The Heavens: A Qing, the Yue Girl at the beginning

Wang Jungui heard it in front of the tofu stall.

Old Liu's stall was surrounded by several neighbors, with a distant relative standing in the middle who had just returned from a village outside the city. The man had a loud voice and spoke with spittle flying everywhere: "—Spring of the twelfth year of Yuanwu, February 22nd, a meeting was held atop Deer Mountain. Our Great Qin Emperor first defeated Yan Ying of the Qi Dynasty, and the three swords settled the world!"

"Have you all seen the pathetic state of that old man Yan Ying? It is said that he vomited three liters of blood on the spot and collapsed to the ground, unable to get up; the ruler of Qi was ashen-faced, tears streaming down his face, like a homeless dog, terrified and helpless!"

A cheer erupted from the crowd. A porter carrying a shoulder pole slammed his load on the ground, making the vegetables in his basket rustle. "That's right! What level is our Emperor at?"

"And then what happened?" someone asked urgently.

"later?"

Old Liu's relative glanced at Zhou Shusheng by the stall and softened his tone: "After defeating the Qi Dynasty, the Chu Dynasty sent a man named Emperor Han Chen, the last emperor of the fallen Han Dynasty, who escaped with his life by hiding in a dung cart, and he specifically challenged our Emperor!"

"What is this person's cultivation level? Is he also a Grandmaster?"

"He's not even a Grandmaster, why would the Chu people send him into battle?" A bearded man sneered from the corner, "Have you ever heard of the Heaven-Stealing Pill?"

"The Heaven-Stealing Pill?"

"A divine pill that can make one contend with an eighth-level cultivator! But it's said that one has to burn one's own essence! This Emperor Han Chen, from the very beginning, was aiming for mutual destruction, for both of them to perish!" Old Liu's relative slowly shook his head: "Therefore, His Majesty will not accept it!"

"Huh?!" A surprised exclamation erupted from the crowd.

"Why aren't you answering?

"What is His Majesty's status? The supreme ruler! How could he risk his life against such a destitute person? Let Lord Zheng Husha fight on his behalf!"

"The Zheng family? The Zheng family that the Empress is from?"

"I think so," Old Liu's relative chuckled. "In any case, it was a draw. Both sides had to be carried off the plane."

"Do you all know what this means? That Han emperor, whose kingdom was destroyed, couldn't defeat a single patriarch of our Great Qin, no matter how hard he tried!"

The cheers rose again, though they were less frequent than before.

The porter put down his carrying pole, scratched his head, and muttered, "It's a draw... So, did our Great Qin win or lose?"

"Of course we'll win!"

Someone said definitively, "Your Majesty wins one match, then draws another; that's called being invincible! What do you know?"

"What about the Yan Dynasty? Wasn't it said that the Yan Dynasty also sent people?"

"A 'Yan Madman' named Li Caitian has emerged," Old Liu's relative straightened his back. "He seems to be the number one expert in Yan, yet he was no match for our dynasty's 'Sword Maniac' Fang Xiumu! This is also a victory for our Great Qin! Two wins and one draw in three battles, the might of Great Qin is truly awe-inspiring!"

"Then how can you say it's a 'failure'?" someone asked in a low voice.

"Because, at the same time as the alliance meeting was taking place, in the direction of Yangshan County, our Qin army clashed with the Chu army."

"The results of it?"

"We lost."

Those two words, like two blocks of ice, pierced everyone's hearts.

How did they lose? How did they lose?

"Yuncha!" Old Liu's relative lived near the Tiger Wolf Southern Army camp and was quite knowledgeable: "Do you know Yuncha? The leader of the Six Divisions of the Heavenly Strike Guard! What a behemoth that is!"

"Its shape resembles a giant Kun, with wings spread like hanging clouds, tens or hundreds of feet long, its entire body pure white, its joints like steel, and its skin like tough leather. Its wings are broad, floating even without flapping, soaring through the air and riding the wind, moving above the clouds. Its head is round and its snout is blunt, its eyes are like hanging lamps, shining brightly at night. Its belly is hollow, capable of holding a hundred things, and its back is covered with numerous tubes, like a spine and a mane. Its tail is several feet long, with a huge hole at the end. When it is angry, it spews flames, its red light soaring into the sky, its voice shaking like thunder, soaring through the air like lightning, and even birds cannot catch up with it."

"It's basically just an ironclad warship in the air," Mr. Zhou said.

"And there's the Fire Cloud Lamp, the Heavenly Wings, the Earth Anchor, the Thunder Sound..." Old Liu's relative talked on and on, but suddenly stopped halfway through, and the look on his face dimmed: "But no matter how big the Cloud Chariot is, it can't withstand the siege of the Chu people's Sky Kites. It is said that in that battle, the Sky Strike Guard suffered heavy losses, and several Cloud Chariots crashed, forcing them to retreat."

