The crowd looked up to see an old man standing at the doorway, covered in dust, dressed in coarse cloth riddled with holes. In the chill of winter, his skin had turned pale from the cold. He was a man from society's lowest rung, evident from his hunched posture and nervous, avoiding gaze.
"What did you just say, old man?" a middle-aged man, reeking of alcohol, slurred as he squinted at the old man, hacking and spitting to clear his throat.
"I... I..." The old man instinctively took two steps back, intimidated by the rough-looking man's bloodshot eyes and hostile demeanor. Yet, after hesitating, he gritted his teeth and said, "Sir, I heard there's a just official here, someone who stands up for the people... so I came here... to file a complaint."
A complaint? The word seemed to disorient the crowd of officials. Today was indeed the Ministry of Supervision's public hearing day, during which officials were required to listen to the grievances of the common people. Ignoring or obstructing such petitions was considered a serious offense.
But that was a thing of the past. When was the last time the Ministry had dealt with a case? No one could even remember.
"There are no just officials here, nor anyone to stand up for the people. You've come to the wrong place," said the drunkard, grabbing a handful of snow to rub on his face, his flushed face turning even more menacing.
"What do you mean there's no one to help?" Gavin Tsai stood up. "Elder, tell me your grievance, and I swear the Ministry will seek justice for you!"
Gavin remembered that Nathan Ye had asked him to spread the word, letting the people know they could seek justice here. But he hadn't expected only one person to show up, which, considering the state of the Ministry, now made sense. If he were a commoner, he too would have little trust in a place like this.
"I'm a woodcutter from Nanshan," the old man began, "In the summer, I chop wood, and in the winter, I make charcoal to sell in the city. After working hard to gather a load of charcoal, I finally arrived at the city gates, only to have it stolen..."
The old man's gnarled hands, twisted from years of hard work, covered his face as he choked out the words, "My family relies on that charcoal to buy food for the winter. My wife is sick, and I need medicine for her. Without that charcoal, I don't know how we'll survive."
It was a simple, small case. At first, the crowd seemed somewhat interested, but they quickly sneered.
"For such a trivial matter, go to the city prefecture! They're responsible for handling this!" one yawned.
"The city prefecture refused to take my case," the old man said desperately.
"What about the Ministry of Justice?"
"They wouldn't even let me in."
The officials exchanged bewildered glances. This was indeed unusual.
"Why?" Gavin asked, frowning.
The old man wiped his tears and said, "The one who stole my charcoal is a steward from Lord Weiwu's estate."
Lord Weiwu? Gavin's face paled as he immediately understood. Lord Weiwu was no ordinary person. A hereditary marquis, his family had risen to prominence when his daughter, displaying exceptional talent, was accepted into the Yuhua Sect for special training. With the backing of the Immortal Sect, the influence of Lord Weiwu's household was immense, commanding respect across the capital. Even the emperor treated him with courtesy.
With the involvement of someone from Lord Weiwu's household, it was no wonder the officials had refused to take up the case. None would dare oppose Lord Weiwu for the sake of a poor woodcutter. So, having nowhere else to turn, the desperate old man had come to the Ministry, clinging to the sliver of hope Gavin's message had given him.
"Honorable officials, will you seek justice for a commoner?" The old man fell to his knees, bowing low as he pleaded.
Gavin tried to help him up, saying, "Please, stand." But even he couldn't make any promises. This was Lord Weiwu they were dealing with—someone whom even the emperor showed deference. How could the Ministry, with its current resources, take him on? One look around at his so-called colleagues filled Gavin with despair. Are these people really capable of handling anything?
"I'm begging you, please, for the sake of my family," the old man continued to kneel, knocking his head to the ground repeatedly.
Seeing this, Gavin could only stand helplessly.
"Step aside!" The drunkard barged over, pushing Gavin aside as he coldly said, "Old man, scram!" He had no intention of wasting words.
"Sir, I..." The old man trembled in fear.
"If you don't leave, I'll kill you!" the drunkard shouted, his voice thick with the aggression fueled by alcohol. Raising his gleaming knife high, he added, "Get out!"
"I have nowhere to go... I can't survive like this..." The old man collapsed, defeated. Where could he go now? If he returned home empty-handed, he and his family were as good as dead.
"You want to die, huh?" the drunkard sneered, lifting his blade to strike. Just then, a fierce voice rang out, growing louder as it approached.
"How dare you! Lay a hand on him and see what happens!"
It was Nathan Ye, arriving on the scene with Clara by his side.
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