Night fell like a black cloth covering the capital of Tianshan, but in the central square, something brighter than candlelight began to grow—the fire of a long-suppressed anger, now finding oxygen to breathe.
Li Yuan stood at the edge of the growing crowd, observing with calm eyes but full of understanding. He did nothing to incite or push—his presence alone was enough. Like a cracked dam, it only takes one small gap for the entire structure to collapse.
And that gap had opened.
"How much longer will we live like this?" a voice from the crowd shouted. "How many more have to die before we say 'enough'?"
"They killed my brother because he taught children to read!" another voice cried out, filled with a trembling rage. "Reading! That was his crime!"
"My mother died because they forbade us from sharing food with the hungry!"
"My father was executed because he dared to question an unfair tax!"
One by one, the voices joined into a chorus—no longer whispers of fear, but shouts of long-suppressed anger. And with every voice that joined, the crowd grew larger, braver, more resolute.
Through his Wenjing Realm, Li Yuan heard a fundamental change in their collective intention. Fear was still there—the trauma from a year ago and the massacre two months ago didn't just disappear—but now there was something stronger: a recognition that they were not alone, that their suffering was collective, and that together they possessed a strength they didn't realize when alone.
This is what happens, Li Yuan mused with cold satisfaction, when oppression crosses the line of what can be tolerated. When cruelty becomes so extreme that even the fear of death is no longer enough to keep people subdued.
A middle-aged man—his face familiar, one of those who had gathered at the commoner community meetings—stepped to the front of the crowd. His hands were clenched, his jaw was tight, but his voice was steady when he spoke.
"Brothers and sisters," he said, and the crowd slowly quieted to listen. "We all know what happened two months ago. We all lost someone. And we have all lived in fear since then, waiting for our turn."
He pointed to the heads on display.
"They want us to be afraid. They want us to be isolated. They want us to feel powerless. But tonight, here, we realize something important: we are not alone. And when we are united, we are not powerless."
"What do you propose?" someone from the crowd asked.
The man looked toward the palace looming on the city's peak, its lights twinkling like a predator's eyes.
"We go to the palace," he said with a simplicity that carried the weight of finality. "We demand justice for our murdered brothers and sisters. And if justice is not given..."
He didn't finish the sentence, but the meaning was clear.
A silence fell over the crowd, but now it was not the silence of fear—it was the silence of people making a decision that would change their lives forever.
"They will kill us," someone whispered.
"They are already killing us," another replied bitterly. "Slowly, one by one. At least if we die tonight, we die standing, not kneeling."
Li Yuan listened to all of this with deep attention. He could stop this now if he wanted to—could speak about safer ways, about gradual reform, about avoiding violence. But he did not.
Because he had lived long enough to understand that some situations pass the point where a peaceful solution is possible. The king had been given a chance for reform, and he responded with a massacre. His brother was even worse—he enjoyed the cruelty.
No, Li Yuan decided with final coldness. This is the moment when the people must choose their own justice. I will not hinder them. I will not facilitate violence, but I also will not prevent a long-overdue justice.
"If you choose this path," Li Yuan finally spoke, his voice calm but reaching everyone in the crowd, "you must understand the consequences. Some of you may die. Some of you may be injured. And after tonight, your lives will never be the same again."
"But," he continued in a tone that carried undeniable truth, "if you do not choose this path, your lives will also not be the same. You will live with the knowledge that you allowed the deaths of your loved ones to go without justice. You will live with the constant fear that you or your children could be next."
"The choice is in your hands. I will not make the decision for you. But I promise you this: if you choose to demand justice, I will ensure that no one can use supernatural power to stop you. This will be a confrontation between the people and their rulers, nothing more."
The crowd stirred restlessly, whispering among themselves. Through his Wenjing Realm, Li Yuan heard thousands of intentions clashing: fear against anger, the desire for safety against the desire for justice, the instinct for survival against the need to fight back.
Finally, the young woman who had lost her sister stepped forward again. Tears still streamed down her cheeks, but there was a steely resolve in her eyes.
"I will go," she said in a trembling but firm voice. "Ling was the only family I had. And if I die tonight trying to get justice for her, at least I die knowing that I tried."
"Me too," said the middle-aged man who had spoken before.
"And me," added another.
Like a ripple spreading on the surface of water, that resolve spread through the crowd. Not everyone chose to join—some retreated into the shadows, their eyes full of guilt but also a fear that was greater than their courage. And Li Yuan did not judge them. Not everyone was ready to take such a risk, and that was their right.
But those who chose to stay—and their number swelled with every minute—had something in their eyes that Li Yuan recognized from thousands of years of experience: the resolve of people who have lost too much to fear losing any more.
"Then we go," the middle-aged man said with finality. "To the palace. For justice."
The crowd—now hundreds strong, perhaps more—began to move. Not with chaotic violence, but with an organized resolve. They moved through the city levels, climbing toward the palace on the peak.
And as they moved, the crowd grew. People came out of their homes, drawn by the collective sound and energy. Some joined the crowd. Others just watched from windows, their eyes wide with a mixture of fear and hope.
On the merchant level, artisans and traders emerged from their shops. Master Chen, the furniture maker, looked at the crowd with a complex expression. Through his Wenjing Realm, Li Yuan heard the man's internal struggle: the desire to join against the fear of the consequences.
Finally, Master Chen stepped out of his workshop, carrying a heavy hammer he usually used for his work.
"For a future where craft is valued by its quality, not the birth of its maker," he said in a voice filled with long-suppressed anger.
The crowd greeted him with a muffled cheer—not a celebration, but a recognition of solidarity.
