"They've reached the foot of the mountain and want to head up tomorrow morning."
"Send someone down to deliver word or guide them—get them up here tonight! Tell them Xianling Lake yielded thousands of jin of fish tonight, so we're throwing a whole-fish feast and inviting them over for a fresh taste." Lu Yao chuckled. "Down at the foot of the mountain, those bastards have nothing to eat but coarse grains. Once they hear that, won't their mouths be watering?"
In truth, since fleeing in defeat from Woling Pass all the way here, these men had not dared to pillage openly, lest they draw the attention of local authorities and provoke a joint pursuit across prefectures.
As a result, their rations had been poor all along, and with morale at rock bottom, every man was downcast.
"Spread the word loudly when you deliver the message, and make sure plenty of men hear it. Once Wu and Pei's underlings start clamoring, even if those two want to come up the mountain later, they won't have a choice."
The "rebel army" had suffered an unprecedented rout, and the commanders' prestige had plummeted to rock bottom with it. It was a situation of weak leaders and unruly troops; military discipline had collapsed, and superiors struggled to control their subordinates. If soldiers felt disgruntled, suffered perceived injustices, or doubted their leaders' competence, mutiny could easily break out.
At times like this, generals had to heed their men's wants and feelings. Otherwise, everyone would scatter, men would desert, or worst of all, they would murder their commanders to seize power.
The confidant acknowledged the order and was about to leave when Lu Yao suddenly added, "Don't mention that government troops came up the mountain. Remember that—mark it well!"
In extraordinary times like these, routed troops harbored a lingering terror of government forces. If Wu and Pei learned soldiers were here, they might refuse to come up altogether.
With too many people crowding the room, He Lingchuan stepped out to catch his breath and reconnoiter the nearby terrain again so he would know the ground inside out.
Tonight would not be peaceful. This village might well be the next battlefield.
The earlier commotion had died back down to stillness. Xianling Village was bathed in the evening breeze; had it not been for the patrolling guards pacing back and forth, no one would have guessed a major storm was about to break over this little mountain hamlet.
He walked past the Water Spirit Shrine. Even the village's finest building looked unremarkable under the heavy cloak of night. The shrine was not large, but it was solidly square and symmetrically built, and its location was prime: backed against the mountain and facing the water, looking out over the vast lake.
Then he heard a clatter—the sound of something being knocked over, clattering across the ground and rolling once or twice.
He Lingchuan stopped in his tracks and called out, "Who's there?"
The Water Spirit Shrine remained dead quiet, save for its wide-open doors gaping like a maw.
Could a desperate bandit be hiding inside?
He Lingchuan glanced left and right, took a torch from a patrolling guard, and walked inside with a hand on the hilt of his saber.
What was there to fear? The Water Spirit Shrine sat in the eastern village, which was now the government troops' turf.
The shrine was spacious enough: an offering hall in front, a meeting hall behind it, and low outbuildings on either side that served as quarters and storage for the shrine keepers.
Earlier, the bandits had hidden weapons under the altar shrine, but after drawing the truce boundary with the soldiers, they had taken them all back.
Holding the torch aloft, He Lingchuan made a circuit of the shrine. No one was there—not even a stray creature.
The floor was covered in footprints, likely left behind by the bandits.
Then he saw a divination canister lying on the ground in front of the altar shrine, its sticks scattered every which way.
The noise he had heard earlier must have been this thing hitting the floor. Probably the work of some stray cat?
He Lingchuan recalled what Zhu-shi had said: the divination lots of the Water Spirit Shrine used to be remarkably accurate. But so many people came to seek omens that the Water Spirit grew sick of it and forbade people from asking about their fortunes.
Instinctively, he went to pick up the canister. But halfway through bending down, he caught himself.
*What am I doing?*
*The Water Spirit is gone, so what's the point of picking them up?*
*Besides, even when the old turtle was alive, it wouldn't divine for people anymore.*
As He Lingchuan started to straighten, he noticed a stick wedged in the carved fretwork of the altar table, directly beneath his eyes and pointing straight at his nose.
It practically touched his face.
This stick was blood-red. Even in the dim light, he could hardly miss it.
He pulled it out casually and found it was not stained with blood, but coated entirely in red lacquer.
Glancing at the small characters carved on it, He Lingchuan cursed his rotten luck under his breath.
At the very top of the stick were two words:
*Worst.*
Beneath that, he read:
*The dove usurps the magpie's nest, making bridal robes for another.*
When He Lingchuan clearly saw those words, his hand gave a sudden twitch.
Setting aside the second line for the moment, those four words—*the dove usurps the magpie's nest*—struck the deepest recesses of his soul like a thunderbolt.
He was a soul from another world who had commandeered the body of "He Lingchuan"—was that not the very definition of usurping the nest?
He Lingchuan looked up at the shrine. Was the Water Spirit truly dead? It didn't seem like it.
Or was this stick falling out pure coincidence?
Footsteps suddenly sounded behind him, followed by He Yue's voice: "Brother, what are you doing?"
He Lingchuan turned around and saw Madam Ying, He Yue, and Zhu-shi walking in, with Maotao following behind them.
"Why are you all out here?"
"That captive you brought in is being tortured in the back kitchen right now. I couldn't stomach it." Madam Ying looked at the canister on the ground. "Are you drawing divination lots?"
"This canister was sealed long ago." Zhu-shi caught sight of the stick in He Lingchuan's hand and gasped in shock. "Eldest Young Master, how could you have drawn this worst lot?!"
The worst lots of Xianling Village's Water Spirit Shrine were blood-red; she recognized it at a glance.
"A worst lot?" Madam Ying and He Yue both started. Madam Ying reached out and snatched the stick from his hand before He Lingchuan could even react.
"What does this mean?"
Madam Ying couldn't make sense of it.
He Yue leaned over, read it through, and pondered it for a long while before shaking his head as well.
Maotao picked up the scattered sticks from the floor and returned them to the canister. He Lingchuan held out a hand. "Give it here."
Zhu-shi immediately said, "Eldest Young Master, the Water Spirit is dead. Drawing lots won't work anymore."
He knew that, but he wanted to try once more. Cradling the canister, He Lingchuan muttered a few words under his breath and shook it vigorously.
*Clack.* A stick flew out.
Before it even hit the ground, everyone clearly saw its color—
Blood-red.
He Yue scrambled to pick it up, reading aloud by the torchlight:
"'The body like a cage, this hatred unending till death!'"
Another worst lot!
The group exchanged bewildered glances. He Lingchuan's face darkened. Drawing one of these cursed things wasn't enough?
What did "the body like a cage" mean?
Watching from the side, Zhu Xiu'er felt this lot described her own predicament far better. Why had Eldest Young Master He drawn it instead?
A man like him, living freely and throwing his weight around—what could he possibly have to do with a "cage"? Let alone a hatred that ended only in death.
"I've never heard of anyone being this unlucky," Maotao couldn't help chiming in. "Eldest Young Master, is there something wrong with this canister?"
He Lingchuan clenched his fists. The local Water Spirit itself had met an untimely end; could asking the lots still have any power?
Or was someone secretly playing a nasty trick on him?
He Yue took the canister. "Let me try."
Frightened, Madam Ying clutched her precious son's arm. "Don't! This thing is sinister."
"The art of divination has always been mysterious and profound," He Yue smiled. "Don't worry, Mother, my luck has never been bad." With that, he gave it a few shakes.
A stick fell to the floor—plain, natural bamboo.
He Lingchuan picked it up and looked. An upper-middle lot.
"Well now, yours isn't bad at all."
Chapter 109