Survival

Late at night, Zhang Yuanqing sat cross-legged on the observation deck outside the alchemy chamber, the Great Luo Astrolabe resting across his lap—cast of black iron and traced with star charts in silver lacquer. Constellations rotated and shifted incessantly, flashing across his mind over and over like the underlying program code of the world's workings. Every shift represented an alternate course for the future. In a Stargazer's perception, the past was immutable, the present was unfolding, and the future was fraught with uncertainty. The future held countless possibilities. The alteration of a single detail, the deviation of a single thought, would veer the course of what was to come. Among these variables, common peddlers and laborers carried the least weight; ordinary folk's actions and decisions could not alter the overarching trajectory of the future. The thoughts and intents of those in high positions, however, were of paramount importance. Thus, a Stargazer needed to steer the future toward their desired outcome piece by piece across the board. The crux of any contest between Stargazers lay in placing their stones. Whoever held stronger, more numerous pieces would emerge victorious. Naturally, beyond individual pieces, the general trend was just as vital. The grand momentum of the realm rolled relentlessly forward, and a Stargazer had to play their game in accordance with that flow. Stargazing was precisely the art used to read the world's prevailing trends. To forcibly reverse the grand tide would leave even the mightiest Stargazer broken and dead, their Dao extinguished. At present, the Southern Dynasty stood before the brink of ruin. Corrupt officials ran rampant across the court, the national treasury was empty, and the Northern Dynasty's vast army pressed upon the borders... In terms of the general trend, Zhang Yuanqing was at a distinct disadvantage. Fortunately, Linxia City had not yet fallen, leaving the Southern Dynasty a lingering breath of life. "The old scoundrel claims to calculate all heavenly secrets, so his Stargazing skill must be formidable. With the Great Luo Astrolabe, I can at best match him. But my advantage lies in the Dragon Qi's protection, which naturally cloaks me in secrecy. "Certain covert operations cannot be entrusted to my teammates; they must be handled by yin corpses—or by high-ranking figures whose karmic ties with the Imperial Preceptor are negligible, like Gang Leader Duan..." Zhang Yuanqing pondered internally as he read the stars. Just then, a faint, phantom-like roar reached his ears—the guttural sound made by wraiths and yin corpses, audible only to a Night Walker. Zhang Yuanqing shuddered. The celestial imagery before his mind's eye shattered, forcing him out of his Stargazing trance as goosebumps broke out across his skin. "What on earth is the Imperial Preceptor refining?" He turned toward the source of the sound, narrowing his eyes. *Fuck, the bastard really is cooking up something massive.* *** Early morning, outside the capital city gates. Refugees in tattered rags huddled in clusters of twos and threes. Hunching their shoulders, they sprawled along both sides of the official post road, shivering in the dawn's light frost. The weather was growing colder by the day. If northern cold was overbearing and ferocious, the southern damp chill was like a blade stabbing into the marrow—inflicting terrible torment before death, like dull knives shaving away flesh as life ebbed away bit by bit until the end. Several thousand refugees were stranded outside the walls. The imperial court forbade them entry, and lacking travel funds or the stamina to flee further south after losing their homes, their sole remaining lifeline lay with the capital. They scraped by on the nearly clear, watery gruel doled out by the court, surviving one day at a time. Once deep winter set in, the children and the elderly among them would be the first to perish. The younger ones might endure the brutal winter, but that promised no salvation. Waiting beyond the winter were the iron hooves and blades of the Northern Dynasty army. Despair, numbness, and misery hung thick over the refugees beyond the city walls. As the first rays of dawn shone upon the mortal realm, the city gates slowly creaked open. The refugees turned toward the gates, pairs of dull, glazed eyes kindling with a spark of hope. The court's relief porridge was delivered in the morning—their only meal of the entire day. Only after eating this would they possess the strength to dig for tree roots in the woods or unearth grubs from the dirt. Under countless eager gazes, a flatbed cart rolled out of the city gates. Four large wooden vats sat upon it, white steam seeping from the gaps around their lids. *Gurgle...