When Bai Changming returned to his quarters in the Astral Pavilion, he found chaos.
The cramped partition had been ransacked—his robes spilled from the cabinet, long garments strewn across the floor. The bedding bore signs of rifling, and most of his daily utensils were gone. A single glance told him all he needed to know.
*"A mere sweeper from the Astral Pavilion dares feast at Moonview Pavilion? This Bai fellow's got gall! Serves him right to be taught a lesson."*
*"Hardly speaks a word all day—clearly looks down on everyone. These lofty types need to be taken down a peg."*
*"Seen plenty like him. Living in this dump proves he's gutter trash. Who's he putting on airs for?"*
The murmurs grew louder as a cluster of servants approached, freezing mid-step when they spotted Bai Changming inside. Smirks vanished; eyes darted away. The room plunged into suffocating silence.
He resisted the urge to wave off the stench of sweat and cheap food clinging to them, just as he'd endured the wine fumes the night before.
Bai Changming studied them—the flickering gazes, the wrinkled noses, the fidgeting sleeves—and with two sweeps of his eyes, identified the culprits.
There was a term for this: **"shame-turned-rage."** When faced with truths that shattered their narrow worldview, some lashed out to mask their exposed inadequacies. The consequences for others mattered little.
Ming Xuan had observed this **"malice"** in Saher City's mortals from afar. He'd tasted the same venom when the sorcerer cast him into this world unasked.
So when the ringleader's lips parted to snarl *"What're you staring at?"*, Bai Changming turned away first. Not a word. Just eyes like frozen steel.
The group stiffened under that gaze. Only after he left did the whispers resume: *"He dared glare at me!"* *"See? Exactly the stuck-up wretch we said!"*
Bai Changming didn't tidy the wreckage. He simply submitted his resignation to the steward.
---
**The next day**, Zheng Guan's routine inspection revealed shocking neglect: books piled haphazardly, artifacts dust-coated, floors littered with crumpled paper and nut shells. The culprits? The very servants who'd trashed Bai Changming's room. Zheng berated them until his veins bulged.
**By the fifth day**, with no improvement, Zheng's threats turned lethal. The servants knelt trembling, tears brimming.
**On the eighth day**, the **"Jade Hall"** pectoral—a five-piece jade ornament belonging to the Muan Prefecture office—went missing. By afternoon, it was "found" with laughable ease beneath the five servants' bedding.
Zheng Guan nearly spat blood. *"Of all the cursed luck—!"*
The five knelt in a row, not daring to breathe.
*"You maggots!"* Zheng hissed. *"Yesterday, Governor Yang divined malign forces in his northwest corner. Now I see—you're the calamity meant to ruin me! First the messes, now stealing Left Minister's jade? Eighty lashes each. Rot in jail!"*
---
Bai Changming, now in plain clothes, lounged on a rooftop opposite the prefecture jail, idly twirling willow leaves.
Screams of innocence and agony echoed from below. He watched dispassionately as thighs split open under the rods. Eighty strikes bordered on execution.
To him, it was no more remarkable than a meal.
First, he'd planted seeds of "disorder" in Zheng's mind with the theft. Then he'd exploited their incompetence—the cardinal sin for servants, much like poor grades damned students or low rank damned officials. By the third strike, their fate was sealed under Zheng's own hand.
Not a soul would ever connect this to him. He remained the silent, dull man they'd always dismissed.
These simpletons, driven by base instincts, couldn't fathom layered causality. As for the brutality? Bai Changming admitted a thrill beneath his ice. This was his rage, distilled.
A flick of his wrist snapped the willow branch.
*Shui Qian, we differ. I don't save people.*