Chapter Forty-Four: Stirring the People

No matter what, this old crone was still the shaman of the Blackwater Shrine, long revered and supported by countless commoners, and had grown accustomed to flattery and deference. When had she ever been so humiliated? Now, seeing Wang Zhenling, her eyes blazed with fury!

But Wang Zhenling had come here precisely to stir up trouble—how could she possibly care about the old woman’s feelings? If this were a public shrine, Wang Zhenling would at least have to gather evidence and find an excuse before taking action. But since it was a private shrine, it was already an illicit cult...

The term “illicit” itself meant excessive and uncontrolled. The authorities were duty-bound to destroy such unlawful worship!

At this moment, Wang Zhenling ignored the old crone and instead addressed the bailiff, the village elders, and others of Dafan Township: “I asked you a question, and none of you have answered yet!”

Wang Zhenling was a county constable, a patrol officer sent by the county court. Though her official rank was not much higher than that of the bailiff and the village elders—after all, they were all hundred-stone officials—she was now representing the county court itself. Her stern questioning left the three visibly uneasy.

At last, the three elder men forced out an answer: “This is the Blackwater Shrine...”

“I ask you, is this a public shrine or a private one?”

“This... of course, it’s a private shrine!” Sweat had already formed on the elders’ foreheads.

“What about you?” Wang Zhenling asked the bailiff and the patrol officer.

“It’s a private shrine,” they replied.

“Very well. You know it’s a private shrine, so why haven’t you destroyed it? Have you all forgotten the imperial decrees?”

Under Wang Zhenling’s forceful interrogation, the three and the other local officials were drenched in sweat.

Satisfied with their fear, Wang Zhenling barked coldly, “What are you waiting for? Destroy this illicit shrine at once!”

Oppressed and utterly disoriented by Wang Zhenling’s authority, the local officials hesitated, but had no choice but to follow her orders and move to destroy the Blackwater Shrine.

“It must not be destroyed...!”

A shrill wail echoed—the shaman herself had cried out, rushing forward and shouting, “Dafan Township is suffering from drought! We rely on the shrine’s god to bring rain. If the county constable destroys the shrine, does he not mean to doom every soul in our village to die of drought?”

Wang Zhenling’s eyes flashed. She signaled to Wang Yong—a bodyguard from the Wang clan, a man of considerable skill. Following prior instructions and Wang Zhenling’s glance, Wang Yong drew his sword and prepared to cut down the old crone.

But as he swung his blade, someone intercepted him—a clash of metal rang out.

A burly, silent man stood between the shaman and harm, sword in hand. He remained unharmed, and the clash forced Wang Yong back several steps.

Emboldened by the shaman’s cries, the villagers surged forward in growing numbers—hundreds strong—glaring at Wang Zhenling with undisguised hostility.

The old crone would not relent, shrieking, “The officials mean for us to die! Destroying the shrine’s god, we’ll all starve! With such drought, if no rain falls, there will be no harvest. Starvation means death, rebellion means death—if the authorities give us no way to live, we’ll fight them to the end!”

Her incitement turned the villagers’ eyes red, their nostrils flared, and their gaze bore into Wang Zhenling with deep hatred.

Wang Zhenling cursed Wang Yong inwardly for his incompetence; had he acted with lightning speed and killed the old crone, the situation would have been much easier to handle. But now, thanks to the shaman’s agitation, a mass incident could erupt at any moment.

Much of this was the court’s own fault—taxes had risen year by year, and even the emperor himself openly sold government positions in Liangyuan. From county officials to high ministers, all offices had fixed prices. Anyone with money could buy an office—no tricks or deception involved.

As a result, the bureaucracy had become corrupt, and those who purchased their positions were desperate to recoup their investments, squeezing the people ever harder. In recent years, natural disasters had been relentless, people’s livelihoods had grown ever more difficult, and the authorities not only failed to offer relief, but redoubled their extortion.

The relationship between government and people was already strained—it was no wonder that a few words from the old crone could fill the villagers with such animosity!

Wang Zhenling’s mind raced as she sized up the middle-aged man guarding the shaman. His eyes were bright and piercing, his temples slightly swollen—a sign of powerful vitality. It was clear at a glance that he was an expert.

Even if Wang Zhenling fought him herself, she had no confidence in defeating him in a few moves—killing the shaman would not be easy.

Scanning the crowd, she saw wisps of gray vapor coiling above the people, with faint flashes of blood-red light—like sparks ready to ignite a devastating blaze.

This was the art of reading auras, a technique strictly forbidden by the state. Yet Wang Zhenling, having cultivated the Celestial Yang Longevity Diagram and stolen official energy, had learned it naturally.

She immediately realized the danger.

White vapor signified loyalty and good citizenship. Gray vapor, on the other hand, was the aura of resentment and alienation. Should it turn black, it would symbolize open rebellion and bloodshed.

As for that bloody-fire aura, it was the energy of bloodlust. Everyone had blood energy—especially the young, whose vitality was at its peak. When crowds gathered, their blood energies merged, making them more prone to impulsiveness. Stirred up together, the blood energy would surge all the more.

This was why even the most honest folk, when gathered in numbers, could dare to resist the authorities.

Now, the gray aura over the villagers’ heads was deepening under the influence of the blood energy.

Should a single official be harmed today—should blood be shed—those gray auras might well turn black.

At that point, Wang Zhenling might not only be held responsible for inciting a local uprising, but could even be attacked and killed by the villagers in their rage. Such events had happened all too often in recent years!

Wang Zhenling’s mind spun swiftly as she shouted, “Insolence! Do you mean to murder officials and rebel against the state? Are you not afraid of extermination down to your ninth kin?”

Her cultivation had reached the stage where her spirit could leave her body—her voice thundered like springtime thunder.

The thousand or more rowdy villagers were instantly stunned, their ears ringing from the force of her shout.

At the same time, the county soldiers that Wang Zhenling had brought all drew their swords, pointing them at the crowd.

In an instant, fear rippled through the villagers and chaos broke out.

In such situations, it was always a matter of one force overwhelming the other—never let the crowd unite as one under provocation.