Xiaoyu never could have imagined that one day he would be driven out of his wits by the mundane reality of mortals relieving themselves.
This single matter was more than enough; Xiaoyu had no bandwidth left for anything else.
Upon taking office, he naturally had to assess the conditions of the people, so his very first act was an inspection tour of the city. As matters stood, the so-called city of Yong'an consisted of only a small cluster of wooden buildings alongside sprawling tracts of shanties.
The moment he stepped into the shantytown, a pungent stench hit him square in the face. At the same time, his sharp perception as a sword cultivator instantly locked onto the origins of the smell: one, two, three, four... eleven piles in total, scattered along street corners, beneath trees, and behind shacks. There was even a heap lying dead in the center of the road, placed squarely before Xiaoyu's eyes!
For the first time in his life, Xiaoyu wished his senses were not so keen and his divine sense not so swift to react.
To avoid causing a public spectacle, Xiaoyu had gone on an incognito inspection, entering the shantytown on foot.
The shantytown's paths were exceedingly narrow and winding, encroached upon by makeshift extensions from the shanties. The ground was an abysmal swamp of mud, full of muddy puddles and dirt hollows, and within those puddles, naturally, lurked all manner of filth.
The power of the Qingming domain could purify the toxins of the Wu domain, but it could not purify the biological waste of tens of thousands of human bowels.
The deeper into the shanties he went, the more filth accumulated. At first, the piles stood isolated, but farther in they gathered in clusters, eventually merging into unbroken sheets where one could not be distinguished from another.
Xiaoyu found it increasingly difficult to find anywhere to step. When he nearly set his foot right into one, he could finally bear it no longer. He vaulted into the sky and fled back to the main peak as if running for his life.
Xiaoyu simply could not comprehend how, in just a few short days, the city had turned into such a state.
In truth, had he walked the northern district of Quliu Town as Wei Yuan had, he would have realized Yong'an was already comparatively tidy. The people living in the shanties of Quliu Town were like walking corpses, and many simply relieved themselves inside their own shelters.
Yet as city lord, no matter how reluctant he felt, Xiaoyu believed he had to solve these problems. The simplest solution was naturally to build more latrines. But who would build them? Where should they be built? Once built, where would the waste be transported? Where would the water come from? A flood of questions cascaded forth alongside the initial thought, each one branching into an entire discipline that spawned yet another series of complications.
Only then did Xiaoyu realize that coming up with an idea was easy, but turning that idea into reality was an uphill battle.
The moment he returned to the main peak, Xiaoyu brought out a map. He sketched the terrain around Yong'an and the current distribution of civilian dwellings on paper, then began planning the locations of latrines, waste-disposal sites, routes for water channels, how many new streets needed to be laid out, which old streets had to be widened before it was too late, and so on.
Gradually, more and more details were drawn onto the map, growing finer and finer. Without realizing it, Xiaoyu had begun replanning the entire city.
He had originally only wanted to build a few latrines.
Xiaoyu was not the only one driven to his wit's end. Cui Yu was in charge of the city guard, which meant handling everything from site selection and camp construction to screening recruits, issuing equipment, and conducting drills—all from scratch.
Even with several years of commanding troops under his belt, he was thoroughly flustered. In the past, Cui Yu had led soldiers into battle; now he had to raise and train them, which was an entirely different matter. Yet there was no helping it. There were simply too many capable fighters in Qingming right now, and as a mere Heaven Foundation cultivator, Cui Yu could hardly hold his head high anywhere he went.
He could not even show off before his old drinking buddies, since everyone held heavenly merits now, regardless of how they had obtained them.
The requisition and management of all goods and funds within the city were entrusted to Yun Feifei, while judicial affairs were overseen by Xu Wan'er. Both women were likewise buried in dizzying amounts of work.
At that moment, Wei Yuan stood with his hands clasped behind his back, watching several dozen cultivators work together to erect a ceremonial archway, feeling as though he were run ragged himself.
The archway stood a hundred feet tall, supported by four massive pillars, situated at what would become the city's south gate. Inscribed upon the archway were two grand characters reading 'Yong'an,' written in Zhang Sheng's own hand.
Where this archway stood was the site of the future south gate of Yong'an.
Yong'an sat facing south with its back to the north, bordered by a lake to the west and a vast, flat grassland to the east where future grain fields would be established. A small river cut through the city and flowed into the lake, while from the lake's opposite end, another river rushed away into the distance.
