CHAPTER FIVE
The First Scene of Judgment
The light did not fade.
It expanded.
Shangdi's hand remained raised, and the sky itself became a mirror.
A screen larger than continents.
A stage for truth.
The orb that sealed Earth's myths hovered silently above the planet, glowing like a tombstone carved from Heaven's law.
Inside it, legends screamed without sound.
Outside it, humanity trembled.
And beneath it…
Zheng Wen Te could not move.
His lungs refused air.
His heart refused peace.
Shangdi's voice descended once more.
Not wrathful.
Not cruel.
Simply inevitable.
"Watch."
Scene One
The world blurred.
Then—
the first memory began.
Not an illusion.
Not a dream.
Reality itself was being replayed.
Across the heavens, billions of humans saw…
a younger Zheng Wen Te.
His hair was black.
His posture straight.
His eyes alive.
He stood behind the counter of a small shop, sleeves rolled up, hands busy.
The sun was warm.
The world was ordinary.
A message appeared in the scene:
Wife: Are you coming home for dinner? The kids miss you.
Zheng Wen Te smiled.
A real smile.
One that made something ache inside the man watching from the present.
The scene shifted.
His daughter ran into the shop.
"Papa!"
His son followed, trying to act mature.
"You're late again."
Laughter.
Warmth.
Life.
Across Earth, people stared in confusion.
Why was Heaven showing this?
Why did it matter?
In New York, a woman whispered:
"That's… just a normal man."
In Beijing, a soldier murmured:
"A prophet… was a shopkeeper?"
In Rome, a priest's hands trembled.
"He looks like… any of us."
The Cracking
The scene continued.
Dinner.
Rice.
Soup.
A family table full of small arguments and gentle love.
Zheng Wen Te's wife leaned against him.
"Do you ever think life is too fragile?"
He kissed her forehead.
"We'll be fine."
"I won't let anything happen."
The words echoed strangely beneath Shangdi's sky.
A promise.
A human promise.
And Heaven…
remembered every one.
Then—
the warmth dimmed.
The scene cracked like glass.
A missed payment.
A delayed shipment.
A contract that vanished.
Then another.
Then another.
The shop grew emptier.
The man grew thinner.
The smile became forced.
Across the world, people began to understand.
This was not a random memory.
This was…
a dismantling.
A slow execution.
Humanity Watches a Man Break
The scene showed Zheng Wen Te working longer.
Sleeping less.
Smiling through exhaustion.
Saying:
"Just a rough patch."
Debt piled up.
Friends vanished.
The bank called.
His hands shook.
He dropped the phone.
The day he locked the shop for the last time…
he stood outside for nearly an hour, unable to move.
As if burying himself.
In Tokyo, a young woman covered her mouth.
"That's…"
"That's my father."
In Mumbai, a man whispered:
"That's all of us."
In Seoul, someone typed online:
THIS IS NOT A PROPHET STORY. THIS IS A HUMAN STORY.
And that was the horror.
Because Shangdi was not showing a hero.
Shangdi was showing…
a victim.
The Departure
The scene shifted again.
Arguments.
Silence.
A wife packing a bag.
Children standing behind her.
The daughter crying:
"Papa… are you coming too?"
Zheng Wen Te opened his mouth.
No words came.
The son's disappointment was too old.
The wife whispered:
"I can't do this anymore."
The door closed.
The world became unbearably quiet.
Across Earth, people began to cry.
Not because they loved him.
Because they recognized him.
Because they had been him.
Or had abandoned someone like him.
Shangdi's Question
The memory ended.
The present returned like a blade.
Zheng Wen Te lay trembling in his apartment, tears soaking his face.
Above him, the heavens held silence.
Then Shangdi spoke.
Soft.
Ancient.
"Do you see?"
Zheng Wen Te choked.
"…Why are you showing them this?"
Shangdi answered:
"Because humanity grinds prophets into husks."
"Not always with nails."
"Not always with fire."
"But with indifference."
"With greed."
"With abandonment."
"With time."
The world went still.