The world of film and television begins with Hikaru no Go

After the first chime of the hour gong sounded in the night, Judge Di went to the death row.

I had only walked a few steps under the corridor when I paused.

"Jail is no good place. Go back and rest."

There were no footsteps behind me, but there was no sign of them moving away.

Di Renjie turned around, and Zhang Rui followed him.

"You reacted like that even when you saw a dead body, what about a place like a prison..."

Zhang Rui pursed his lips, not responding to that, but only saying, "You haven't rested at all."

"So what?"

"You said it yourself, the case won't wait for anyone." Zhang Rui took two steps forward and stood beside him. "Let's go."

Di Renjie glanced at him and didn't try to persuade him further: "Don't force yourself if you're feeling unwell."

The prison smelled foul, the passageways were narrow, the walls were damp, and the floorboards were sticky to the touch.

The jailer led the way with a lantern, the flame swaying in the breeze, casting long and short shadows on the wall.

Li Er was in the innermost room, with injuries from torture on his body and tattered clothes, leaning against the corner of the wall.

He didn't look up when he heard footsteps, until the prison door slammed open, at which point he slowly raised his eyes.

There was no pleading or fear in his eyes.

Di Renjie glanced at him but didn't ask any further questions.

"Remove the shackles and take him to the backyard."

The jailer hesitated for a moment, but still did as he was told, took out the key, and squatted down to unlock the shackles.

Two soldiers stepped forward and lifted Li Er up. His legs couldn't support him, and he swayed, but then straightened up on his own.

A side room in the backyard had been prepared. The window was open, and an oil lamp was lit on the table. The wick had been recently replaced, and the light shone steadily on the table.

A doctor stood at the door, carrying a medicine box. He bowed and greeted people as they arrived.

Li Er was led into the house and stood in the middle of the room.

Judge Di waved his hand, and everyone else withdrew.

Zhang Rui floated in the room, looking at Li Er.

Li Er's back was very straight, his hands hung at his sides, and his fingers were thick and large, indicating that he was used to holding a knife.

Judge Di stood opposite him: "Rest assured and recover from your injuries. Once you're healed, I have some questions for you."

Li Er did not answer, clearly indicating that he had not yet let his guard down.

Di Renjie turned and walked out, stepping over the threshold, and instructed the soldiers outside: "Take good care of this man, and don't let anyone near him."

After returning from the backyard, Judge Di interrogated the imposter Fang Qian in the side hall of the main hall at night.

The mask that had been removed lay on the corner of the table, thin as a sheet, gleaming with a waxy sheen under the lamp.

The fake Fang Qian knelt before the table, his face no longer concealed, revealing an old knife scar that ran diagonally from his left eyebrow to his cheekbone, the skin and flesh rolled back, the healing rough.

His entire face was covered by the mask, making it appear white, a completely different color from his neck.

The lamp stand was set up right next to him, and every time the flame flickered, the scar would jump along with it.

Judge Di's questions were brief, one after another, without any gaps in between.

Fang Qian answered quickly, keeping his head down the whole time.

Comrades, Wu Yizhi and Zhao Chuanchen, and officers who had defected to the enemy also gave their names one by one without hesitation, as if they had given up and were ready to fight to the bitter end.

After the interrogation, the soldiers stepped forward and escorted the man back. When the fake Fang Qian was lifted up, his legs went weak and he staggered half a step. He was then dragged straight and taken outside.

The bank manager was locked in an empty room in the backyard, and no one paid him any attention.

Di Renjie did not rush to conduct the trial. The oil lamp on the table was refilled with oil, and the clerk spread out the seven account books that Hu Jinghui had brought back, flipping through them one by one.

When I turned to the fourth book, I discovered some clues.

This isn't a proper account; it's a secret account.

They didn't record the amount of silver, but rather the quantities of grain and ironware allocated, and the names of those who came and went. They recorded everything in great detail, with both fresh and old ink marks.

The clerk took out this book and presented it to Judge Di.

The candlelight flickered twice on the paper of the dark curtain, casting flickering light on the face.

Judge Di carefully examined the ledger for a while, then closed it, got up, and took the secret ledger into the room where the shopkeeper was being held.

The shopkeeper remained seated, his plump face glistening with sweat.

The collar drooped down to her neck, and it was soaked.

Seeing Di Renjie enter, he bent over again, but froze halfway down, remaining half-bent, unsure whether to go forward or backward.

Di Renjie opened the curtain and placed it in front of him, pointing his fingertip to a line of words.

"What was the date this grain was stored in the warehouse?"

The shopkeeper glanced at it, sweat trickling down his temples and dripping onto his collar, staining a small dark patch.

"The day after the Xiaolianzi Mountain closure order was issued."

Di Renjie closed the curtain, placed his palm on the cover, and did not urge him to close it.

"The fake Fang Qian has already confessed. Do you want to tell us yourself, or...?"

The shopkeeper's lips moved, his Adam's apple bobbed, and after a long pause, he squeezed out two words: "I'll talk."

The wick popped, the room flickered, and the shadow on the wall shrank into a ball before bouncing away.

Since they've chosen to speak up and have no intention of continuing to hide it, they probably feel there's no point in hiding it anyway.

The list of inside agents, the contact codes, the routes for regularly transporting supplies to the ghost town... were all dumped out one by one.

As he finished speaking, his voice grew softer and softer, as if something had drained all his strength. He slumped in his chair, his fat face expressionless, with only his eyes moving, staring blankly at Judge Di.

By the time all this was done, it was already very late at night.

Di Renjie returned to the main hall and looked at Zhang Rui.

"There are two more things to do tonight: the mine and the ghost town. I plan to leave the mine to Yuanfang, and Jinghui and I will go to the ghost town."

"Is this... appropriate?"

Judge Di tapped his finger on the edge of the table: "Since you've given him the chance, let Jinghui choose for himself."

When Hu Jinghui went out through the side door, the wind under the corridor was cooler than at night.

He changed into a black outfit and wore soft-soled boots that made almost no sound as he stepped on the blue bricks.

The side door was ajar; I slipped out, but the door remained ajar.

Walk along the base of the wall, go around a narrow alley, and then head northwest.

The eaves overhead grew lower and more dilapidated, and the moonlight shone on the gravel road, creating patches of white and black.

The ghost town has been abandoned for who knows how many years. The houses are either collapsed or crooked, and there isn't even a proper road.

The wind howled as it whistled through the cracks in the broken wall.

In the center of town, half of an ancestral hall had collapsed, the stone tablet was broken on the ground, and tiles were scattered all over the ground. Moonlight leaked through the gaping hole in the roof and shone on the stone floor.

Inside the ancestral hall, there was a stone slab. Hu Jinghui squatted down, touched the edge of the slab with his fingers, lifted it up, and there was a well underneath.

The well had long since dried up, and footprints were chiseled into the wall, extending downwards in rows. The chisel marks were fresh, and the edges were still covered with stone chips.

Hu Jinghui braced himself against the edge of the well, rolled down, and stepped into the first indentation with his boot, steady and light.

The passageway in the underground palace was very narrow, just wide enough for one person to walk through.

The walls were made of blue bricks, which felt cool and slippery to the touch, with moisture seeping out from the cracks between the bricks.

Every few steps there was an oil lamp, the flames were very small, only illuminating a small patch of light underfoot, and beyond that it was pitch black, you had to bend over to see the road.

After walking for about the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, the passageway began to widen.

The further you go, the wider the road becomes, and the more lights there are, one every three steps, illuminating the entire road clearly.