"Hall of the Underrealm King, where your life's merits and crimes are judged—it's perfectly fair, so cut the nonsense. Just answer what you're asked!" Julian West had been chased by him until she felt like a giant gecko, her mood anything but calm—this was his most schizophrenic trait: outside, he pretended to be a guileless, honest monk, but the moment he entered the interrogation room, he transformed into a roaring West, as if he couldn't display his authority and dominance without shouting.

The vengeful spirit let out a cold laugh.

Carter Shaw glanced at Charles Gray, who immediately sat up straight, cleared his throat, and finally peeked at the densely written "cheat sheet" in his palm before reciting, as if reciting a lesson: "Surname, name, age, time of death, cause of death."

The vengeful spirit's gaze fell on him, successfully making Charles Gray shiver.

Carter Shaw immediately pressed a hand on Charles Gray's shoulder. At the same time, Julian West slammed the table and said fiercely, "What are you looking at? Speak!"

"...Adam Warren, sixty-two, died on the twenty-ninth of the twelfth lunar month last year, car accident."

Charles Gray cautiously glanced at Carter Shaw, who nodded at him, signaling him to continue. Charles Gray looked down at his cheat sheet again, prompting Carter Shaw to sneak a look as well. He saw that the palm was densely covered with notes: "2. Oh, XXX (insert the other party's name), since your cause of death is XXX (insert cause of death), why did you harm innocent people?"

Then he heard Charles Gray stammer, "Oh, Adam Warren, since your cause of death is the twenty-ninth of the twelfth lunar month... no, your cause of death is a car accident, so why did you harm innocent people?"

Carter Shaw really couldn't laugh in such a serious setting, so he turned to Logan Sullivan and said, "Director Sullivan, give me a cigarette."

Using this as an excuse to hide his rather strange expression.

"Innocent?" Adam Warren showed a twisted smile, leaning forward like a madman. "Who's innocent? Kid, you tell me, who's innocent? Are they innocent? Are you innocent?"

Great, now he's asking questions back? That wasn't in the script.

Charles Gray immediately looked bewildered, not knowing what to do.

Carter Shaw lowered his head, Julian West turned away, and the two who were supposed to back him up both avoided his gaze at the same time.

William Sherman, however, suddenly interjected, "Can you tell me why you had a car accident?"

Adam Warren turned to him blankly, silent.

William Sherman asked again, "Does it have anything to do with the people cursed by your resentment? Or with the oranges you sold?"

"I was a fruit seller when I was alive," Adam Warren finally answered after a long pause. "I lived in a rural area on the outskirts of Longcheng. Every day, I brought fruit into the city, pushing a cart to sell by the roadside. My whole family depended on this for a living. I had a wife with uremia—she couldn't work—and a son, almost thirty, who couldn't get married because we had a rural household registration, and I couldn't afford to buy him a house in the city."

"Since you insist on asking, I can tell you—actually, I liked the days around the Spring Festival the most. At that time, most of the vegetable sellers and odd-job workers had gone back to their hometowns, so the city was much quieter, but the supermarkets were crowded. Sometimes people wanted convenience and would stop by the roadside to buy from me, so I made more money than usual," Adam Warren gradually calmed down under William Sherman's gaze, but a mocking smile still hung on his lips. "The twenty-ninth of the twelfth lunar month—what a good day."

Charles Gray finally found a question from his palm notes and quickly asked, "Did your family situation make you resent society?"

"Resent society?" Adam Warren repeated, shaking his head. "I don't resent society. I saw the people who harmed me—just those few. Once I kill them, I'm done. If you want to throw me into the oil cauldron, go ahead. If you want to toss me into the eighteenth level of hell, do it. But one thing: they have to go with me. If I get fried into a dough stick, they have to become dough sticks too. If I roll on a bed of nails, they shouldn't just stand by and watch."

His tone was calm, but to the listeners, it was filled with unspeakable bitterness.

At this moment, Zach Warren knocked on the door and came in, carrying a plate of fruit, followed by her ever-present shadow, Zane Shaw.

