Lament for the Common Folk

"The common folk are not human." This was not the first time Wang Ping had heard this claim. Chen Haoyan had said it, Xu Bingzheng had said it, and nearly every official, high and low, across Longxing County had uttered those very words. Yet all along, he had never taken it to heart. After all, treating people as less than human was an everyday occurrence in a feudal society—nothing out of the ordinary. Besides, there were officials like Lin Sheng and Liu Ye who harbored sympathy for the commoners, so he had simply assumed it was nothing more than an unprincipled court misruling its people. Yet now, Shouchong told him: "The common folk truly are not human. They are merely phantoms of the previous dynasty, forcibly anchored in this world through some bizarre method before that fallen empire met its end." "That is why there is a divide between inside and outside the city walls." "The townspeople within the walls, rich or poor, noble or humble, were all born after the fall of the previous dynasty—or are outright descendants of the rebel army that rose in revolt back then." Shouchong's tone dripped with mockery. "Thus, to Dashun, only those inside the walls are law-abiding subjects, while the common folk beyond the walls are all toxic remnants of the previous dynasty. They deserve to be squeezed dry, and if they die, they had it coming." "How utterly laughable." With that, silence hung between them as Wang Ping offered no reply. Shouchong went on, speaking to himself as much as to Wang Ping: "I know you still have doubts in your heart, my good disciple." "After all, even if what I say is true and the common folk are merely phantoms of a fallen dynasty, the grain they cultivate and the goods they produce are real and tangible. If they were wiped out, the court's tax revenues would plummet drastically. From that perspective, the court ought to treat them kindly." In short: draining the pond to catch the fish, but sustainably. Oppressing the common folk was one thing, but what the Imperial Academy had done in Longxing County—wiping out every commoner across an entire county—amounted to digging their own grave. After all, once all the common folk were dead, who would pay taxes? Who would farm the grain? Who would provide manual labor? The next instant, Shouchong answered on his own: "The answer is simple: because the common folk can never be slaughtered to the last... Even if they are wiped out, they will reappear." Hearing this, a flash of realization struck Wang Ping like a bolt from the blue. "The common folk... can resurrect?!" Shouchong nodded. "Bounded by a sixty-year cycle, every one of the common folk dies off completely within sixty years, whereupon the wheel turns and they are birthed anew into this world." "That is why the Imperial Academy laid its plans long ago: after butchering all the common folk of Longxing County this time, they will announce tax cuts to appease the good citizens inside the city after the great upheaval. Then, once the common folk beyond the walls resurrect, they will restore taxes to normal. That way, they repair the divine weapon without depleting the realm's populace." "The Imperial Academy calls it the best of both worlds." By this point, Wang Ping was too stunned to speak. Only after a good while did he steady his emotions and look at Shouchong. "So that's why you aided in the indiscriminate slaughter of the common folk." "Indeed." Shouchong sneered. "They resurrect endlessly anyway. Since that is so, isn't sacrificing a portion in exchange for far greater gains well worth the cost?" "Then why don't you sacrifice yourself?" Wang Ping countered. Shouchong replied without hesitation: "How do you know I haven't? Besides, didn't I tell you, my good disciple? I too was born among the common folk!" "Except I am different from the rest. I received the mercy of Liansheng Bodhisattva, so the time it takes for me to resurrect is far shorter than theirs." "Other commoners require sixty years, and with every rebirth, they retain no memory of their previous lifetime." "I am different. After I die, it takes only six days for me to reawaken, and I never forget the past... That was how I discovered your resurrection in the first place." At this, Shouchong gave Wang Ping a profound look. "I originally thought you were just like me, my good disciple—born of the common folk, having fortuitously received the mercy of some great virtue. Little did I expect that you possessed other means." "Still, I trust the years you spent as a commoner were not for nothing. You should understand everything I am telling you right now, shouldn't you? You worked as an undercover agent for the imperial court, and what did they do? They kicked you into a ditch. For common folk like us, if