Eventually, Sun Biao also seized an opportunity to defect with his soldiers to the increasingly powerful Panlong Bandit Stronghold, successfully securing a leadership position.
After Song Yunfan rose to the highest ranks of the court, he would occasionally bring up Magistrate Fang Zhiyi in conversation.
The official history of the Great Qi Dynasty recorded only a few sparse lines about Fang Zhiyi:
"Magistrate Fang Zhiyi, incompetent and tyrannical, slaughtered loyal subjects, incited rebellion among righteous men, and plunged the people into misery."
Fang Zhiyi suddenly slammed the table, then jumped up, clutching his hand and hopping in place. Immediately, a constable hurried in. "My Lord? What are your orders?" They held great respect for Fang Zhiyi—this magistrate was truly different from the previous ones, a truly upright official.
Fang Zhiyi blew on his hand. "Damn it! Just thinking about how he killed a young girl makes my blood boil!"
The two constables exchanged glances. The sharper of the two leaned in and asked, "My Lord, what do you mean?"
Fang Zhiyi’s eyes darted back and forth. "You two, come here."
Meanwhile, Song Yunfan, clad in prison garb, leaned against the wall, idly toying with a straw in his hand and occasionally humming a tune. After the initial panic, he had calmed down. He knew that given his standing in the martial world, someone would surely come to rescue him.
Recalling the magistrate’s self-righteous expression, he sneered. A corrupt official would always be a corrupt official—disgusting.
Just as he was thinking this, his cell door swung open. He watched as the jailer unlocked it and then walked away without a word. He was dumbfounded.
What was this?
Song Yunfan’s face lit up with joy. He hadn’t expected his allies to act so swiftly! Had they already bribed the prison guards? He had assumed they would resort to brute force to break him out. Who knew these rough men had some brains after all?
Song Yunfan stood up, smoothed the wrinkles from his prison garb, and strode confidently out of the cell, humming his tune even louder. With governance like this, no wonder the world was in chaos!
But his triumph lasted only a few seconds before someone shouted, "Prison break!"
Song Yunfan froze. Prison break? Surely not him? He turned to look at the other cells, wondering which unlucky soul had chosen this moment to escape alongside him.
The moment he turned, someone yanked his hair violently, sending a sharp pain through his scalp. Song Yunfan grimaced.
"Daring to escape? You’ve got some nerve!"
"I didn’t! It was clearly—"
"Still talking back? Beat him!"
Fists rained down like hail. The two constables beating him were experienced, avoiding vital spots. After a thorough thrashing, they clamped a cangue around his neck and kicked him back into the cell.
Song Yunfan was left speechless, his tune silenced.
"My Lord, you mean… to withdraw the immediate execution order?" The messenger looked puzzled.
Fang Zhiyi nodded. "This man is connected to other cases. We need further investigation. Forget about the execution order for now—deliver a personal letter for me instead."
The messenger was baffled. A personal letter? What personal letter? He had never heard Fang Zhiyi mention such a thing before. Still, he nodded. The magistrate’s word was law.
Fang Zhiyi handed him a bundle of Qingping County’s finest silk along with the letter. The messenger set off without delay.
Once the messenger was gone, Fang Zhiyi’s expression darkened. He summoned a few men and headed out. The original owner of this body had been a scholar, unfamiliar with military training—but Fang Zhiyi was no weakling!
As he walked, townsfolk frequently greeted him with bows and salutations, which he returned graciously. Say what you will, the original magistrate had been a good official—just a bit too rigid.
Among the crowd, shadowy figures lurked, stealing glances before slipping away to report.
The journey was long, and by the time news of Song Yunfan’s imprisonment reached Panlong Stronghold, several days had passed. Xiaotian Hu paced anxiously.
"Yunfan suffered this imprisonment for our sake. What should we do now?"
Someone shouted, "Let’s just storm that damned prison!"
"Right!"
Only strategist Xue Qi, stroking his goatee, shook his head. "Unwise. Though Qingping County’s defenses are weak, its walls are sturdy. A direct assault won’t work."
"Then what should we do?" Xiaotian Hu wasn’t the brightest.
Xue Qi narrowed his eyes. "We must be cunning. Since Yunfan killed someone, the law demands immediate execution. On the day of sentencing, we’ll send men disguised as civilians into the city. When an execution takes place, most guards will be diverted to the execution grounds, leaving the gates vulnerable. That’s when we strike—rescuing Yunfan and seizing the opportunity to…" He rubbed his fingers together meaningfully.
Xiaotian Hu’s eyes lit up, and he grinned—but then frowned. "By your logic, why not just break him out of prison now?"
Xue Qi lowered his voice. "Brother, think—how would Yunfan’s mindset differ if we rescued him from prison versus from the execution grounds?"
Xiaotian Hu pondered for a moment before clasping his hands in admiration. "Strategist, you are truly brilliant!"
They sent scouts to gather information on the execution date, but no news came. All they knew was that Song Yunfan remained imprisoned, with no verdict in sight.
Finally, they learned that the magistrate had postponed the execution, claiming Song Yunfan was tied to other cases requiring further investigation. Xiaotian Hu and the others had no choice but to wait.
They had tried to recruit Song Yunfan before, but he refused. Now, the more severe his crimes, the easier it would be to pull him into their ranks. So they waited.
