Chapter Twenty-Two: The Struggle Between Heaven and Man Surpasses the Clashes of Mortal Armies!

If they refuse to cooperate and decline to send ghost soldiers, what means does a mere patrol officer have to compel them? Last time, during the affair with the demonic followers of Cheng Tiandao, it was the county constable who issued the command; only when the matter grew grave did the temple spirits dispatch their forces to handle the situation. Such are the orders from a county constable. As for the commands of a lowly patrol officer, they heed them only as they please.

Even the previous patrol officer, upon assuming his post, took the initiative to visit each village shaman personally. And now Wang Zhenling expects those shamans to come to him? Hmph, he’ll find himself humiliated by them yet!

“Patrol officer, this is unwise. We should take the initiative and call upon the shamans of each district. After all, they serve the ghost gods…” Wang Hu advised.

Wang Zhenling happened to notice the smug smile that briefly crossed Zhu He’s face as he lowered his head; he knew well enough the man harbored ill intentions. Lazily, he replied, “No need. Let the shamans of each temple come to see me!”

Yet inwardly, he sneered. If Zhu He knew the true nature of his relationship with Lord Hu, he would never dare to trouble him with such machinations. After all, Lord Hu was the temple god of Guangyang, and Guangyang Temple was the very heart of the Guangyang district.

Wang Zhenling spoke calmly: “Find a few clerks to run errands. Notify the shamans of each temple in Guangyang to present themselves to me tomorrow morning.”

He said no more, sweeping his sleeves as he departed.

Wang Hu, anxious, wished to persuade him further. The village clerks exchanged uneasy glances, then looked to Zhu He and asked cautiously, “Clerk Zhu, what shall we do about Patrol Officer Wang’s orders?”

Zhu He sneered inwardly at Wang Zhenling’s recklessness, but outwardly chuckled, “Since the patrol officer has given the command, you might as well notify the shamans to come.”

Each clerk wore a troubled expression, but none dared protest further, and so went off to deliver the message.

Soon after, the steward heard of the matter and smiled, saying nothing. In his heart he mused, “A man without wisdom cannot handle affairs reliably. It seems I need not intervene—Zhu He alone can deal with him.”

“I doubt any ghost gods will come.”

“Indeed, the new patrol officer is far too arrogant. Those temple gods…”

“No matter what, human life lasts only fifty or sixty years, but the ghost gods are different.”

“Exactly—even the previous patrol officer made sure to visit the temple gods first!”

“This Patrol Officer Wang is far too young. His first appointment, and he already knows not his place!”

“Indeed. If not a single shaman comes tomorrow, the Wang family of Danling will lose all face!”

Within the office, the village clerks either gloated or pitied him in their whispered conversations. Wang Zhenling heard it all, but paid them no mind. What right have ants to comment on the affairs of a tiger?

For him, these petty intrigues in such a rural locale were nothing but a waste of time. He was far more interested in exploring the use of the semi-pass seal.

Through the semi-pass seal, Wang Zhenling could sense and even control the official energies within Guangyang district—a tightly woven grid that covered the entire region. Only after holding the seal for himself did he truly touch this power for the first time. The records in books had always seemed vague, but now he realized it was a net woven from the collective fortune of tens of thousands of Guangyang’s residents, structured under the law of the government—a net of law.

All the people, officials, and ghost gods were caught beneath this vast net. This was the source of the government’s immense strength in this world.

“Hmph, this is less a government than the very Celestial Court,” Wang Zhenling thought with a sigh.

He began experimenting with how to mobilize the power of this net woven by fate and law. Soon he discovered that, though the net was powerful, the strength he could draw from it was quite limited. First, he was but the third-ranking official in the district—a mere patrol officer, not the steward. Second, even to wield the net’s power required a strong spirit; without it, one would be like a child wielding a broadsword.

“No wonder this world’s prominent schools focus only on clarifying the mind and strengthening the soul, rather than seeking out-of-body experiences or magical arts. As long as one’s spirit is strong enough, with an official seal in hand, one can wield such immense power!”

Compared to this, what does the cultivation of a practitioner amount to? A qi refiner struggles for decades to absorb spiritual energy and accumulate strength, yet how much can he truly gather? Whereas even a minor official can wield the net woven from the power of countless citizens, officials, and ghost gods…

At this, Wang Zhenling felt almost defeated, wondering what use cultivation was at all. Even as a patrol officer in this district, he surpassed a qi refiner who had spent decades in lonely mountain practice.

Yet on second thought, he realized that while his cultivated strength was weak, it was at least truly his own. The strength of the government, though vast, would vanish the moment he left office—or could be stripped away at a superior’s whim. Only the power he cultivated himself, however strong or weak, was real and lasting, his alone, and could follow him even to the grave.

Upon this realization, Wang Zhenling steadied his heart for the Dao once more. He exhaled slowly, wiping cold sweat from his brow. The battle within his soul raged fiercer than any earthly conflict.

As evening fell, the rural office was brightly lit. In these times, even the county seat had little nightlife—let alone a rural office in the countryside. Usually, after supper, people might sit outside to enjoy the summer air, or retire early in colder weather.

Yet tonight, Wang Zhenling was newly arrived, just appointed patrol officer. The steward took the opportunity to host a banquet in his honor. Though he feared Wang Zhenling in secret, he still made a show of hospitality.

But as night deepened and the banquet was just beginning, a procession of shamans appeared at the entrance to the rural office.

“Upon hearing of Patrol Officer Wang’s appointment, we have come to pay our respects!”

All the shamans from every public and private temple in Guangyang district arrived, kneeling at the gate.

This display shocked the entire rural office. These shamans, who often looked down on others and relied on the power of their temple gods, might obey an order from the county court, but rarely paid any heed to the local clerks.