"What about alliances? How are alliances calculated?"

"The defeats of the Qi and Yan people do not affect the terms between Qin and Chu. The contest ended in a draw, but the Qin and Chu lost the battle, so the treaty must be renewed."

Mr. Zhou sighed deeply: "Yangshan County was already ceded to the Chu Dynasty for nine years, and now it must be ceded for another three years. Twelve long years have passed, and this land will likely belong to a foreign land forever, never to be returned!"

The crowd fell silent for a moment.

If Emperor Yuanwu were willing to fight and defeated Emperor Hanchen, with one win and one loss, could Yangshan be saved?

"That's not such a bad loss, is it?"

The porter scratched his head, trying his best to salvage the court's reputation: "We won two battles and drew one, but the border troops suffered a bit of a loss..."

"But if that's all there is to it, why would we need to send troops into the city?"

Mr. Zhou adopted a "don't tell anyone" expression: "Do you know what happened when the alliance was about to end?"

"what's up?"

"There was an assassination attempt."

Mr. Zhou glanced at the alley entrance, seemingly afraid that soldiers would rush in to arrest someone: "Song Chaosheng, the former head of the Song Clan who lost the Wei Dynasty, and Guo Dongjiang, the leader of the Borneo Islands overseas, have joined forces to launch a surprise attack. It is said that they have already entered the Eighth Realm."

"Eight Realms?!"

"Two Eighth Realm?"

"How come an eighth-realm expert suddenly appeared? Wasn't it said that no one in the eighth realm had appeared for a hundred years until last year when the Emperor of the Sword Tournament announced the breakthrough?"

"Who knows..."

"Where is His Majesty? How is His Majesty?!"

The crowd erupted in uproar.

Mr. Zhou raised his hand, signaling everyone to be quiet, and then slowly said, "His Majesty is seriously injured. The Qin army suffered more than 50,000 casualties. The traitor retreated calmly, but lost a personal artifact."

Song Chaosheng used wind, rain, and waves to clear a path, sealing off the Qin army's formations and magical weapons. He also used heaven and earth as a bow, while Guo Dong threw his sword into an arrow, carrying the intent to burn the sky and boil the sea. His powerful energy swept across more than ten miles. Mo Shoucheng, Li Si, and others were blocked by Li Qinghou and Dao Juan Liuyun. Only Huang Zhenwei and Hengshan Xuhou, who were accompanying them, were able to come to their aid.

Although they were the heads of the Clan Law Office and one of the Thirteen Marquises of the Great Qin, they were only at the lower and middle levels of the seventh realm. How much of a role could they play in the face of such a peak attack that instantly exhausted most of the true essence of an eighth realm cultivator? Yuan Wu himself was the main force.

Both being at the Eighth Realm of Enlightenment, and with Yuan Wu being a small step ahead, he was severely injured after taking the blow head-on. This was not only due to the excellent teamwork between Song and Guo, but also because Yan Ying had exhausted his strength beforehand.

In fact, he had already anticipated this assassination attempt, which is why he refused to fight Han Chendi, whose cultivation was stronger than the intelligence indicated, and instead let Zheng Husha, who seemed to be on the verge of breaking through to the eighth realm, take the hit, so that he could save his remaining true essence and energy for the next major enemy.

Unfortunately, despite shunning accusations of cowardice, he underestimated the assassin's skill, almost allowing the enemy to achieve their goal.

Judging from this, if the battle were to actually be accepted, the outcome would likely be...

"Fifty thousand? Fifty thousand elite troops, just like that, gone?"

"And what do you think? What kind of existence is an eighth-realm cultivator? Let me tell you, after the assassination, even Mount Lu collapsed several feet!"

"The previous street closures and martial law were probably because His Majesty returned to the capital and ordered the nearby troops to increase their guards, right? Could it be that the assassins followed him to Changling?" Someone made this connection and was also terrified.

“I have a cousin who is in the Northern Army of Tiger and Wolf. He wrote to me last month saying he was being transferred to the east, but didn’t say where. I always thought he was being transferred to relieve a garrison…”

"Don't overthink it! The list of the dead hasn't been released yet..."

Wang Jungui remained silent throughout.

But some people turned to him, wanting to hear his opinion:

"Mr. Wang, what do you want to say—"

"What did you say?" Wang Jungui asked.

"Well..." the man scratched his head, "His Majesty is seriously injured, the border army has been defeated, has our Great Qin really lost this time?"

Wang Jungui saw more than a dozen pairs of eyes staring at him.