Meanwhile, in the capital, at the Prime Minister’s residence, Fang Huatian stared at the letter and the crumpled bundle of silk in his hands, then at the bowing messenger, his expression grave.
"Take him to rest."
A servant led the messenger away. As he left, the messenger thought he heard laughter behind him—but he didn’t dare look back. That was Prime Minister Fang! And he was the magistrate’s father?
Fang Zhiyi had fully exploited his predecessor’s advantages. The letter spoke of his reflections since taking office, his longing for his father, and an apology for past "youthful folly"—followed by a plea for money.
Over a month later, the messenger returned. Fang Zhiyi studied the man—who, oddly enough, seemed to have gained weight.
The messenger respectfully handed over the letter and then pulled out a stack of banknotes from his robe. "The… the elder master asked me to deliver these to you, my Lord."
Fang Zhiyi barely glanced at the letter before snatching the banknotes, counting them meticulously. His subordinates stared in shock—their magistrate had always scorned money before. What had changed?
Wang Jia recalled an incident half a month prior. The Li family’s sheep had eaten the Zhang family’s wheat. Both families were powerful, and the dispute nearly turned deadly before they dragged each other to court.
In the past, the magistrate would have punished both sides equally with thirty lashes and a stern warning.
But this time was different. Wang Jia had seen the magistrate summon the Li family for a private discussion, followed by the Zhang family that evening. The next day, both families withdrew their lawsuits!
s the Eldest Princess, renowned for her cold and aloof detachment, became the most docile of lambs, obeying his every command without question. But when the final move was played on the chessboard, as Gu Chenghan seized everything and ascended on the verge of apotheosis, that very Princess suddenly embraced him from behind, her tone carrying a dependence never heard before: "Wait... you haven't yet... commanded me to love you forever." Gu Chenghan froze abruptly. She... hadn't been hypnotized?! ... [The Eldest Princess's Diary] [When my soul was extracted, becoming the sole spectator outside my own shell] [At first, there was overwhelming fury, until I saw] [How he used my sword to effortlessly shatter my inescapable doom] [How he wielded my authority to eradicate fatal conspiracies I had never even detected] [Like a deity, he rescued me from the deep mire I was trapped in] [If not for those annoying vixens, he and I would be a match made in heaven] [I think I am ill, gravely ill] [My deity should belong to me alone] ... "Hypnosis? Oh, it succeeded, my dear Master." "Only this time, it's my turn to hypnotize you."
nd fell into a coma while saving his younger sister from an out-of-control car. He became a vegetable. No one knew that his consciousness had crossed into a world of cultivation. Over the course of sixty years, he began as the lowest kind of mine slave, struggling to survive amid mountains of corpses and seas of blood. By sheer chance, he eventually obtained the complete memories of a fallen Immortal King. Alchemy, medicine, formations, feng shui, physiognomy, artifact forging… Every great inheritance of the cultivation world was now his. But when he opened his eyes again, he discovered that ten full years had passed in the modern world. To pay for his treatment, his father had sold the family’s shop and house, leaving himself covered in lasting injuries and illness. His mother had cared for him day and night, and more than half of her hair had already turned white. His younger sister, who had been only fifteen back then, was now twenty-five. To help repay the family’s debts, she had been forced to lower her head and put on a smiling face in places of glittering lights and endless revelry. Only then did Chen Xuan understand that what he had lost was not merely ten years. He had lost the life his entire family was meant to have. The good news was that he had brought back the memories of an Immortal King’s entire lifetime. The bad news was that his soul had returned alone—his cultivation had not come with him. Spiritual energy was scarce, resources were depleted, and the modern world still had firearms, surveillance, capital, and laws. If he wanted to protect his family, break free from everyone’s control, and become truly invincible beneath the heavens, he would have to start all over again.
ing gift was a patch of barren land, and disciples were all picked up along the way. He spent fifty years diligently building three "ramshackle little sects," thinking he could finally live a carefree life relying on his disciples. But right at the fifty-year mark, he was suddenly swept away by a spatial rift and exiled to the Chaos Desolation, the Disorderly Ruins. There was no spiritual energy there, only slaughter. Relying on the cultivation feedback from his disciples, Gu Changyuan hacked his way through a sea of blood for eleven hundred years. When the system finally fished him back out, he discovered the ramshackle little sects he'd built back then had developed a rather... unusual style. Hold on... I vanished for a thousand years, so how did my ramshackle little sects become holy lands?!
he colors of other people’s emotions. Light red meant anxiety. Gray meant exhaustion. Orange meant excitement. Yellow... meant repression. At the same time, he could gain unlimited control over one of those colors. Pale cyan: relaxation. Using this ability, he started offering “two-yuan hugs,” spending an afternoon exchanging emotional-color experiences with others. Then came his final female customer of the day— a girl whose emotional color was pure black... —— A week later, Xu Chuan had become skilled at using pale cyan—Relaxation—treating it like a bottle of menthol balm whenever he needed it. That was when he discovered he had unlocked another unlimited emotional color: Purple, the color of fear. So these emotional colors refresh every week? Fine, I take it back—I’ll never call you useless again... —— Much later, after Xu Chuan had accumulated countless emotional abilities, one night, he suddenly found himself inside someone else’s dream. There, he could use the emotional colors he possessed to paint. And in her dream, he painted her a shower of pink shooting stars, spreading across the depths of the night sky...
