace of a decent spiritual root… and more.”

  Ping Qing nodded along, though his stomach churned at the list. The thought of mortals being traded like cattle, of children being bartered for their potential, was deeply unsettling. But what disturbed him even more was the way Chun spoke of it—so casually, as if recounting a mundane transaction rather than the horrors of human suffering. It was a stark reminder of how far removed the Faceless Judges were from ordinary emotions, how deeply they had embraced their role as arbiters of judgment.

  “Very well,” Ping Qing said, forcing his voice to remain steady. “I’ll be sure to deliver your report to Elder Wei and the alliance. Will you and the other Faceless Judges be needing any other assistance in Liuhe, or do you believe your sect has cleared out the area?”

  “I will not be needing any further assistance,” Chun replied, their tone final. “The Faceless Judges will be leaving the area soon and returning to our home. We will leave the lesser sects to deal with any remaining rogue cultivators and bandits. You may inform Elder Wei that I will no longer be in the region if he has need of us.”

  Ping Qing nodded, relief flickering across his face. “Very well. I’ll be sure to let him know. If you have nothing else to report, I shall take my leave.” He turned to leave, eager to put distance between himself and the unsettling presence of the Faceless Judge.

  But before he could take more than a few steps, Chun’s voice cut through the air like a whip. “Are you forgetting something?”

  Ping Qing froze, his heart sinking. He turned back to Chun, an awkward expression on his face. He had hoped, foolishly, that Chun wouldn’t notice he had left the gruesome remains behind—the very evidence he was supposed to take back as part of the report. But of course, a Faceless Judge would notice. They noticed everything.

  Reluctantly, Ping Qing walked back to the cluster of decapitated heads, his hands trembling slightly as he gathered them. He bowed respectfully to Chun, his voice barely audible. “My apologies, Senior. I will ensure these are delivered as part of the report.”

  Chun gave a single, curt nod, their mask as unreadable as ever. “See that you do.”

  Ping Qing turned once more and hurried away, the remains clutched tightly in his arms. As he walked, he couldn’t shake the image of Chun’s featureless mask or the cold, detached way they had spoken of the atrocities committed by the rogue cultivators. The justice of the Righteous Alliance was often as merciless as the crimes it sought to punish.

  Once alone again, Chun turned back to face the river, intending to take in the sound of the water one last time before departing. But just as they began to focus, a faint, unusual qi caught their attention. It was shadow qi—subtle and fleeting, like the whisper of a breeze—but it was there, lingering in the air. Chun’s senses sharpened as they traced the source, realizing it was residual energy, the fading echo of something that had been present in Kumitari while they had closed off their spiritual senses. Whatever it was, it had left the village some time ago, leaving behind only this faint trace.

  Chun stood still for a moment, their mask betraying no emotion as they considered the implications. The shadow qi was unusual—not human, not demonic, but distinctly other. It carried the essence of a spirit beast, possibly a beast related to shadows, though one skilled enough to conceal itself almost entirely. Chun’s first instinct was to investigate further, to track the source. But as they focused on the fading qi, they concluded that the creature had likely sensed their presence and fled. It was no longer in Kumitari, and the residual energy was too weak to follow.

  Chun weighed their options. A spirit beast intruding on a mortal village could be problematic, but it was not their primary concern. Their duty was to uphold the laws of the Righteous Alliance and root out corruption, not to chase after every stray creature that crossed their path and help every mortal. Besides, the beast had already left. If it became a problem, one of the lesser sects could deal with it. Chun had more pressing matters to attend to.

  With a faint sigh—more a shift in their qi than an audible sound—Chun dismissed the thought. They turned back to the river, allowing the gentle lapping of the water against the docks to fill their senses once more. The sound was soothing, a rare moment of tranquility in their otherwise rigid and duty-bound existence. For a brief moment, they let themselves simply exist, unburdened by the weight of judgment or the demands of their role.

  But the moment was fleeting. Duty called, and Chun could not linger. They took one last breath, savoring the calm before stepping away from the river and into the world once more.

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