There was Old Liu who sold tofu, porters, Mr. Zhou, the bearded man, Old Zhao the lame shoemaker at the alley entrance, Sister-in-law Liu who sold steamed buns, and day laborers carrying shoulder poles waiting for work...

These people were his neighbors who had lived in this alley for many years and saw him every day. They were also the people who had been practicing swordsmanship with him morning and evening for the past few months.

"Did we fail?"

Wang Jungui repeated the two words, then suddenly laughed.

His laughter was very soft, as soft as the early spring breeze brushing against the willow branches.

Then he reached out and grasped the ordinary iron sword worth twenty coins at his waist. The rough wrought iron plate on the hilt pressed against his palm, but it made him feel grounded and reliable, like a bowl or chopsticks, like a stove.

"Gentlemen," Wang Jungui said slowly, "how many people in this alley are practicing that 'Health Preservation and Body Strengthening Technique'?"

Everyone looked at each other, wondering why he suddenly asked this.

“My neighbor, Old Liu, is sixty-three years old. He gets up before dawn every day to practice breathing exercises, and he does it even more diligently than young people.” Wang Jungui pointed to the tofu stall. “His sword was traded for two bushels of millet last December, and he still treasures it and keeps it by his bedside.”

Old Liu's face flushed red: "Why...why are you saying this—"

“And then there’s Zhao the Cripple,” Wang Jungui said, turning to Old Zhao, the shoe repairman. “His legs are weak, so he can’t practice those sword moves that require footwork. He’s just practiced those stances from the ‘Seven Methods of the Elixir’ hundreds and thousands of times. Last month, he told me that he had a sense of Qi.”

Old Zhao kept his head down, his rough hands rubbing his knees, and remained silent.

“And there’s Old Sun who carries the load,” Wang Jungui pointed to the porter. “I saw you practicing your sword by the well the other day. Your sword moves were terrible, but your spirit was even stronger than the instructor’s.”

The porter scratched his head and grinned somewhat sheepishly.

“We people,” Wang Jungui said, stroking his sword with downcast eyes, “three months ago, we didn’t even know what ‘qi sensation’ was. Five months ago, we were worried about earning a few more copper coins each day. But now—”

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the crowd: "Old Liu is sixty-three and can cultivate qi. Zhao the Cripple has difficulty walking, but can practice a single sword move hundreds or thousands of times. Old Sun can carry his load all day and still practice for half an hour at night. Liu Ersao's pancake stall, she gets up early every day to practice swordsmanship, and the dough rises better than before."

"And then there's Afu's father, who lost his breath and fainted. The first thing he asked when he woke up this morning was, 'Can I still practice my breathing technique?'"

Everyone fell silent.

"I don't really understand what an alliance is or Yangshan County is."

"All I know is that three months ago I was a grocery seller, and I'd never even gotten close to cultivation. But now—"

Wang Jungui gripped the hilt of his sword and stood up.

"Now I hold the sword."

Old Liu stared at him blankly, something suddenly flashing in his cloudy old eyes.

“Fifty thousand soldiers are gone,” Wang Jungui said. “That is a loss for Great Qin. But Great Qin is not just about those fifty thousand soldiers.”

He carried his sword, walked to the center of the alley, and stood still.

The setting sun shone from the west, casting a long shadow over him.

“There are at least forty or fifty people practicing swordsmanship in this alley,” he said. “Throughout Changling, there are dozens of Taoist academies, and I’ve heard that each academy has more than a thousand people. The whole of Guanzhong, the whole of Qin—”

He turned around and looked at the crowd: "How many of us are there?"

No one answered.

But something else gradually emerged from that silence.

"His Majesty is seriously injured, the alliance has failed, and Yangshan County will have to be ceded for another three years..." Wang Jungui's voice was not loud, but each word was clearly spoken, "But so what?"

"So what!"

He suddenly raised his voice, and abruptly raised the sword in his hand, its tip pointing directly at the clouds in the western sky.

A flash of sword light cleaved through the last rays of the setting sun.

"We've practiced swordsmanship for five months, not for His Majesty!" he roared, his chest heaving. "It's for ourselves! For this Great Qin!"

"Fifty thousand soldiers are gone, but we are still here!"

"Dozens of Taoist temples are gone? Then this alley is one Taoist temple! The instructors of the Taoist temples are gone? Then Old Liu, you teach! Old Sun, you teach! Zhao the Cripple, you teach!"

"Who says instructors have to be sent by the Taoist academy?!"

He was breathing heavily, but his eyes burned like torches.

"Old Liu, you've practiced that breathing technique for three months, you should be qualified to teach a beginner, right? Zhao the Cripple, you've practiced those stances hundreds of times, you should know the tricks of the trade, right?"

