Theme: Abandonment, Guilt, and Self-Punishment
Philosophical Conflict: Can religious remorse replace real-world justice?
The fourth figure materialized at the stand.
A middle-aged man in a faded worker's uniform, eyes bloodshot, fingers clasped in trembling restraint. Shame and exhaustion were etched into every line on his face.
"Defendant #4: Du Hong, 42. Former welder. Three years ago, abandoned his five-day-old infant daughter—diagnosed with congenital heart disease—at the entrance of a public orphanage. The child was found severely hypothermic in a snowstorm."
The display flashed the facts like a knife through silence.
And then, the unexpected twist:
"After the incident, Du Hong quit his job, shaved his head, entered monastic life. He volunteered for three years in an orphanage, donated all personal savings to child welfare. No prior crimes. Authorities never identified him—until he turned himself in before this trial began."
Shen Yan's brows tightened.
"He came… to be judged."
The pillar of light accepted him.
"I'm not here to defend myself," Du Hong said hoarsely. "I came to die."
He spoke of his past: a wife who died during childbirth, a baby born broken and weak. That night, he sat alone outside the ICU, repeating the same thought:
"I can't afford her future."
"I was afraid... that living would hurt her more than dying."
"I didn't mean to kill her… I just wanted to let go."
Shen Yan stood.
"Do you have the right to give up on someone else's life?" he asked quietly.
Du Hong collapsed to his knees, fists pounding the ground.
"For three years, I saw her in my dreams, staring from the snow with frozen eyes…"
He rolled up his sleeve—dozens of deep scars marked his arms.
"This isn't Hell," Shen Yan said, his voice devoid of malice. "It's kinder than Hell. But it's not a place for you to simply beg for death."
"This is judgment."
The scales appeared.
Some players whispered, "He's suffered enough, hasn't he?"
But Shen Yan's gaze was steel.
"Suffering doesn't undo what was done to her."
The verdict came.
"Defendant Du Hong: Guilty."
But Shen Yan felt no triumph.
He remained still, the cold coil of memory tightening around his heart.
---
[Shen Yan's Memory · Interlude]
> I used to think growing up meant getting stronger, that strength meant protecting others.
But when I was eleven, my grandma passed away. No one came to pick me up from school anymore.
I stood by the gate watching the sky darken, watching every child get claimed by someone—a parent, a grandparent, a sibling.
I realized then… growing up also means being left behind.
Some people don't come back.
Some waiting has no end.
And maybe that's why—no matter how deep the pit—I swore I'd never be the kind of adult who leaves someone behind.