Late at night, in the back hall of Kaifeng Mansion, candlelight danced, reflecting the dark face in front of the case. Bao Zheng lifted the ink pen and hung it above the case file. A drop of ink was about to fall. Thunder thundered outside the window, and lightning flashed, illuminating the faintly visible crescent birthmark on his forehead. The ink drops fell and bloomed into a bloody flower, just like the red star that streaked across the sky forty-three years ago.