"We'll teach ourselves! We'll practice on our own!"

"Five months later, ten months later, three years later—"

"I refuse to believe that among the tens of millions of people in my Great Qin, there isn't even one who can fight their way back to Deer Mountain! With so many swords, someone is bound to master unparalleled swordsmanship; every generation will produce a powerful figure!"

The alley was quiet for a moment.

Then, someone started clapping, though it's unclear who made the first move. The applause was initially sparse, like raindrops hitting dry earth, but gradually it grew denser and became a continuous sound.

Old Liu wiped his eyes, stiffened his neck, and said, "Boss Wang is right! I, Old Liu, am sixty-three years old, and I can live for another twenty years! In twenty years, I refuse to believe that I won't be able to make a name for myself!"

"That's right!" Old Sun, the porter, slammed his carrying pole on the ground. "I've been carrying loads for half my life, so my back and legs are still strong!"

"When practicing swordsmanship, that's the spirit we cultivate!"

Zhao the Cripple didn't say anything, but slowly stood up while leaning against the wall, gripping the old sword at his waist, which was worn smooth and shiny.

Liu Ersao stood behind the pancake stall, her eyes red-rimmed, but she didn't cry out. She looked down at her flour-covered hands, which had just developed their first calluses from gripping a sword last month.

Mr. Zhou stared blankly at the group of people.

His lips moved, but he ultimately said nothing.

But then an old saying suddenly came to mind:
"A common man's will cannot be taken away."

Three months, five months—that's not enough time for a mediocre person to reach the Profound Realm, not enough time for a child to successfully establish their foundation, not enough time for anyone to truly possess the power to defend their homeland.

But that amount of time is enough for a person to learn how to wield a sword.

The hand that holds the sword is no longer just a hand that can only be used for labor.

The one who wields the sword will no longer be someone you can only look up to.

……

High atop the corner tower, atop a rattan chair, an elderly man with white hair and beard like ginseng roots gently shook his head, revealing a helpless expression.

Since returning from Lushan, in order to guard against the infiltration of the rebels, Mo Shoucheng patiently monitored the streets and alleys within a dozen miles, and naturally overheard the conversation in the nearby Walong Alley.

He also heard sounds from further away.

There was no resentment as expected, no righteous indignation or support, and not even a shared hatred for the assassin.

Many people were simply discussing it, like discussing the weather, the farming season, or which shop they should go to for work the next day, calmly processing the news. The core of the discussion, however, was no longer the king's honor or disgrace, but rather the power of "us."

Then, someone turned and left, walking hurriedly.

"Where?"

"Go to the lead chamber. It's my turn to fill the gas chamber today."

"Wait for me, I'm coming too."

The footsteps faded into the distance.

Laughter rose again, drifting in the spring breeze.

Mo Shoucheng suddenly felt that the spring breeze was a bit chilly.

A faint, bitter smile appeared on his lips.

Yuanwu, you promoted the popularization of cultivation because you wanted "the prosperity brought by the king's decree", you wanted the prestige of being a "sage ruler for all ages", you wanted the people to look up to you and be grateful, and for the country to be forever secure.

But did you hear that?

They hold their swords, not thinking of fighting for you.

They were only thinking about themselves.

What they were thinking was that if one day the sword were pointed at their doorstep, they would be able to draw their swords themselves without relying on anyone else.

You bestowed a sword upon the people, thinking they would remember it forever. But as the people held the sword, practicing day after day, and comprehending its meaning month after month, gradually, the sword ceased to be a gift from you, and instead became their own bone and blood, their own pride and dignity.

"The sword is straight. A straight heart is virtue, and straight actions are righteousness..."

Spreading spiritual practice to every household is perhaps a completely different matter from distributing land and reducing taxes and corvée labor.

The latter binds people more firmly to the land and order, while the former... may, in a subtle way, loosen some of the invisible ropes that maintain absolute authority, giving people the confidence and "daring to think".

Five months is enough to make a grocery store owner yell, "So what?" What about three years later? Ten years later?

Mo Shoucheng recalled the words of that person from back then, and the memory of the treasonous "ten-thousand-word letter" from last year came flooding back, and he couldn't help but feel emotional.

I am amazed by the subtle foreshadowing and meticulous planning of the mastermind behind the scenes.

The prelude to the "Spark Rebellion" in the You Dynasty seemed to be brewing, with obscure historical records coming to light: "The people learned martial arts and gradually realized the power of their strength. The emperor wanted to take away their strength, but the people were no longer willing to be taken away..."

Today, the city of Changling may truly be alive.

But who knows where the sword hidden in its sheath will ultimately point?