we want to fight for our rights, rebellion is the only path." Wang Ping naturally understood. After all, just as Shouchong said, in his very first lifetime he had served the court as an undercover agent, only for them to turn on him and murder him. He had not forgotten that debt to this day. "They don't treat us as human, so naturally we have no need to care about whether they live or die." "The two sides have always been as incompatible as fire and water." "Either they die, or we perish." Shouchong's tone was eerie, his deep eyes inscrutable. "Since that is the case, rather than letting them squeeze us to death, why not rise up and fight back?" "We can resurrect anyway." "No matter how many sacrifices we make, it is all nothing more than a fleeting dream, an illusion beneath notice... After all, rebellion isn't a dinner party. How can there be no bloodshed?" Wang Ping frowned deeply and said in a heavy voice, "After all that talk, you want me to help you?" "My good disciple truly catches on fast." Shouchong smiled slightly. "As you pointed out, the thaumaturge behind the Imperial Academy is formidable. Under such circumstances, it is only natural for me to recruit allies." "Indeed." Wang Ping nodded, yet showed no intention of rising. Instead, he stayed seated, looking up silently at Shouchong, everything unspoken yet crystal clear: *Where's my cut? It's hard for me to do your bidding like this.* Seeing his attitude, the corner of Shouchong's eye twitched slightly. Helpless, he could only lower his voice: "Once it succeeds, all the fiends converted from the common folk will belong to you." Wang Ping blinked. "That's it?" Shouchong flared up at once: "Tens of thousands of common folk across an entire county converted into fiends and refined into a divine weapon to bolster its foundation! Is such an immense benefit still not enough?" Wang Ping shook his head resolutely. "The benefit is substantial, but so is the risk." "Doing this would undoubtedly mean betraying my master. If I'm held accountable afterward, I am dead without question. What good would any number of fiends do me then?" "On that front, you can rest easy," Shouchong said with a smile. "As long as you remain here, no one will hold you accountable... At least as far as I know, the thaumaturges capable of holding you responsible can hardly descend here." "Besides, haven't you caught the eye of the Royal Enshrinement Hall?" "Hiding among them afterward will be more than enough to shelter you." Hearing this, Wang Ping nearly burst into laughter. When all was said and done, the benefits were being footed either by the common folk or by the Royal Enshrinement Hall—Shouchong himself wasn't spending a single copper. One could only say that while his own demand for perks was somewhat shameless, Shouchong's habit of painting grand illusions and playing generous with other people's wealth was just as brazen. Before Wang Ping could speak again, Shouchong flicked his sleeve. "I have said all I came to say." "To be frank, cooperating with you is merely to maximize our odds of success. Whatever you choose, our plan will not change in the slightest." Wang Ping raised an eyebrow. "How so?" Shouchong sneered. "Because... the world has suffered Dashun for far too long." "As it happens, to prove my sincerity, I will let you see for yourself." Shouchong reached into his robes and, as if holding a sacred treasure, brought out an exquisite figurine. It depicted a holy woman with a compassionate countenance. Liansheng Bodhisattva. The bodhisattva was pure white and unblemished, untainted by the mortal world, yet the lotus seat beneath her was fiery blood-red—so thick and vivid it seemed painted with real blood. "What is this?" Wang Ping frowned. "A good question." Shouchong formed an incantation gesture and lifted the bodhisattva from the lotus seat. Instantly, a dazzling crimson brilliance erupted from within the blood-red pedestal. "This is... our resolve." The moment the words fell, ear-splitting shrieks rose in a deafening wave. Only then did Wang Ping see clearly: contained within the blood-red lotus seat was nothing else but tens of thousands of souls thoroughly drenched in rancorous malice! .............. Facing the turbulent storm of howling souls, Wang Ping immediately invoked the Soul Pursuing technique to protect himself, walling off all influence from the spirits. Soon, however, he sensed something amiss—the shrieking souls were not attacking him. On the contrary, they voluntarily laid bare their emotions and perceptions, relinquishing all defense. In this state, far from being affected by them, Wang Ping could decide their life or death with a single thought. *What is this for?