Chapter 375: Crime and Punishment

Xiao Zhang finished that sentence, and his entire aura shifted.

Calmly.

He spread his arms, his dark‑red pupils calmly fixed on Qin Zhixia, and the Regenerative Tissue on his neck ceased writhing.

As if welcoming the ending he deserved.

"Come on, Qin Team."

Qin Zhixia did not know what scheme Xiao Zhang was plotting at this moment.

But since Xiao Zhang offered this chance, she naturally would not let it slip.

She said nothing. She stomped her left foot, shattering the floor beneath, and her body turned into a fleeting afterimage that darted away. The energy of Ignorance was concentrated into the final Bayonet, the metal blade emitting a glass‑shattering shriek, its edge shining bright enough to burn a retina.

Three meters.

Two meters.

One meter.

The bayonet tip pointed at Xiao Zhang's forehead.

The distance was so close that Qin Zhixia could count the pores on Xiao Zhang's nasal bridge, and could see the lingering human reflection deep within his dark‑red iris.

Half an inch.

Only half an inch remained between the tip and the skin.

Xiao Zhang curled his lips.

Then the whole world vanished.

It was not a power outage, not a visual interference. Light itself was ripped from space, and all colors, outlines, shadows collapsed in an instant into absolute, pure black.

Qin Zhixia's wrist suddenly halted.

It wasn't she who stopped.

An unfamiliar force surged from all directions; it had no substance, no temperature, deeper than any physical impact—it acted directly upon the rules.

The light of Ignorance went out.

The Bayonet slipped from Qin Zhixia's hand, not falling to the ground but hovering mid‑air, slowly rotating once, then vanishing silently as if erased.

It wasn't only the bayonet that disappeared.

The metal casing of the spare magazine at her waist dissolved simultaneously, the bullets falling out like loosened screws, gradually fading until completely invisible.

The fasteners of her arm armor popped open on their own, the shattered Exoskeleton peeled off from her right knee, the alloy studs on her combat boots fell out one by one—every piece of equipment, every weapon, every metal item vanished from Qin Zhixia within three seconds, leaving nothing behind.

Then came gravity.

No, something more precise than gravity.

Qin Zhixia's right knee hit the ground first, the left knee slammed down immediately after. She didn't kneel of her own accord; a certain rule dictated that she must kneel.

The sound of her patella striking concrete rang unusually clear in the darkness, followed by the scapula, spine, cervical vertebrae—each bone bearing pressure far beyond human limits, emitting a rapid series of crisp, popcorn‑pop‑like cracks.

Qin Zhixia clenched her teeth, not uttering a single sound.

Yet she was half‑kneeling on the ground, her head pressed down so she could not lift it.

Footsteps echoed in the darkness.

Leather shoes struck a hard surface—once, twice—precise beats carrying the solemn, measured cadence found only in a courtroom.

Then came a sound.

A crisp wood‑on‑wood crack—the Gavel.

"Dong."

The darkness receded, but what emerged was not the Reinforced Steel Bar and rubble of a derelict building.

Qin Zhixia's pupils contracted dramatically.

The spot where she knelt turned into black marble floor tiles, mirror‑like.

Four walls rose from the ground, dark‑gray stone austere and orderly, each joint measured as if with a ruler.

The dome was extremely high, converging overhead into a bottomless black vortex.

The air was filled with a pungent formaldehyde smell and the decay of aged wood, as if a courtroom abandoned for half a century had been ripped out of time.

A tribunal bench appeared directly ahead.

It materialized out of thin air: a black marble base, six tiers of steps, each engraved with intricate Balance reliefs. The tabletop was covered with dark‑red velvet, upon which rested a Gavel.

A bone‑white handle. A scarlet head.

Behind the Gavel sat a person.

A deep‑blue suit, cut without a single wrinkle. A Windsor‑knot tie, tied to the millimeter. A marble‑pale face devoid of any living warmth, hair combed flawlessly.

A ghost‑blue pupil descended from above, landing on Qin Zhixia.

Yan Ming.

Qin Zhixia's pupils narrowed.

"Defendant."

Yan Ming spoke with precise, resonant diction, devoid of any emotional fluctuation, each pause measured as if by a metronome.

"During this trial, the defendant may not employ any force."

A force forcibly straightened Qin Zhixia's back.

She realized she was no longer kneeling on the marble; an armchair had appeared beneath her at some unknown moment.

Defendant's seat.

She was pressed onto the defendant's seat.

She tried to move a bit, but couldn't move at all.