* The sound of swallowing saliva rippled through the crowd. Refugees scrambled to their feet, and those still sleeping were roughly shoved awake by companions and kin. Like living dead wandering the barren wilds, the refugees surged toward the gates. Just then, another flatbed cart emerged behind the first, followed by a third, a fourth... and at the very rear marched over a hundred armored, weapon-bearing city guards. The swarming refugees abruptly stopped in their tracks. There were too many carts—ten in total. This couldn't be for them. In the past, there had been at most three carts bearing porridge so thin you could see the bottom of the bowl, allowing each person barely half a bowl, and certainly without so many city guards maintaining order. Watching the plumes of steam billowing endlessly from the wooden vats and inhaling the rich aroma of porridge, the sound of gulped saliva grew louder. Amidst it all, children's cries broke out, urging their parents to get them food. Yet sallow-faced fathers and emaciated mothers cowered, not daring to step forward. Then, after passing through the gates, the ten carts did not continue onward; instead, they turned toward the porridge sheds beneath the city walls. An officer on horseback squeezed his mount's flanks, trotting forward, and shouted at the crowd: "His Majesty perceives the plight of the people and feels your hardships! He has opened the granaries to provide relief and established a new law! From this day forth, the relief porridge must meet the standard thickness: if chopsticks can float, heads shall roll!" With a roaring clamor, thousands of refugees rushed toward the porridge sheds. *** Tianji Tower, the observation deck. To the east, the sun was rising steadily. Zhang Yuanqing leaned against the railing, gazing into the distance. The splendid, bustling capital was still asleep, its architectural silhouettes hazy, while in the distance, the towering city walls shut out thousands of refugees. A single wall separated heaven and hell. After he had stood there for a long time, a beam of golden light passed through the wall and manifested as the Imperial Preceptor, looking otherworldly and immortal with wide sleeves billowing. "Imperial Preceptor," Zhang Yuanqing said, resting both hands on the railing and smiling, "these thousands of refugees outside the city are all subjects of the Southern Dynasty—Our subjects. To rescue the people from fire and water is a duty We cannot shirk." The Imperial Preceptor gazed toward the city gates, a hint of solemnity creeping onto his countenance. Pinching his fingers to divine for a few seconds, he said coldly, "Your Majesty is the sovereign of a nation, yet you stoop to the petty tricks of thieves and knaves." "Not so," Zhang Yuanqing replied, lifting his chin with a smile. "'Under the whole heaven, every spot is the sovereign's ground; to the borders of the land, every individual is the sovereign's servant.' What fault is there in Us taking Our own grain to relieve Our disaster-stricken people? Ah, right—the Imperial Preceptor may also notify Zheng Wenhan to investigate the theft of grain from the city's rice merchants. It is only that shuffling official paperwork back and forth will take some time." That the Imperial Preceptor had failed to foresee this move was well within Zhang Yuanqing's expectations, for last night he had placed the Companion Spirit Moon into the guild warehouse and instructed Sun Miaomiao to retrieve it. Once Sun Miaomiao used Night Travel, she was effectively cloaked by its shroud of secrecy. The Imperial Preceptor offered no reply, his lips moving silently. The middle-aged Daoist outside the alchemy chamber dissolved into starlight and vanished. Before long, another detachment of city guards hurried to the city gates, driving back the refugees and surrounding the porridge sheds. The two groups of city guards, belonging to different military barracks, drew their blades and stood in confrontation. The newly arrived guard commander announced in a loud voice, "Last night, grain was stolen from multiple rice shops in the city. The Ministry of Justice suspects the grain here is illicitly obtained. We must seize all this porridge for investigation. If any of you dare obstruct us, it shall be treated as treason!" "Bullshit!" cursed the guard officer guarding the sheds. "The Ministry of Justice hasn't even begun morning roll call! Did the Minister of Justice appear in your dreams to tell you about stolen grain?" Roars of laughter broke out on all sides. Neither group came to blows; instead, they hurled curses back and forth, dragging each other's ancestors through eighteen generations and peppering every sentence with insults to each other's mothers. After a stalemate of half a shichen, a large crowd of people clad in shabby clothing suddenly surged out from within the city, jostling shoulder to shoulder and blending in among the genuine refugees. "Brothers, our job is done, let's head back!" The obstructive commander laughed, sheathing his blade, and departed with several dozen subordinates. Outside the walls, watching this scene unfold through his spirit servant, Zhang Yuanqing felt a chill and instantly understood the Imperial Preceptor's ploy. The city guards' obstruction had merely been a stalling tactic and a diversion, meant to buy time to assemble people. The Imperial Preceptor had instructed his disciples to muster a faction of common townspeople inside the city, disguised as refugees, to disrupt the porridge distribution. In doing so, the number of actual refugees who could receive food would dwindle dramatically, drastically reducing the impact of Zhang Yuanqing's plan to win hearts by opening the granaries. Caught