Zach Warren handed the fruit plate to Logan Sullivan, then gave William Sherman a rather curious look. But she didn't say much, only reminded Carter Shaw, "Once you're done with the talisman papers outside, collect them all. Don't make extra work for the cleaning staff."

After the two logistics ghosts left, William Sherman continued, "Who else was involved?"

"The three people in the hospital, and many others—well, the driver who hit me had nothing to do with it." Adam Warren spoke almost as if he were an outsider. "On the twenty-ninth of the twelfth lunar month, people could set off firecrackers. There were two teenage boys, each dressed up in down jackets worth thousands, acting like little punks. Their pockets were full of firecrackers, throwing them wherever they pleased, and their parents didn't care. They threw them under my cart. I couldn't help myself—maybe my brain was frozen—so I scolded them. Those two brats got even worse, throwing firecrackers at me and under my feet. I chased after them, cursing, and one of them took the chance to sneak behind me and flipped my cart. Oranges and apples rolled everywhere, big and small, all over the ground."

At this point, he glanced at the neatly arranged fruit plate, unconsciously licking his lips. Unfortunately, he had been too frugal to eat them when alive, and now, in death, he couldn't eat them at all.

A strange light gradually appeared in his eyes. "That cart of fruit was our family's money for the New Year. I panicked and hurried to pick them up, but as soon as I picked up one, another would fall. It was broad daylight, and many people were passing by. I asked them, 'Please, help me out,' but one person picked up my orange, didn't even look at me, just peeled it and ate it, saying as he ate, 'Your stuff's been on the ground and got dirty—who'd buy it? Why bother picking it up?' Then he picked up an apple, stuffed it in his pocket, and walked off."

As Adam Warren spoke, a calm and relieved smile actually appeared on his face, as if his own words brought him comfort and joy. "A lot of people were like him, a lot. They saw, picked up the fruit, and left, some even brought bags to collect them. I told them they couldn't do that, that they had to pay, couldn't just take my fruit. As soon as they heard about paying, they all scattered with my fruit. I chased after them and was hit and killed by a taxi on the spot."

"It was snowing heavily that day. The cars on the road couldn't stop in time. The driver hit the brakes, but the car slid several meters to the side and ran right over me. My upper body rolled forward with the wheels, but my legs stayed where they were. When I died, an orange rolled right up to my face. Tell me, was my death unjust or not?"

No one spoke.

Adam Warren asked again, "Should I take revenge? Should you arrest me? Even in the underworld, how should the King of Hell judge me?"

No wonder every victim's karmic line was so faint—the one truly responsible for his death was the driver, but ironically, the driver was the only one who had nothing to do with the whole affair.

Adam Warren leaned back in his chair, making the legless man look especially terrifying. He let out a low laugh. "When I was alive, I really didn't know there were people like you who handled these things. Since you're willing to stand up for injustice, why do you come after me and not them? Forget it, I've seen right through this world."

In his panic, Charles Gray glanced at the last prompt he had written: "Family, friends," and blurted out, "Don't you care about your descendants? Won't you do some good for your son, your grandson, and your sick wife?"

Adam Warren said indifferently, "My son isn't married yet, I don't have a grandson, and besides, both my wife and son are already dead. The Wang family line is finished. Who am I supposed to do good for?"

Charles Gray heard himself ask, trembling, "How did they die..."

"I killed them. Our house didn't have central heating, we still used a stove. At night, I closed up the fire in the stove, and while they were sleeping, they died of carbon monoxide poisoning." Adam Warren added, "It was painless."

Charles Gray: "How... could you do that?"

Adam Warren looked at him calmly and smiled faintly. "I think living is more painful than dying. What do you think?"

Chapter 56 Virtue Quill …

Only now did Julian West understand why Adam Warren's resentment could not be appeased—he had never done evil in his life, yet after a lifetime of toil, he ended up with such an absurd and tragic fate.

When a person's hatred reaches its peak, there is no room left in their heart for any soft feelings. So he personally severed all ties with the world, and from then on, nothing could ever stir even the slightest nostalgia or kindness in him again.

Maybe if he were still alive, after some years, time and experience would have gradually worn away his hatred, allowing him to get through this ordeal in peace. But he was already dead.