To the north of the city lay a visible path winding toward the center of the domain, packed down by the constant traffic of riders, horses, and carriages. Not far north of the city stretched dense woodland, beside which lay a camp housing three thousand human sacrifices.
For now, the city held virtually nothing of substance, showing only an unending sea of shanties. There was no avoiding it; the mortals had arrived in numbers too vast and too swift. Nearly every mortal who received word had cast aside everything they owned, walking step by step on their own two feet to get here. Nearly fifty thousand people were already in the city, and more continued to arrive in steady streams.
By now, the archway had been erected. The soil had been softened beforehand with Dao arts, allowing the four massive pillars to be sunk smoothly into the ground. Cultivators then cast Dao arts continuously to harden the earth into stone, simultaneously imbuing the archway itself with protective arts to reinforce the material and ward off vermin.
As the archway was set in place, Wei Yuan sensed a faint shift between heaven and earth, accompanied by a slight tremor throughout the domain. Had his perception not been so sharp, he would have nearly overlooked it.
At that moment, Bao Yun appeared by Wei Yuan's side and said, "Another Wuyu Clan tribe has been found, about three thousand strong."
"Let's go wipe them out!" Wei Yuan ordered.
A cultivator in his retinue blew a horn, and hundreds of mounted warriors began converging from various directions toward the domain's border.
A flash of red streaked past, and a massive blood-red steed arrived like the wind, coming to a halt before Wei Yuan. Long plumage now grew around all four of its hooves, resembling wings. Above its eyes, two small slits had split open on its head, revealing a pair of newly formed eyes.
The steed had by now attained a degree of telepathic rapport with Wei Yuan. Once he mounted, it galloped toward the gathering point on its own accord.
A moment later, a mounted troop surged out of the domain to purge the surrounding Shaman strongholds. Over the past days, intelligence on Shaman outposts gathered from various channels had all been compiled with Bao Yun. She scouted and verified each lead personally, returning to summon Wei Yuan to battle whenever a target was confirmed, uprooting the Shaman encampments one by one.
In truth, Bao Yun could have destroyed those small tribes of a few thousand on her own. However, slaughter on such a scale invited heavy karmic entanglements. If Wei Yuan dared let Bao Yun return steeped in the resentment of slain souls, a few old monsters from the Bao family would likely arrive the very next day to overturn Qingming altogether.
The Shaman army had long since retreated two thousand li away, and the smaller tribes within the Shattered Lands had also begun to flee one after another. If they did not run, utter annihilation awaited them.
The mere daily existence of Shamans altered the surrounding environment, something Wei Yuan could never tolerate. When he had first begun raiding their tribes, Wei Yuan deliberately allowed some Shamans to escape. But after wiping out several small clans, he ceased showing leniency; anyone who managed to flee did so strictly by their own capability.
After Wei Yuan completely slaughtered one small tribe, every Shaman clan seemed to catch wind of the news and began migrating en masse. Fewer and fewer Shamans remained within the Shattered Lands, and merchant caravans were seldom seen.
Seen from high in the sky, an abrupt patch of gleaming, pale green stood out amidst the near-black dark green expanse, like a gem set into an earth shrouded in poisonous mist.
People continued migrating here from all directions. Columns of humans crept like ants across the earth, slowly marching toward hope.
A month ago, no one would have imagined that several of the finest talents among the younger generation of the Palace of Grand Beginning would gather in this newly opened domain. What followed was a succession of bloody battles; within half a month, five dharma idols, several hundred Dao Foundation cultivators, and over sixty thousand Shaman soldiers had fallen upon this land, while civilian casualties numbered in the hundreds of thousands.
Nourished by the blood of its enemies, Qingming had finally taken root in this savage, perilous land.
Within the Ten Thousand Li of Rivers and Mountains, Wei Yuan was just about to pull up the withered branch to see if it had taken root or sprouted when, the instant his fingers grazed the wood, a sharp snap sounded. A tiny fissure split across its bark, spilling forth a pale golden, frost-cool luminescence.
The light flowed like water, gathering into a small pool beside the branch. Mist swirled gently over the pool, within which tiny specks of pale-golden osmanthus blossoms bloomed and withered, drifting in and out of sight.
End of Volume Two: The Pauper's Expedition.
Chapter 170