……

In the south of the city, the gray walls and black tiles were edged with a thin layer of gold in the setting sun. In the cracks of the old arched bridge, the pomegranate tree had just sprouted tender buds, and its slender branches swayed slightly in the evening breeze.

The shopkeeper of the sesame oil shop closed a few doors and was scraping the bottom of the earthenware jar with a wooden spoon. The sound of the spoon rubbing against the earthenware jar was faint and fragmented, mixed with the calls of the peddler gradually fading into the distance.

The blind fortune teller under the bridge was still sitting at the entrance of the narrow alley, his eyes closed, motionless, as if he were asleep.

Someone walked past him, their footsteps pausing.

The blind man, without opening his eyes, suddenly spoke:
What's your opinion on Yuan Wu's serious injury?

The footsteps stopped, then resumed, and the person walked behind the blind man and squatted down. "A show of weakness concealing murderous intent."

That night, Celing's voice was shrouded in a hazy mist: "Having suffered a loss, and realizing that there are still too many powerful enemies around, Yuanwu has once again concealed his sharpness, just as he deliberately acted clumsy and mediocre at the Bashan Sword Arena back then."

"After concealing our abilities, we'll launch a sudden attack!" Zhang Shiwu, carrying flower shears, walked out of the humble courtyard: "Who will be our target?"

"It's most likely one of the Qi and Yan dynasties," Ye Celing said. "With the policy of befriending distant states while attacking nearby ones, the Yan territory should be the one to suffer. There are many spirit mines there."

"With war about to begin, what is the state of the people's hearts?" Zhang Shiwu asked. "The news that came today shows that many people are upright and honest, and have shown great courage. In the past, they would have been good candidates to enter Bashan."

As a gardener trained by a butcher, his lineage doesn't focus much on a cultivator's talent for perceiving subtle primordial energy, but rather on the harmony of mind and the understanding of principles.

"I've already said we can enter Bashan, so why ask any more questions?"

Further away, the faint sound of zither music drifted over: "The Bashan Sword Sect is the sect closest to the lives and thoughts of ordinary people, which is why it attracts countless people to dedicate themselves and make sacrifices, pursuing our shared dream..."

"Therefore, when the people spontaneously rise up and become self-reliant, when the indomitable spirit is once again nurtured in the world, the millions of people of the entire Great Qin will become the new Bashan!" Since it is the new Bashan Sword Field, will it operate entirely according to Yuanwu's will and be bound by the old chains?
The answer is obvious.

"However, even the strongest sword is easily broken, and while a blade can be reforged in fire, it is also susceptible to rust. Many cultivators who join the military gradually lose their initial spirit. We should take action against this..."

……

Wang Jungui sheathed his sword and suddenly smiled.

"Alright," he said, "Disperse. Go about your business. Tomorrow at dawn, by the well, those who want to practice, bring your swords."

After the crowd dispersed, the alley returned to its usual tranquility.

But something had changed in that tranquility.

Wang Jungui turned around and walked towards the alley entrance.

After walking a few steps, he suddenly remembered something, turned back and called out to the courtyard, "Wife, I'm going out to buy some medicine. Afu's father just woke up, so I need to get a few doses to regulate his qi and blood."

A response came from inside the house.

……

The setting sun had sunk below the eaves, its afterglow painting the entire Changling Mausoleum a hazy ochre red. Lights began to twinkle throughout the city, and wisps of smoke rose from chimneys, blending seamlessly with the twilight.

As Wang Jungui walked past the crowd, he vaguely heard words like "Lushan," "assassination," and "Yangshan" drifting into his ears.

After the street closure order was lifted, people who had been holding back all afternoon poured onto the streets like water released from a dam, yet dared not make a loud noise.

He bought two packets of Nuanluo San (a traditional Chinese medicine) and some Angelica sinensis, Astragalus membranaceus, Poria cocos, and Atractylodes macrocephala. Leaving the courtyard of Xuanhutang, he first turned out of Kang'an Lane, then passed through several alleyways, and finally arrived at the wide Chengping Street. Then, Wang Jungui was stunned by the sight before him:
The crowd stretched for at least three or four miles, from the street corner to the horizon, numbering at least several thousand people.

The group included men, women, and children of all ages, dressed in various styles. Some wore silk shirts, some wore coarse cloth, and some were even beggars in tattered coats, all carrying cloth bags, burlap sacks, and other containers.

It's just like the scene at the beginning of each month when people sign up for night shifts at the Taoist academy.

The so-called "night shift" is specifically for middle-aged and elderly citizens to brush up on their knowledge of spiritual practice, so that they can also keep up with the recent trend of sword practice.

But this is not a Taoist temple, nor is it the first day of the lunar month.

