My words have become law; I truly have no desire to display my divine power before others.

The day for drawing lots for the "Dragon King Festival" in Xiahe Village is set on the first new moon after the spring equinox.

Before dawn, the open space in front of the ancestral hall was already packed with people.

In every household in the village with an unmarried daughter, the head of the household was required to be present.

The women stood at a distance on the perimeter or hid in their own homes, listening intently to the sounds outside.

The air was filled with the scent of incense and candles, dust, and an oppressive, overwhelming sense of fear.

No one spoke loudly; even the children's cries were tightly muffled by the adults. The only sounds were heavy breathing and occasional suppressed coughs.

Li Laoshuan stood near the front of the crowd, his back hunched, his face sallow, and his eyes sunken.

Wang Dashan stood next to him, his hand gripping his arm tightly, as if trying to give him some support, but his own hand was trembling slightly.

Surrounding him were men who shared the same plight, exchanging numb and terrified glances, like a flock of lambs to the slaughter.

Above the ancestral hall hangs a faded plaque inscribed with "River God's Tranquility," and the interior is dimly lit.

Only the clay sculpture of the "Dragon King" in the center can be vaguely seen, with its claws outstretched and the paint peeling off.

On the offering table in front of the deity, besides the sacrificial animals and fruits, the most eye-catching thing is the dark wooden divination stick container.

The cylinder is carved with twisted water ripples, which gleam with a dim luster under the flickering candlelight.

The village chief and three solemn-faced elders with gray hair and beards stood like door gods on either side of the offering table.

The time has come.

The village chief—a man in his fifties with fair skin but sinister eyes.

He cleared his throat; his voice wasn't loud, but it carried an undeniable authority that pierced the silence.

"The auspicious time has arrived. We will perform the sacrificial ceremony, draw lots, and pray to the Dragon God to bless our little river village with favorable weather and abundant harvests!"

As soon as he finished speaking, he knelt down before the statue and kowtowed three times.

The clan elders and villagers behind him also knelt down in a rush, their foreheads touching the ground, not daring to lift them.

The long and tedious prayers recited by the village chief were nothing more than clichés about "the grace of the dragon god," "devout offerings," and "praying for protection."

Li Laoshuan, kneeling below, didn't hear a single word.

His ears were ringing, and all he could see was the dark divination box on the altar. His heart was pounding as if it would shatter his sternum.

The prayers finally ended.

The village chief stood up, turned to face the crowd, and swept his gaze across them like a hawk: "According to the old rules, those whose names are called should come forward and draw lots."

An elder picked up a yellowed booklet and began to read the head of the household's name in a dry voice.

The person whose name was called trembled as if whipped, staggered to their feet, and walked to the offering table.

He knelt down again, his hands trembling as he reached for the divination sticks.

Every time someone reaches out, it touches the hearts of everyone.

Each time a bamboo stick is drawn, the village chief picks it up for inspection and then announces "blank stick".

The person who drew the lottery collapsed to the ground, almost completely exhausted, and was helped away by their family. Their face showed a mixture of ecstatic relief and bewilderment at having escaped death.

The onlookers breathed a sigh of relief, but immediately turned their attention to the next name.

The atmosphere grew increasingly tense, like a bowstring stretched to its limit.

"Li Laoshuan".

When Li Laoshuan uttered those three words in a dry voice, his mind went completely blank.

Li Laoshuan didn't know how he got up there.

My legs felt like they were filled with lead, or like I was walking on cotton.

The candlelight flickered on the offering table, illuminating the village chief's emotionless face and the dark, heavy divination sticks.

He knelt down, the cold ground sending a chill through his thin trousers.

He stretched out his hand, his fingers trembling so badly he could barely hold the bamboo skewer.

Just as his fingers were about to touch the bamboo sticks in the tube, he seemed to see the village chief's hand hanging by his side.

It moved very slightly, as if it had touched one of the edges of the altar.

"Draw it quickly!" an elder shouted from the side.

Li Laoshuan gritted his teeth, closed his eyes, grabbed a stick haphazardly, and pulled it out violently!

The bamboo skewer was heavier and colder than he had imagined.

A chilling sensation crept up my palm and into my heart.

He held up the sign with trembling hands.

Inside and outside the ancestral hall, there was complete silence.

Everyone stared wide-eyed at the raised slip of paper.

The dark red, twisted character for "sacrifice" on the black wood, under the dim candlelight, resembled congealed blood, dazzling and eye-catching.

Time seemed to stand still.

Then, with a "buzz," the crowd erupted in chaos!

Exclamations, sighs, suppressed sobs, and a hint of indescribable... relief spread through the air.

Li Laoshuan stared blankly at the character "祭" (sacrifice), as if all the sounds and colors of the world had faded away, leaving only that blood-red, ferocious image.

He heard his wife Zhou's heart-wrenching cries, his daughter Xiaolian's distant, devastating screams, and the village chief's calm, cold voice:

"Old Li's family has been personally chosen by the Dragon King. Three days later, at the hour of Si (9-11 AM), the bride will be sent to the River God Temple to prepare for her wedding. This is the will of Heaven and a great honor. The whole family should be grateful for the Dragon God's grace."

Honor? Favor?

Li Laoshuan wanted to laugh, but instead he grinned and made a hoarse sound, like a broken bellows.

His vision blurred, and the black wooden stick in his hand felt as if it weighed a ton, pressing him down.

Wang Dashan rushed over, grabbed the nearly collapsed Li Laoshuan, his eyes bloodshot, and glared at the village chief.

He tried to say something, but Li Laoshuan grabbed his arm tightly.

With his last ounce of strength, Li Laoshuan shook his head at him. His lips moved, but no sound came out; only tears mixed with cold sweat streamed down his face.

It's over. Everything is over.

After the lottery ended, the crowd dispersed with mixed emotions, leaving only Li Laoshuan and his family, who seemed to have lost their souls, slumped at the entrance of the ancestral hall.

Wang Dashan helped Li Laoshuan, who was in a daze, and Zhou Shi, who had fainted from crying, to go home.

Xiaolian was locked inside the house, her cries had become hoarse, turning into desperate, intermittent sobs.

The news spread like wildfire throughout Xiahe Village.

Some people sympathized and sighed, some remained indifferent and silent, and many more closed their doors and secretly rejoiced.

From the direction of the village chief's house, the faint aroma of wine and meat, along with the faint sounds of laughter, wafted in, creating a stark contrast to the gloomy atmosphere at the Li family's house.

For the next two days, the Li family lived like they were in a tomb.

Xiao Lian refused to eat or drink and spent her days in tears; Zhou Shi would sometimes cry, sometimes curse at the air, and sometimes appear dazed and confused.

Li Laoshuan seemed to have aged twenty years overnight, squatting at the door all day, staring at the river with a vacant look in his eyes.

He tried to find the village chief, knelt down in front of the village chief's house and kowtowed, willing to give up all his possessions, just to exchange his daughter's life.

The village chief simply had someone "invite" him away, coldly tossing out a sentence.

"Who dares to change the bride chosen by the Dragon King? Do you want the whole village to be buried with your family?"

He also considered running away with his daughter.

But the village is only so big, and there's only one road leading out.

The village chief had long ago arranged for people to "protect" the "dragon girl" who was about to get married, ostensibly to prevent "unauthorized people from disturbing her."

In fact, there are always people loitering outside the Li family's courtyard day and night.

With nowhere to turn, despair, like icy river water, slowly engulfed me.

The afternoon before the sacrificial ceremony, Li Laoshuan disappeared.

No one knew where he went, not even Zhou Shi and Xiao Lian.

......