* With this question in mind, Wang Ping tentatively made contact with one of the souls. In an instant, a torrent of memories surged along the connection and flooded into his sea of consciousness. This soul had been born in Xiahe Village to an ordinary farming family. He was a precocious child. From a very young age, he had understood the meaning of poverty, sympathized with his parents' hardships, and regularly helped look after the household. One day, he saw itinerant merchants who had come to the village from the county seat. They came once every season to buy grain, which they then took to sell at the grass market outside town. Back then, he had envied those merchants deeply, for their pockets seemed to hold an endless supply of money. Their clothes, too, were made of fine fabric. Occasionally, a merchant would take out some delicious sesame candy and toss pieces to the children who crowded around. He had been lucky enough to receive a piece, and the sweet taste that melted on his tongue remained unforgettable to this day. And so, he could not help but think: *I want to make sure my parents wear clothes like that too! I want my younger brothers and sisters to eat delicious candy like that, and one day our whole family will live inside the county seat!* He was truly intelligent. Once he set his goal, he began striving toward it—starting by running errands for traveling merchants, then becoming an apprentice in a merchant guild, accumulating capital, and eventually going into business on his own... He endured immense hardship. Yet the harder he worked and the more hardship he endured, the more wrong everything felt—it was as though a high wall stood before him, blocking him from climbing any further. Every time he threw himself against it, trying to smash through, he ended up battered and bleeding. Bad luck. Spiteful petty people. Misjudgments. Troubles followed one after another... yet he never gave up. Finally, as he approached forty, he succeeded, carving out a substantial family estate. "I bought a house in the county seat!" "I can finally bring my father and mother over, and my younger brothers and sisters, and their children—in the future, they can all become respectable citizens inside the city walls!" He believed that as long as he kept working hard, that towering wall would one day be crushed beneath his feet. *Boom!* All at once, the soul's rancorous malice erupted, boundless fury surging endlessly from the depths of its memories, fully meeting the threshold needed to spawn a fiend. Then, a scene surfaced in the memory: "Merchant Chen, found guilty of malicious hoarding of grain, rice, and refined iron. Sentenced to forty strikes with the cane, confiscation of all hoarded goods, and a fine of one thousand taels of silver, to be paid to the county yamen within ten days." In an instant, it was as if he had awakened from a grand dream. A fabricated charge had been slammed onto his head just like that. The courtyard house he had just purchased was seized, and burdened with a crushing debt, he was driven straight into a dead end. Wang Ping watched calmly and shook his head. "...Still not enough." A family ruined and lives destroyed was tragic indeed, and it certainly spawned rancorous malice. But to breed a fiend, this level of malice was nowhere near enough. The memory shifted once more. This was—the story after that commoner had died. The vantage point changed; it had likely been shown to him only after Shouchong collected his soul. There were two officials. Their robes were distinctive, traced with golden patterns—clearly not local county yamen officials. They held paper and brushes, seemingly recording something. "Xiahe Village, Chen." "Possesses a mind for business. Compared to the previous record, he amassed an even larger estate, yielding more confiscated wealth. He can be placed on the priority watchlist." "Recorded." "Wait another twenty years, and the sixty-year mark will arrive. Once he resurrects then, have the county yamen covertly give him a push so he prospers even faster." "And then... confiscate everything again!" The two officials exchanged smiles. "It must be said, thanks to the hard work of these commoners, this year's shortfall in the court's expenditures can barely be plugged." "Just as well; dead, there will be fewer mouths eating grain." "Otherwise, if these commoners were allowed to live out their natural lives, who knows how much grain would be wasted on them? That would be a true crime." "Looking at it that way, they're better off continuing to die like this." "Indeed. They always grow back anyway." "Now this is what human livestock is for." The memory shattered with a roar. Wang Ping opened his eyes. Before him, countless souls enshrouded in thick, suffocating rancor overlapped and shrieked, their cries ultimately converging into a single word: "Kill—!!!"