Driving toward the funeral parlor, Zhang Yuanching's heart sank lower and lower.

After returning home from the Civil Affairs Bureau yesterday afternoon, he hadn’t slept a wink. His mind spun between memories of his late patron and the cursed gift vouchers. When he finally dozed off, he dreamed of walking along a cliff edge—only to slip and fall.

Waking in a cold sweat, he chain-smoked several cigarettes in bed before the exhaustion finally dragged him back under.

At dawn, he ate a hasty breakfast and headed to his new post.

The funeral parlor’s director, Ye Shanqiu, met him in his office. A former soldier by the look of him, the man stood ramrod straight. Though polite, his demeanor carried an unmistakable distance.

Understandable, Zhang Yuanching thought. Being sent here for a three-month "research assignment" was practically exile. Though the Civil Affairs Bureau technically oversaw the funeral parlor, higher-ups rarely visited such inauspicious places.

Officialdom’s superstitions die hard.

Ye Shanqiu gave a brief introduction before escorting him to a temporary office—barebones, with just a desk, chair, and computer.

No sooner had he sat down than his phone rang.

It was his girlfriend, Liu Ting. The moment he answered, her shrill voice lashed out:

"Zhang Yuanching, you useless bastard. I told you not to meddle with that dying wreck. But no, you just had to play hero. Look where that got you—banished to a morgue. Your life is over. I’m done with you. Don’t ever call again!"

Zhang Yuanching smirked and hung up.

Liu Ting, a finance officer at a local street office, was undeniably beautiful. At first, he’d been tempted to marry her. But she was fickle, playing the field with no intention of settling down.

So he’d kept her at arm’s length—a convenient arrangement for when needs must.

Fine by me. If she wants to walk away, let her.

Just as he pocketed his phone, it rang again. This time, the caller ID made his pulse jump: Pei Lu, the businessman who’d given the tea box to his late patron.

He answered immediately.

Pei Lu sounded profusely apologetic: "Sorry, Secretary Zhang, my phone was at the office yesterday. What’s this about?"

Big shots like Pei Lu owned multiple phones—no surprise there.

From his tone, Zhang Yuanching detected no malice. So he recounted yesterday’s events, then demanded: "Why did you slip ten thousand yuan in gift vouchers into the tea box?"

"Secretary Zhang, you’ve got me all wrong," Pei Lu said smoothly. "When I heard Old Secretary Jin was ill, I wanted to show respect as an old classmate. Cash felt too crass, so I used vouchers—discreetly tucked inside the tea tin. Jin was sharp; he’d have known what it was. Besides, since we weren’t business partners, even if it was a voucher, it was just a gesture between old friends. That he gave it to you? Perfectly reasonable. You cared for him for years—he wanted to thank you. Where’s the crime?"

Zhang Yuanching sat stunned.

He had suspected the boss knew what was inside the box, but never pieced it together this clearly. The ambush had caught him completely off guard.

They exploited my inexperience, he realized.

Pei Lu continued, methodically dismantling the accusation: "Think about it—if I wanted to frame you, I’d plant evidence of some wrongdoing, then ‘gift’ you vouchers. Even if you tried to shield Jin, the Discipline Inspection Commission would investigate. Once they’re involved, whether you confess wouldn’t matter."

"You... mean?" Zhang’s face darkened.

Pei Lu leaned in: "Someone’s trying to bluff you. They know you have the vouchers but not who gave them to you. So they crafted this举报信, hoping to extract damaging statements about Jin. Who else knew about those vouchers?"

The pieces clicked.

The tea box had been tampered with. Someone had seen the vouchers, then leaked the info to Jin’s political enemies—who now used it to trap Zhang.

The list of suspects was terrifyingly broad. The box had sat in the municipal office; anyone could’ve opened it.

Pei Lu added another clue: "My guess? Whoever knows about the vouchers only just found out. I gave them a month ago, when Jin was already dying. If they’d known then, they’d have smeared him immediately. Waiting until after his death? That’s calculated."

Recent access... face surfaced in Zhang Yuanching’s mind.

Pei Lu’s parting words struck like lightning: "Remember, in officialdom, the deadliest leaks come from within. Think—who could’ve opened that tea box?"

The vague silhouette in his thoughts sharpened into a name he’d never suspected:

Liu Ting.

Just days ago, he’d brought her home for an intimate evening.

The next morning, while he rushed to the hospital to be with his dying patron, Liu Ting had stayed behind in his apartment.

She drank tea habitually—plenty of time to discover the vouchers. And if she’d told the right people...

The timeline fit.

Only one loose end nagged at him: the举报信 specified a date. Liu Ting couldn’t know when the box had been delivered.

But that’s verifiable, he realized. People saw me carry it into the office—Qin Linyu, for one. He’d remember.

Zhang Yuanching barely registered when his call ended. His mind raced: fury, then suffocation. poem echoed in his head: "I draw my sword and look around—lost in a world of shadows."

No way to prove it now. Calling Liu Ting would only make her deny it.

Was she a pawn? Or the mastermind?

Worst of all, he’d already admitted fault. The exile was a done deal. His chance to fight back had slipped away.

If only I’d flipped the table on Qin Linyu back then...

His face flushed crimson, then paled.

Just as he spiraled further, a shadow fell across his desk.

Ye Shanqiu stood there.

Zhang Yuanching yelped: "Director Ye? When did you get here?"

The director’s face remained impassive. "Knocked, but you didn’t hear."

Now, "Secretary Zhang" sounded like a jab.

"Call me Xiao Zhang," Zhang muttered.

Though sent here under the bureau’s banner, he knew his place.

Ye Shanqiu nodded. "We’re hosting a welcome lunch—meet the team."

No point refusing. First day on the job, and his nerves were already frayed. Liquor might help.

He stood, straightened his clothes, and followed Ye out the door.

Though the sun blazed outside, darkness loomed over Zhang Yuanching’s heart.

Unbeknownst to him, the gears of fate had begun to turn...

Translation Notes: Cultural Nuances:

Gift vouchers as bribes: A common trope in Chinese anti-corruption narratives, where seemingly innocuous items mask illicit transactions.

Funeral parlor as exile: Reflects deep-seated superstitions about death and misfortune in officialdom. Characterization:

Zhang Yuanching’s internal conflict: His dawning realization of betrayal contrasts with his earlier naivety, creating psychological depth.

Pei Lu’s smooth talk: The businessman’s calculated innocence highlights how easily the system can be manipulated. Symbolism:

The tampered tea box: Represents how trust is weaponized in political games.

Liu Ting’s betrayal: The personal becoming political—intimacy as a vector for sabotage. Tone:

The shift from paranoia to cold clarity keeps the reader on edge.

The abrupt shift to lunch plans juxtaposes Zhang’s inner turmoil with mundane office life, underscoring his isolation.

This passage masterfully blends psychological tension with institutional critique, setting the stage for Zhang Yuanching’s reckoning with the corrupt system that betrayed him.