The world of film and television begins with Hikaru no Go

As night fell, Judge Di sat down behind his desk and lit a lamp.

The gauze canopy gathered the light into a single spot, illuminating just that area of ​​the table, where the inkstone, pen holder, and a stack of blank memorials were displayed.

He rolled up his sleeve half an inch, laid out the paper, and picked up his pen.

Zhang Rui was grinding ink on the side, the ink stick slowly circling on the inkstone, round and round, unhurriedly.

Matters concerning compensation payments, resettlement of displaced people, and the aftermath of the Xiaolianzishan mine... these are all official documents, and they should be written as they are required.

Di Renjie wrote quickly, rarely pausing. He would only glance up briefly between dips in ink to think about the beginning of the next paragraph before putting his pen down again.

After finishing one page, I set it aside to dry the ink, and then laid out another page.

Zhang Rui floated to the other side of the table and looked down at the half-dry ink on the paper.

The calligraphy is neat and orderly, with every stroke perfectly executed, without a single correction.

"What's wrong?"

"It's nothing, it's just that you seem to write these things very easily."

Di Renjie paused for a moment in mid-air, glanced at him, didn't reply, and lowered his head to continue writing.

After writing for another half hour, a breeze blew through the courtyard outside the window, causing the window paper to flutter slightly.

The only sounds in the study were the scratching of pen tips across paper and the occasional rustling of pages being turned.

Footsteps echoed from the corridor, very light, yet clear enough in the still night.

They stopped outside the door and remained there for a long time.

"Come in." Judge Di put down his pen.

The door opened.

Standing outside was Hu Jinghui, who had changed into an ordinary robe, removed his official hat, and covered his face with a human skin mask, but his figure and posture remained the same.

The door closed slowly behind him. He took three steps inside and stopped in front of the desk.

Then suddenly he lifted the hem of his robe and knelt down on both knees.

Di Renjie stood up from his chair, walked around the desk to him, bent down, and reached out to help him up.

Hu Jinghui's arm stiffened for a moment, and then he was lifted up from the ground.

The two people stood facing each other, the light from the gauze lantern shining directly between them, one side bright and the other dark.

Di Renjie turned around and picked up something from the corner of the desk. It was a document, the paper was still new, but the ink had long since dried.

"Open it and take a look."

Hu Jinghui reached out and took it, then opened it.

The document follows the standard registration format, with the head of household, Di Renjie, listed in the first line from the right, followed by his children and other relatives in the same household.

The newly added line of ink was slightly darker than the rest: Di Jinghui, a native of Taiyuan, Bingzhou, a nephew of the head of the household, born in a certain year and month, with a height of a certain number and physical characteristics of a certain type.

The date of birth, height, and appearance were filled in neatly, stroke by stroke, and the seal and household number were added at the end.

Hu Jinghui's gaze was fixed on that name: Di Jinghui.

"You were born in the shadow of the Wang family, and your life has been largely beyond your control. I've changed one of your characters, replacing it with the 'Jing' in 'Jingxing' (景行)."

"Jing Xing?"

"High mountains are to be admired, and virtuous conduct is to be followed." Di Renjie looked at him and said, "In the past, when you walked, you only knew to keep your head down and move forward, regardless of whether the path under your feet was the right one or a wrong one. From now on, this word 'scenery' will be engraved on you. Remember, 'Only when there is scenery on the road can one truly walk.' What path you take is more important than how you walk it."

Hu Jinghui held the document, his fingers lightly stroking the edge of the paper.

The wind outside the window returned, causing the paper window to flutter slightly.

The wick popped, the candlelight flickered, and the shadows of the two people on the wall swayed.

"I hardly ever saw my father growing up." Hu Jinghui looked down at the three characters. "From as far back as I can remember, people told me that I had to take revenge when I grew up. So all these years, I've only done one thing—practice swordsmanship, go into battle, and kill enemies. Nobody really cared about me, and I didn't care. Anyway, once I got my revenge, that was it. Now I can't."

"It's not that I can't avenge you, it's that I won't." Di Gong took the name card, closed it, and placed it back in his palm, pressing it down. "Your revenge is real, and your crime is real. Take both with you. But from tonight onward, you are Di Jinghui. What you do and what path you take from now on is up to you."

Hu Jinghui gripped the document tightly, and after a long pause, he finally spoke: "Then... how should I address you from now on?"

"If you wish, call me Uncle. If others ask, just say you are a distant relative of mine who came from Taiyuan to seek refuge with me, but you were attacked by bandits on the way, and your voice is ruined, so you don't like to talk. Over the years, you are not the only member of my clan who has been with me, so outsiders will not suspect anything."

Hu Jinghui paused for a moment, mentally repeating the word "uncle" over and over again.

Then he lowered his head, put the document into his bosom, took two steps back, and turned around.

"Then I'll go back, Uncle."

"Go."

The door opened, then closed again.

The footsteps walked along the corridor, growing fainter and fainter until they were finally swallowed up by the night wind.

The distant sound of a night watchman's clapper drifted in from outside the window, striking again and again in the depths of the night.

Di Renjie reached under the desk and pulled out a hidden compartment, taking out a list.

The paper was covered with names, some of which had been crossed out with a vermilion pen, while others remained.

He held it in his hand for a moment, then finally brought it closer to the candlelight.

The flame licked the edge of the paper, and the ink curled and turned white in the firelight, turning into a clump of ash that fell into the copper plate next to the brush washer.

Zhang Rui watched as the list burned to ashes: "Aren't we going to hand it in?"

"No, thank you." Di Renjie wiped the ash off his fingers with a cloth. "Handing it over will only lead to more bloodshed. It's better to burn it."

"Why is Your Excellency so concerned about the Li family lineage?"

Di Renjie did not answer immediately. He leaned back in his chair and spoke slowly after a while.

"Tongyou, do you know how many times the Li family members have suffered since the founding of this dynasty? There was one when the late emperor was alive, and now it's happening again. Each time, hundreds to tens of thousands have been implicated. Of these people, how many were truly plotting a rebellion? The vast majority lost their lives simply because they shared the surname Li. When I judge cases, I insist on solid evidence and that the crime is deserved. To punish someone based solely on their surname is not the law, but a butcher's knife."

Zhang Rui listened quietly.

"Furthermore—" Di Renjie raised his eyes, his gaze passing over the candlelight to the map of Youzhou on the wall, "The state is like a great building, and the imperial family is its pillars. As long as the pillars are there, even if the building leans, it still has support. If all the pillars break, once the building collapses, it will not be the emperors and generals who are crushed, but the common people of the world. Among the descendants of the Li family, there are good people and bad people, but killing one means one less. If they are all killed, the world will be left with only ruins. So we should preserve as much as we can. Not for their sake, but so that there is still room for the world to recover."

The room was quiet for a moment, the candlelight flickered, casting Di Renjie's shadow on the wall.

After listening, Zhang Rui remained silent for a long time.

"So you burned this list not to protect anyone, but to stop this knife here with you."

Di Renjie did not answer. The ashes in the bronze plate were gently stirred by the wind that leaked in from the window, and then fell back down.

After a moment, he stood up, propped himself up on the edge of the table, and blew out the gauze lamp. A wisp of smoke rose from the extinguished wick.

"It's getting late, let's rest."