My brother entrusted his child to me, and I livestreamed raising the baby, making the Empress cry wi

Many displaced people believed this claim and joined in chanting slogans.

On each swollen, pale face, lips were cracked and bleeding, eyes were sunken, cheekbones were high, yet two strange lights burned within their eye sockets—

That was the light that appeared when people suddenly saw a lifeline after a natural disaster had pushed them to their limits—a light that was both bewildering and intensely burning.

Several farmers got up from the ground. They had been kneeling in the mud for too long, and the fabric at the knees of their trousers was soggy, with mud seeping into the fibers.

They raised their hands, which were covered in blue veins. The skin on the back of their hands was as rough as the dry, cracked bark of an old tree, with soil embedded in the crisscrossing lines.

His knuckles had become unusually large from years of hard work, and his fingernails were filled with dirt that couldn't be washed off.

The veins bulged up from the back of his hand to his forearm, resembling earthworms that had been sun-dried on a dry riverbed.

They raised their hands and shouted along, their voices hoarse, dry and rough. Some even broke into a split halfway through their shouts, their trembling voices fading into the sound of rain.

Soon, more sounds poured out from every corner of the shed, rising and falling, overlapping and merging into a chaotic and frenzied wave of noise.

There were old men's hoarse howls, women's shrill screams, the rough voices of teenagers going through puberty, and even children's childish recitations.

The sounds mingled together, high and low, like a boiling pot, bubbling and gurgling, drowning out the sound of the rain.

What they didn't know was that their indignant leader, the burly man standing on the broken cart, waving his arms and shouting—

He was merely following orders from someone in the capital, responsible for instigating them.

Every word he shouted wasn't his own idea; the timing of his punches was always suggested to him.

The rain is still falling, and shows no sign of stopping.

Dense rain fell from the leaden sky, pattering against the tarpaulin on the roof.

Rainwater streamed down the walls of the shed, forming a curtain of water that flowed onto the ground as a muddy stream, carrying mud and bits of grass that waded past the ankles of the people inside.

However, many rational people scoff at the rumors.

They even took advantage of the fact that everyone had gone to shout slogans to quickly occupy the positions around the fire pit.

Then he would squat or sit down in his new spot, using silence to separate himself from the surging crowd.

Rainwater flowed in through the holes in the roof, and every now and then a few drops would fall on their heads and bodies. They were too lazy to move, and just watched all this with tired but clear eyes.

Compared to the so-called Second Princess Shu Rou, Lin Xianren is clearly more credible.

Lord Ye is an excellent person, and Lin Xianren, who is Lord Ye's brother, is also an excellent immortal.

There was clearly no need to care about them in the first place, but we still gave them divine books and holy water. If it were anyone else, they wouldn't care about the lives of ordinary people.

Moreover, the second princess, Shu Rou, is only three years old. Supporting Shu Rou to ascend the throne? Isn't that a joke?

A three-year-old child can't even speak properly, how can he be an emperor? These people are just using Shu Rou as a front.

Do the people behind this really think that the common people are all fools and that no one can see through his intentions?

They believe that as long as they can get through this natural disaster, they will definitely have a better life in the future.

The Great Flame has survived tyranny, internal strife, and famine; it will surely survive this time as well.

Besides, now that the eldest princess has become empress, wouldn't Immortal Lin be their supreme emperor? He's an immortal! He can definitely save them!

……

Inside the Imperial Palace in the capital city.

The green tiles of the Hall of Supreme Harmony were polished to a shine by the rain, which cascaded down the eaves and splashed onto the white marble steps below.

The air inside the hall was damp and cool, mixed with the lingering scent of ambergris and the astringent smell of ink.

The candlelight flickered and swayed in the occasional breeze that seeped through the cracks in the doors and windows, casting swaying shadows on the walls that reflected the countless anxious souls within the hall.

Wang Meng sat on a wooden chair below the throne in the Hall of Supreme Harmony, one hand resting on his knee, his fingers unconsciously rubbing against it, the thick calluses on his fingertips scraping against his armor, making a soft rustling sound.

With his other hand supporting his forehead, his palm pressed against his brow bone, causing his thick eyebrows to droop downwards, forming a deep "川" (river) character between his brows.

Hearing the constant stream of urgent reports of floods from various places, he was anxious but powerless. This was a natural disaster, beyond human control.

He could lead his iron cavalry all the way from the northern border into the capital, and he could slam his fist on the table and curse at those pedantic scholars in the imperial court.

But he couldn't use a knife to cut the rain, nor could he use a horse's hooves to trample the flood.

Now he can only sit in this chair, listening to the endless rain outside the palace, and to the ministers relaying the latest casualty figures from various places in hushed but still anxious voices.

The only option was to order the granaries to be opened and all the stored grain to be released from the local government granaries. Soup porridge kitchens and temporary shelters were set up outside the city gates to accommodate as many refugees as possible, saving as many as possible.

Then, all river authorities were instructed to do their utmost to repair the dikes.

There was nothing else he could do or stop.

A feeling of helplessness washed over him, and Wang Meng slumped down an inch, as if he were being bent over by some unseen weight.

The rise and fall of his chest slowed down, his breathing became heavy and long, and the air he exhaled from his nose carried a burning restlessness and a growing annoyance.

It's all that stupid woman Shu Jingwei's fault!

During his reign, he complained that cleaning the riverbed was too laborious, saying it was a waste of money, and it had not been cleaned for many years.

The silt accumulated at the bottom of the river is getting thicker and thicker every year, and the riverbed is getting higher and higher every year. Normally, even a little rain can cause it to overflow onto the banks.

As a result of widespread embezzlement of funds at the time, the funds allocated by the Ministry of Revenue for dike repairs were largely depleted by the time they reached the local areas.

The resulting dikes were made of extremely poor materials. They may look shiny on the surface, but in reality, they might not even be able to withstand a normal heavy rain, let alone this once-in-a-century rainstorm.

Otherwise, things wouldn't have come to this!

It's not like a few days of rain could have caused more than a dozen dikes to collapse in various cities and counties, or that the rivers could have turned into man-eating monsters!

Wang Meng's fingers tightened suddenly, his knuckles cracking, as if he were holding Shu Jingwei's head in his hands.

This woman deserves to die a thousand times over!

We can't touch her yet. Lord Lin still has a use for her. But I imagine that after this rain, she'll be crippled and her situation won't be much better.

Thinking of this, Wang Meng's anger subsided a little.

The Minister of Revenue sighed and stepped forward.

He was wearing an official robe, the hem of which was dark, indicating it had been soaked by rain on his way there.

His old face was full of worry, his brows were furrowed several times deeper than usual, his lips were dry and cracked, and his voice trembled when he spoke.

"General, opening the granaries to distribute grain, resettling disaster victims, and repairing the river embankments—every single task requires grain and silver..."

At this point, his Adam's apple bobbed, he swallowed hard, and continued:

"The official granaries in various regions are gradually running out of space. If this continues..."

"The remaining food supplies in the warehouse probably won't last more than three months..."