Where is Xiao Zhang?

Qin Zhixia strained to turn her neck, her peripheral vision at the edge of the darkness catching a vague silhouette—Xiao Zhang stood in the shadows ten meters to the left of the judgment platform, his hands tucked in the pockets of his combat jacket.

He did not move.

He also said nothing.

Dong.

The Gavel fell again.

Yan Ming stood up. His movements were so slow that the trajectory of each joint was clearly discernible. Those deep blue eyes never left Qin Zhixia, his gaze vertical downward, looking from above.

There was no deliberate condescension, nor any contemptuous affectation.

It was simply the judge looking at the defendant.

That gaze was colder than anger or hatred, because it contained no personal feeling.

"Case No.: Absolute Court Lin No. 007."

Yan Ming's voice resonated physically in the enclosed space, causing Qin Zhixia's eardrums to buzz.

"Defendant: Qin Zhixia. Federal Weird Investigation Bureau Core Captain, codename 'Mei'."

"First charge—"

He raised his right hand, palm up. A pale blue light coalesced in the air, projecting a scene.

In the scene, Cui Yong'an was being transformed by the Seed, screaming as he lunged at Qin Zhixia.

Qin Zhixia raised her gun.

A bullet shattered Cui Yong'an's skull.

"The civilian Cui Yong'an, whose complete transformation was unfinished, was shot dead on the spot. According to the court's Rules verification, Cui Yong'an had not yet fully lost human physiological traits at the time of death, his transformation only sixty‑seven percent complete."

Yan Ming's blue eyes reflected the bloody replay, his tone unnervingly steady.

"This constitutes intentional homicide."

"Second charge—"

The scene switched.

Xiao Zhang handed the Seed to Cui Yong'an's mouth, and Qin Zhixia coldly said, "Feed him."

Yan Ming's fingertip lightly tapped the air, freezing the frame at the moment Qin Zhixia spoke.

"Defendant Qin Zhixia, while possessing the ability to rescue, faced the coerced hostage Cui Yong'an and took no rescue action, instead actively directing the aggressor to feed him, accelerating the victim's unnatural transformation process."

"This is a case of failure to aid, combined with indirect intentional injury."

The Gavel fell a third time.

"Dong——!"

This sound was much heavier than the previous two. The sound wave flipped Qin Zhixia's fragmented hair on her forehead, and the iron chair left two white scratches on the floor tiles.

Yan Ming's voice did not rise by half a decibel, yet each word precisely hammered into Qin Zhixia's eardrums.

"Both charges are tried together; the evidence is conclusive."

"Defendant, please make your final statement."

A light illuminated above Qin Zhixia's head.

It was not a lamp.

A massive Balance descended from the black vortex in the dome, its gilded crossbeam spanning over three meters, with a one‑meter‑diameter scale pan hanging at each end. The left pan bore the inscription "Guilty", the right pan "Not Guilty".

The Balance swayed.

The "Guilty" side sank down.

It was not a slow tilt but a direct drop. The tightened iron chains screeched with a harsh metallic friction, flinging the "Not Guilty" pan into mid‑air, where it swung endlessly.

At the same time, a cold glint appeared three meters above Qin Zhixia's head.

Giant Saw Blade.

The blade was as wide as half a wall, its edge thin enough to be translucent, hanging motionless at the apex.

Qin Zhixia could feel the coldness descending along the blade, brushing her scalp, a chilling draft like the winter morning cold that slips through a window crack.

Yan Ming sat on the judgment platform, his hands folded beside the Gavel, his ten fingers long and pale, the joints protruding.

"The court grants you a chance to appeal, defendant."

A blue light in his pupil turned half a circle.

"You have ninety seconds."

"If no response is given after ninety seconds, the Balance will render its own judgment."

Qin Zhixia was nailed to the defendant's seat, all her weapons and equipment having vanished entirely.

Iron binding rings tightly clamped her wrists and ankles, "Ignorance" in Yan Ming's domain had completely lost its response—no, not lost response.

It is that Ignorance itself had been temporarily overwritten by some higher‑level rule.

In Yan Ming's absolute courtroom, he is the law itself.

Qin Zhixia's Crimson Phoenix Eyes slowly swept over the Giant Saw Blade above her head, the tilted Balance, and the expressionless Yan Ming seated high on the judgment platform.

Then she lowered her head, looking at her bound hands.

Blood still clung to her knuckles.

Some had already dried, dark brown, cracked into fine lines.

Ninety seconds.

The countdown began.