What kind of queue are these people in?

He walked forward a few dozen steps with the procession, then used his light-footed leaping ability to finally see a flag standing at the front of the procession.

The character “Chu” was written in large characters on it—in bird-and-insect script, winding and coiling, and was brightly illuminated by the flames of the glass palace lantern.

Beneath the banners lay a sprawling mansion, its high, gray walls stretching outwards, revealing glimpses of flying eaves and bracket sets within, exuding grandeur. A huge plaque hung above the entrance:
The inscription "Chu Envoy's Headquarters" is written in gold on a blue background.

This refers to the guild hall where envoys of the Great Chu Dynasty stayed at Changling.

Although it cannot compare to the former residence of the Chu hostage, the Lord of Liling, which covered thousands of acres and had pavilions and towers standing side by side, the guild hall in front of us still covers nearly a thousand acres, with fragrant dust and bright lights in the daytime.

At this moment, the gate was wide open, and a shed dozens of feet long was erected in front of the gate. Silver-white metal pipes extended from the courtyard, connected to the Fu Shuji, and then branched off to connect with twelve giant funnels.

The funnels were directly facing the large vats.

The snow-white flour cascaded down like a waterfall.

The line is moving slowly forward.

Each person walked up to the funnel, and a man dressed in a robe in the style of Chu took the cloth bag, scooped out snow-white flour from the vat, and filled a bag to the brim, weighing about thirty or forty catties.

Another person handed over a package wrapped in lotus leaves. Judging from its shape, it was jelly, crystal clear and glistening with an oily sheen.

A middle-aged man in elaborate robes and a tall hat stood on the steps and loudly proclaimed in Mandarin with a distinct Chu accent:
"Fellow elders of Changling, although there were minor rifts between Qin and Chu at this Lushan Alliance, the alliance has been established, and we will be friendly nations from now on. Our great Chu has recently acquired the 'Abundant Harvest Divine Cauldron,' which can produce 100,000 shi of grain per day, enough to feed the people of an entire prefecture..."

"We are opening our granaries today as a gesture of goodwill—each person will receive a bag of flour and a serving of cold noodles, free of charge, and everyone is welcome to take them!"

"...Everyone gets a share! One bag of flour and one serving of cold noodles per person! No duplicates allowed! No fraudulent claims allowed! Violators will be expelled!"

The Chu servants on the side maintained order and repeatedly emphasized this.

A buzz of discussion arose in the group.

"Can it really produce unlimited food?"

"One hundred thousand bushels? That's enough to support so many people!"

"Indeed! The Chu envoy said that in their Chu state, they no longer need to farm; they use this stuff all the time. Just put in water, and flour will come out in a steady stream. The farmers are all freed up and can go do whatever they need to do."

"liberation?"

"It means we don't have to farm anymore. The envoy's original words were, 'Let farmers lay down their plows and turn to martial arts, literature, or other professions, and all industries will flourish.'"

"Damn it...doesn't that mean we can fight for as long as we want?"

"No wonder the Chu army has become increasingly fierce in recent years..."

"Shh, don't talk nonsense, just take yours."

Wang Jungui's heart sank.

No need to farm anymore? Just use magical artifacts to synthesize all the food?

Although he didn't understand those profound ways of governing a country, he had lived for thirty-four years and still understood the most basic principles—people need to eat, armies need to eat, and wars are fought over provisions.

If the State of Chu had truly solved its food problem, how could the State of Qin possibly keep up with it?
Yangshan County lost, and the three-year extension is probably just the beginning.

As he was thinking, his gaze inadvertently swept across both sides of the line.

Several men in civilian clothes stood in the shadows, their sharp eyes fixed on the queuing crowd. Several soldiers in standard Qin army armor appeared to be patrolling, but were also observing.

This place has been targeted.

The Shendujian may also be the military supervisory office of the Bingmasi.

Wang Jungui's heart skipped a beat, and he quickened his pace, wanting to leave this dangerous place as soon as possible. Who knew what would happen to the Chu people's grain? Besides, although his own grocery store wasn't wealthy, it was enough to make a living; there was no need to stand in this long line and try to gain a small advantage.

I had only taken a few steps when I heard a commotion behind me.

"Make way! There's a line! Why are you pushing?"

"Who pushed? I was already in line here!"

"Bullshit! I saw you squatting over there for ages, and you're only just coming over now, trying to cut in line?"

"You son of a bitch—"

Wang Jungui kept moving.

He'd seen plenty of these kinds of disputes; they weren't his business.

But just then, he heard a curse.

It was an insult in the Nanquan County dialect.

"...You blind fool, you can't even get a straight line right!"

