In the funeral parlor's farewell hall, Zhang Yuanching stood in a black suit, a white flower pinned to his chest. After three deep bows, he gazed long at the photo of his late superior—mid-forties, now forever still. A heavy weight settled in his chest.

The leader's parting words echoed in his mind: relentless dissatisfaction, laced with unfulfilled ambition. The grief was suffocating. This had been one of the few people he truly respected. To die so young...

As he approached the family area, he saw the leader's wife, Lin Cuirou, draped in white. Barely thirty, she looked utterly drained.

"Yuanching, if it weren't for you these past days... I don't know what I would've done."

Despite her grief, her gratitude toward this young man was palpable. From the moment her husband's terminal diagnosis came, Zhang Yuanching had been there—managing everything.

Of course, many had come to pay respects initially. But as the illness worsened, the visitors thinned. Lin Cuirou, raised in an official family, understood the unspoken rules. Her husband had been incorruptible, clashing bitterly with local officials and making enemies at every turn.

Now that hope of recovery was gone, the warmth of their relationships had evaporated like morning dew.

Today, only three members of the leadership team attended—brief appearances, perfunctory condolences.

Only this young man had worked tirelessly behind the scenes. Her husband had often praised him. Now she saw that judgment had been correct.

"Once things are settled here, hurry back to work. Don't let your job suffer."

Lin Cuirou gripped his hand firmly, her meaning clear.

Zhang Yuanching's heart sank. He understood her veiled warning.

Having served nearly a year in the municipal Party committee office, he knew the unwritten rules. When a senior official died, the prudent move was to immediately distance oneself—to avoid being labeled a "remnant faction."

Especially this official, transferred from the provincial capital, had clashed bitterly with local factions.

Though Zhang Yuanching owed his deputy-section-chief promotion to him, cutting ties now would at most earn him a reputation for self-preservation—not condemnation.

Yet he hadn't done that.

As he put it: he needed to face himself in the mirror.

This leader had given him his big break, and with no children of his own, someone had to see him through his final days.

After offering a few more words of comfort to Lin Cuirou, he left to return to work. He knew the vultures would soon circle.

The envy and resentment he'd endured as the deputy secretary's secretary would now rain down on him like stones—each one aimed at breaking his back.

As he exited the funeral parlor, about to enter his car, he saw an elderly woman collapse at the entrance.

Instantly, bystanders scattered. Only a young woman stood nearby, shouting for help.

Zhang Yuanching rushed over. The crowd parted—these days, no one dared help fallen seniors. Funeral parlors saw this all the time. An elderly person dying of shock? Perfectly normal.

But Zhang Yuanching didn't hesitate. After checking her condition, he scooped her up and told the young woman, "Get in the car. I know the nearest hospital."

They arrived in time. The old woman was unharmed. Zhang Yuanching paid the medical fees anonymously and left.

The delay meant his phone rang just as he reached the municipal office building.

Deputy Director Qin Linyu's voice dripped with sarcasm: "Secretary Zhang, taking so many days off and not showing up for work? Our office can't manage you. Today the secretary-general inspected—only you were absent. I've said my piece. Think about how to handle this."

The call ended before Zhang Yuanching could explain.

His face darkened. The veiled barbs felt like needles. Everyone knew he'd been handling the funeral arrangements. Qin Linyu's words turned "abandoning the sinking ship" into a public spectacle.

And he called now, while the funeral was still fresh? The timing was atrocious.

Still, he hurried to the office. Qin Linyu's words stung, but he had to face him directly. Letting this fester would only invite more trouble.

Without his patron's protection, Zhang Yuanching knew he must tread carefully.

As he entered the building, many averted their eyes. Former acquaintances pretended not to see him. new king, new courtiers—the eternal truth of officialdom.

He marched straight to Qin Linyu's office.

Inside, Qin Linyu was yelling into the phone: "What's going on? I've said it a hundred times—can't even handle this small matter? Keep bothering me and what's the point of having you?!"

He slammed the landline down.

As deputy director, Qin Linyu oversaw vast swathes of the office's operations. His temper was infamous, his treatment of subordinates brutal.

Previously, he'd been cordial with Zhang Yuanching, often praising him as the office's "literary genius."

Now, facing Zhang Yuanching, his eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Director Qin, reporting for duty!" Zhang Yuanching kept his head bowed.

Under someone else's roof, one must lower their head. Though his patron had promoted him to deputy section chief, in this office, that rank was meaningless—a mere ant.

Qin Linyu, as deputy director (deputy department level), directly supervised him. Even at his peak, Zhang Yuanching had to show deference. Now? He had no choice but to be obsequious.

"Yuanching, you're a high-achiever—top scores in written and oral exams to get here. I had high hopes. But lately, everyone says your work attitude is problematic!"

Qin Linyu's words dripped with malice. The "everyone" was clearly just himself. Not everyone changed faces on a dime.

Zhang Yuanching seethed internally but forced a smile. "Director, I had proper leave procedures..."

"I didn't ask about leave!" Qin Linyu slammed the desk, cutting him off. "I'm talking about your attitude!"

Rage flickered in Zhang Yuanching's chest. You're a deputy department head bullying a deputy section chief—how petty.

Didn't he know I was caring for my dying patron?

But hierarchy was hierarchy. Swallowing his anger, he apologized.

Qin Linyu's eyes gleamed with sadistic pleasure. He'd disliked this upstart for ages—jealousy playing its part.

And with higher-ups explicitly instructing him to teach Zhang Yuanching a lesson, he wouldn't show mercy.

Even his submission wouldn't spare him from being thoroughly crushed.

"Today the secretary-general was furious. The Organization Department must propose disciplinary measures. I pleaded your case, but party discipline is sacred." Qin Linyu's voice turned oily. "Here's the decision—take a look."

Zhang Yuanching's hands trembled as he read:

Warning, written self-criticism, and reassignment from current position.

The warning alone was a formal demerit. But the reassignment? This wasn't just about today's tardiness. This was a reckoning for his entire recent performance—a calculated exile.

Slamming the paper on the desk, Zhang Yuanching exploded: "Director Qin, this punishment is excessive!"

Translation Notes: Cultural Context:

Funeral etiquette: The detailed mourning rituals and social expectations reflect traditional Chinese values surrounding death and hierarchy.

Officialdom dynamics: The power struggles and "abandoning the sinking ship" mentality highlight the cutthroat nature of Chinese bureaucracy. Characterization:

Zhang Yuanching: His moral conflict between loyalty and self-preservation creates compelling tension.

Qin Linyu: The transformation from mentor to tormentor illustrates how quickly alliances shift in political environments. Symbolism:

The funeral parlor: Represents the end of an era and the beginning of Zhang Yuanching's trials.

The reassignment order: Symbolizes the systemic nature of political retaliation. Tone:

The blend of bureaucratic coldness and personal stakes keeps the narrative engaging while underscoring the protagonist's dilemma.

This passage masterfully sets up Zhang Yuanching's fall from grace, using workplace politics as a microcosm for larger societal issues in contemporary China.