off guard by today's sudden move, they might have come up with a new countermeasure by tomorrow. And Zheng Wenhan would have ample time to investigate the grain theft. "Old ginger really is spicier," Zhang Yuanqing clicked his tongue repeatedly. The Imperial Preceptor said placidly, "Your Majesty may make your next move." Zhang Yuanqing's expression turned solemn as he sighed. "Imperial Preceptor, do you know the difference between a refugee and a common civilian?" The Imperial Preceptor replied impassively, "There is no difference." "Then watch closely," Zhang Yuanqing said. Outside the walls, the 4th-level spirit servant stirred a gust of yin wind and slammed into the body of the city guard commander. The commander's pupils dilated for an instant before returning to normal. Sheathing his saber, he bent down, scooped up a handful of dirt and sand from the ground, tossed it straight into the porridge, and barked, "What are you gawking at? Do as I do!" His subordinates followed suit one after another. Though pained to see good pots of porridge ruined, none dared defy their superior's order. Once the sand and dirt were stirred into the gruel, Zhang Yuanqing manipulated the commander to shout, "Get your asses over here and take your porridge!" The refugees surged forward with a roar, but a portion of the crowd froze in their tracks with conflicted looks, and quite a few even turned around and walked away. Upon the observation deck, Zhang Yuanqing turned his head to look at the Imperial Preceptor. "They only want to survive." The Imperial Preceptor remained indifferent. His form turned into a beam of golden light and left the alchemy chamber. "Such is the advantage of a modern person's repository of information," Zhang Yuanqing exhaled. Fortunately, the townspeople who had rushed out from the city were only looking to take advantage and score a free bowl of thick porridge, which was why they had followed the Tianji Tower Daoists' agitation and gathered outside. Had they been bent on sabotage, taking the porridge only to dump it, Zhang Yuanqing's plan would still have been hard-pressed to succeed. *Well, that wouldn't happen. The Imperial Preceptor is an untarnished, luminous paragon in the eyes of the populace. Issuing an order like that to ordinary people would only damage his reputation—it wouldn't be worth the loss!* Zhang Yuanqing turned and entered the alchemy chamber, where he began brewing tea. He felt no conceit over this fleeting triumph. Winning the people's hearts was vital, but a single porridge distribution was merely one step in "harvesting popular support"—it could not decide the overall game. Moreover, no matter how much public support was gained, if the enemy could not be weakened, it would all be in vain. Zhang Yuanqing's true plan, in the final analysis, came down to five words: capture the ringleader to vanquish the bandits. He was keeping Zheng Wenhan placated precisely so that at the right moment, he could launch an operation to eliminate the Zheng family, purging all their core figures. Once that was done, whether it was the Imperial City Division or the city defense guards, they would naturally switch allegiance. Yet to wipe out the Zheng family, his current strength was not yet sufficient. *** At the Yang Residence. In the Empress's bedchamber, Yin Corpse Zhang Yuanqing opened his eyes once more, seeing Guan Ya seated before a writing desk in the outer room, holding a calligraphy brush and writing rather clumsily. "How goes the investigation into the Shenrui Army case?" Zhang Yuanqing asked. Guan Ya set down her brush, looked over, and said, "I'm analyzing it right now. Since you're here, let's discuss it together." Zhang Yuanqing walked over as invited and asked, "Where are the others?" Guan Ya said, "Out doing quests." Yesterday, Zhang Yuanqing had instructed Yang Zheng to draft a proclamation to be posted throughout the inner and outer cities, announcing the conferment of imperial consort titles upon Lady Ya, Beauty Chu, and Beauty Wan. It extolled their selfless courage and staunch loyalty in risking their lives to save the Emperor. With that, their factions had shifted, unlocking new side and main quests. To break their seals and restore their levels, they had been running quests non-stop since yesterday. "What about the Palace Master?" Zhang Yuanqing asked. "She rushed off to Linxia," Guan Ya replied. "Fu Qingyang sent word of the military situation. The Northern Dynasty has been launching ferocious assaults on Linxia for the past two days, inflicting heavy casualties on the defenders. The team members, including Fu Qingyang himself, have been repeatedly wounded, and their supplies are depleted. They urgently need Life Source Fluid. Our own stock of Life Source Fluid is running low, and we need to deal with the hazards here in the capital, so we could only have the Palace Master head over." Zhang Yuanqing took a sharp breath. "Linxia has Lingjun and Xiahou Aotian, yet they're still lacking Life Source Fluid? The brutality on the front line is worse than we imagined. Fu Qingyang might not hold out for half a month. We need to pick up the pace, too. Tell me about the Shenrui Army." The burden on his shoulders had grown heavier still.