Wang Jungui paused slightly, subconsciously turning around to take a look.

The one swearing was a steward from Chu, who was standing behind the large vat with his hands on his hips, glaring impatiently at the two men arguing over a spot.

Soon, the deacon cursed a few more times, all in the local dialect of Nanquan, the gist of which was "If you keep making noise, you can forget about being here and get lost."

Wang Jungui withdrew his gaze, bypassed the increasingly long queue, and planned to take a narrow alley instead, rather than be stuck in the middle of the crowd.

Just then, a middle-aged man dressed in a gray tunic and with an ordinary face looked up at him and flicked his sleeve.

……

About half an incense stick later, the noise in the guild hall gradually faded away.

This alley is relatively quiet, with high walls and deep courtyards on both sides, mostly the back walls of wealthy families' villas, and few people walk through it.

There were no lights in the alley, only the afterglow of the distant market street, which stained the bluestone slabs with a dull dark gray.

Wang Jungui quickened his pace, wanting to get through as soon as possible and circle back home via Yonglefang. Afu's father was still waiting for him to prepare the medicine.

After walking another twenty zhang, we turned a corner and the alley became even narrower.

A chill crept up his spine.

The smooth touch made one feel stiff and fearful.

Without anyone noticing, a line had been cut through the outer garment and inner shirt, and silently, the item clung tightly to the skin, its shape clearly visible.

A small sword, only a few inches long.

A flying sword controlled by a cultivator at least at the fifth level of divine sense.

"Move forward."

The sound is focused and transmitted to the ear.

Wang Jungui took a step forward.

His legs felt a little weak, but he still took the first step.

"Turn right."

The sound came again.

Wang Jungui turned right as instructed and entered an even narrower alley. The walls on both sides were barely wide enough for one person to pass through, and overhead was a sliver of sky. Dusk had already fallen, leaving only the last wisp of gray light.

The ground was uneven and full of sewage spilled during the day, and a foul stench wafted towards us.

After walking several dozen more steps, the sword behind him was finally sheathed.

At the end of the alley was an abandoned woodshed.

The door was half-open, and it was pitch black inside.

"Go in."

Wang Jungui pushed open the door and staggered into the woodshed.

I heard light footsteps behind me, and then the door closed.

The woodshed was pitch black. Wang Jungui could only hear his own heartbeat, thump-thump-thump, like a drum, growing louder and louder with each beat.

“You understood Nanquan’s language.”

The voice echoed in the darkness.

It was still that kind of emotionless indifference.

Wang Jungui's throat tightened:
"I...I...I don't understand..."

"If you don't understand, why are you turning back?"

"I just... I just heard someone talking, and instinctively..."

"Subconscious?"

The flying sword pressed against him again, but this time, Wang Jungui clearly felt the tip of the sword. The chill was bone-chilling, as if it could pierce through his heart in the next instant: "Are you a descendant of the Chu people who migrated north? Or are you a Chu person yourself, hiding in Changling?"

"No, no!"

Wang Jungui finally found his voice: "I am a native of Changling, but... but my mother is from Chu. I learned some of the language when I was young. Just now, I... I heard a familiar accent, so..."

"I just glanced at it once more," the other person said for him.

Wang Jungui nodded.

"Can you hear but not speak?"

"I can speak... I can say a few simple sentences, but I don't speak very well."

"What's your surname?" the man asked again.

"king."

Where do you make a living?

“In the alley of Walong in the east of the city, I opened a general store.”

"Brother Wang, my surname is Shen, and I'm from the Divine Capital Guard. I have a favor to ask of you—don't worry, I won't let you work for nothing; there will be a reward."

Midway through the conversation, a fire had already risen in a corner of the woodshed, and several piles of dry grass were ignited by the intense true energy, illuminating the face of the speaker—a man in his forties, so tall that he would be easily lost in a crowd, with a square face, thick eyebrows, and slightly thick lips; he was the same middle-aged man who had looked up at him outside the guild hall just now.

His right hand stretched forward from his waist, holding a black jade plaque that confirmed his identity.

Wang Jungui's heart sank completely.

“Lord Shen…” he began with difficulty, “I am but a commoner, what help can I possibly offer…”

“Yes.” Shen An looked at the other person, a wolf-like threatening glint flashing in his eyes, and took out a piece of paper: “It’s nothing life-threatening. It’s just that since you can understand Nanquan dialect and happen to be passing by the Chu people’s guild hall, you can do us a small favor.”

“The Chu people are distributing grain for free; they must have some ulterior motive. Perhaps they want to sow discord among our people, drive up grain prices, disrupt agricultural taxes, or gather intelligence,” he said, spreading out a document with a bright red stamp. “We need to find out exactly what they want.”