On the noble level, the reaction was different. The nobles retreated into their homes, closing doors and windows, hoping the violence wouldn't reach them. But some—those with a living conscience—watched from their windows with complex expressions.
And among them, Li Yuan sensed something that caught his attention.
A child—no older than fifteen or sixteen—stood on the balcony of one of the noble mansions. Through his Wenjing Realm, Li Yuan heard the child's intention with incredible clarity: an overwhelming fear, but also anger at the injustice, a desire to do what was right even though his body trembled, and most interestingly—a genuine intention to help others without expecting a reward.
Interesting, Li Yuan thought with sharp attention. In the midst of all this cruelty, there is a child from the noble class who has a sincere heart. Perhaps... perhaps he is the one who should lead after tonight ends.
But that was a consideration for later. For now, the crowd had reached the palace gates.
The guards—dozens of them, fully armed—formed a line in front of the gates. But through his Wenjing Realm, Li Yuan heard that their intentions were not as simple as military duty. Many of them still carried the trauma from a year ago. Many of them had family or friends on the commoner level. And many of them, in their deepest hearts, were not sure if they were willing to die to protect a system that had caused so much suffering.
"Disperse now!" the guard captain shouted, his voice trying to sound authoritative but trembling at the edges. "This is His Majesty's order! Anyone who does not disperse will be considered a rebel!"
The crowd stopped, but did not retreat. A tense silence filled the space between the guards and the people.
The middle-aged man who had become the crowd's unofficial leader stepped forward.
"We do not come as rebels," he said in a strong and clear voice. "We come as a people demanding justice. Two months ago, His Majesty massacred our brothers and sisters—innocent people whose only crime was showing compassion."
"We demand accountability. We demand justice. And we will not leave until the king and his brother face the consequences of their cruelty."
The guard captain looked at the crowd with an increasingly uncertain expression. Through his Wenjing Realm, Li Yuan heard the man's internal struggle: duty against conscience, loyalty to the system against empathy for the people.
"I... I have orders to use force if necessary," the captain said, but his voice lacked conviction.
"Then use it," replied the young woman who had lost her sister, stepping forward to stand next to their leader. "Kill us as you killed my sister. Show everyone in this kingdom that this system is only maintained through blood."
The guards looked at the crowd—hundreds of faces, many of them familiar, many of them neighbors or even family. And something inside them began to crack.
One by one, the guards lowered their weapons. Not all of them—some still stood firm, their eyes hard with blind loyalty. But enough of them did to render their line no longer effective.
"I will not kill innocent people again," a young guard said, his voice trembling but firm. "I have already seen too much unnecessary blood."
"Me too," said another.
And like a dam that finally breaks, more guards stepped back, allowing the crowd to pass through them.
The crowd moved forward, not with violence but with an unwavering resolve. They passed through the palace gates, through the magnificent courtyard, toward the main door where the throne room was located.
Li Yuan followed behind, his presence like a shadow ensuring that no one dared to use violence to stop the justice that was unfolding. He was not leading—he was simply ensuring that no supernatural intervention or unjust force could alter the outcome of this confrontation.
The throne room doors opened—either because the guards inside had lost the will to defend them, or because Li Yuan's presence made even the doors reluctant to stay closed.
Inside, King Tianlong and Prince Tianwei were seated—the king on his throne, his brother next to him. Both their faces showed a mixture of anger and growing fear as the crowd flooded the throne room.
"What... what is the meaning of this?" King Tianlong screamed, his voice breaking with a fear he tried to hide with arrogance. "You dare to enter our palace? This is treason!"
"Not treason," said the middle-aged man in a voice that echoed in the large room. "This is justice."
Through his Wenjing Realm, Li Yuan heard King Tianlong's intentions with perfect clarity: overwhelming fear—a remnant of the unhealed trauma from a year ago—mixed with desperate arrogance, a fragile ego that could not accept that his power was crumbling.
And most strikingly: there was no regret. Even now, even when facing the anger of the people he had tormented, this king felt no remorse for the massacre he had ordered.
How foolish, Li Yuan thought with absolute coldness. Even in the face of the consequences of his choices, he still doesn't learn. He still chooses ego over wisdom, power over justice.
Prince Tianwei—the king's brother—looked at the crowd with a different expression. There was no fear on his face, only anger and contempt. Through his Wenjing Realm, Li Yuan heard an even darker intention: a desire for violence, a sadistic pleasure in the suffering of others, and most disturbingly—no empathy at all.
A monster, Li Yuan identified with a deep sadness. Not because of supernatural power, but because of the choices that had shaped his character into something that could no longer be called human in a moral sense.
"You demand justice?" King Tianlong finally asked, his voice trying to sound mocking but trembling at the edges. "Justice for what? We were enforcing the law! We were maintaining order!"
"You killed innocent people!" the young woman shouted, her voice breaking with anger and sadness. "You massacred them because they dared to help each other! That is not law—that is cruelty!"
"They were rebels!" Prince Tianwei retorted in a voice full of contempt. "They threatened the stability of the kingdom! Their execution was a necessary measure!"
A silence fell over the throne room—not a silence of agreement, but the silence of people who had finally heard a direct confirmation of what they already knew: that their rulers had no remorse, no empathy, no understanding of their wrongdoing.
And in that silence, a decision was made—not by a single person, but by a collective. The people who had been long oppressed, who had lost too much, who had suffered for too long, made a decision that would change the history of this kingdom forever.
"Then you have chosen your own fate," the middle-aged man said with a simplicity that carried the weight of finality.
The crowd moved forward.
And Li Yuan—standing at the edge of the room, doing nothing to stop or facilitate—simply watched as a long-overdue justice finally materialized through the hands of the people who had chosen it themselves.