"Furthermore, the so-called 'Abundant Harvest Cauldron'—what exactly is its operating principle, and what limitations does it have in production? These are also key concerns for the imperial court; we must find a breakthrough in its development..."

Wang Jungui looked down at the paper—it contained several portraits, with names, identities, and the times and places they usually appeared marked next to them. The lines were simple yet lifelike, clearly the work of a skilled painter.

“At the guild hall, tens of thousands of people collect their rations every day. The Chu people have their own rules, and the same person is not allowed to collect rations twice on the same day. They have four or five fifth-realm cultivators stationed there, their divine senses covering the entire area, specifically watching out for those who want to take advantage of the situation.”

Shen paused for a moment: "But precisely because of this, they don't pay special attention to those who haven't received any grain rations."

"I'm a new face."

Wang Jungui grew bolder. Only after the words left his mouth did he realize he had made such a comment, and he wanted to slap himself.

“That’s right,” Shen An nodded. “Your task is to find an opportunity to strike up a conversation with these people on the paper and get closer to them.”

"get in a word?"

Yes. In Nanquan dialect.

Shen An stared intently at him: "Too many people speak Yingdu Mandarin, so it's not very useful. But Nanquan dialect is different; it's the local dialect of the border region of Chu, and very few people speak it. If you can chat with them in Nanquan dialect, saying a few words in your native accent, ah, that would be the best 'introduction'... and the rest would be much easier."

By bribing those on the periphery, one can gain access to those in charge; by bribing those in charge, one can obtain their internal regulations, personnel lists, and even details about the "unlimited grain-producing machine."

"Don't worry, there's no need to work at the entrance of the guild hall. The location is the back gate of the mansion, the teahouse next to Sweetwater Lane. It will be at 1:45 AM tomorrow."

"Just give a message and make the connection. We'll take care of the rest."

He took a cloth bag out of his pocket and threw it at Wang Jungui's feet.

The bag hit the ground with a dull thud.

"Five hundred strings of cash, payable immediately."

"With this official document, there's no need to worry about getting into any trouble. All departments will cooperate, and there will be a generous reward after the matter is resolved."

Wang Jungui stared at the document, his hands trembling.

He wanted to say "I won't do it," but the flying sword on his back was still there.

“Not enough,” Wang Jungui suddenly said.

"what?!"

“Five hundred strings of cash is not enough,” he said, steadying his voice.

In the past, if one worked hard from dawn till dusk and only earned thirty to fifty strings of cash a year, after deducting living expenses, being able to save ten strings of cash would be considered a bumper year and would undoubtedly be an astonishing windfall.

But now that we have a Taoist academy, how much money will it cost if my son wants to change his cultivation methods, elixirs, and breathing techniques? And what kind of income will he earn once he becomes a cultivator in the second or third realm?
My expectations have changed.

Shen An sighed: "Interesting. You've only practiced swordsmanship for a few months, and you dare to bargain with me? Add another five hundred to round it up."

"A total of one thousand strings of cash."

"Three thousand." Wang Jungui gritted his teeth.

"Too high. Two thousand."

Two thousand five hundred.

"make a deal."

The flying sword suddenly retreated and disappeared into Shen An's sleeve.

A gust of wind blew open the door to the woodshed, revealing the thick darkness outside. When Wang Jungui looked up again, the middle-aged man in gray had vanished, and the number of cloth bags on the ground had increased to five.

Wang Jungui stood there, stunned for a long time.

Then he bent down and picked up the cloth bags. They were full of gold coins, gleaming and with a captivating color.

Two thousand five hundred strings of cash.

Five months ago, it would have taken him a lifetime to save up. But now—

But now he is holding a sword.

He touched the twenty-coin iron sword at his waist again.

"Isn't the hand that holds the sword meant for doing these things?"

Wang Jungui quickened his pace and headed towards Walong Lane.

The fire in the woodshed gradually died down, and the last wisp of smoke drifted out from the dilapidated window frame, twisting and rising upwards before disappearing without a trace.

A dazzling meteor streaked across the sky, extremely bright and fast, trailing a long purple tail as it slanted down from the northwest to the southeast.

It suddenly exploded, engulfing the entire Deer Mountain.

……

"Could it be that divine retribution has come to target and annihilate those who seek to destroy us?"

On the rooftop of the Changling Observatory, someone frowned deeply: "Ancient records from the You Dynasty state that when calamity befalls the world, its power increases every month. The only way to avoid it is to sever one's vital energy and hide in the starry sky... But now, more than a hundred days have already passed!"

……

"The 'takeout' has finally arrived!"

Deep in the grasslands, a pair of eyes opened. (End of Chapter)