Sir, take me to rebel (5): 

After sending off the prefect, Si Qi sat down in his chair, and his apprentice, Si Yi, thoughtfully poured him a cup of tea.

While drinking his tea, Si Qi began his daily question: [Any news of Chu Feng?]

More than a year had passed since he arrived here, yet Si Qi still had not found Chu Feng.

He often pondered why Chu Feng had not appeared for so long: perhaps he had encountered difficulties and was trapped somewhere unable to leave; or maybe he was busy saving people, delayed by countless affairs.

With Chu Feng’s abilities, no matter where he was, he would surely carve out a place for himself.

Among those who rose to fame during this chaotic era, perhaps Chu Feng was one of them.

That was why Si Qi chose Liang Province as the starting point of his rebellion, to see if Chu Feng would appear in this land once chosen by the Son of the World.

But still, he had not.

Si Qi even began to suspect that because the world’s force was in chaos, Chu Feng’s consciousness had accidentally slipped into another era, missing him entirely.

Yet in his heart, he always held onto a sliver of hope, believing Chu Feng might suddenly appear one day.

Shaking his head, Si Qi finished his tea. Noticing his apprentice’s worried gaze, he smiled faintly and said, “Go pack our things.”

Si Yi beamed. “At once, Teacher!”

…

In the sweltering heat, Si Qi walked along the mountain paths, and suddenly recalled events from the original timeline.

In that worldline, without Si Qi’s presence, Si Yi was still fleeing for his life. The land here cracked dry, the crops withered under the scorching sun, and people perished in the soil.

Farmers trod the hardened, stone-like earth, staring at the yellowing crops withering in the cracks, while the blazing sun above seemed determined to burn them alive. They wailed in despair.

The prefect of Liang Province looked at the drooping, dying crops and sighed heavily.

In a few months, when autumn came, the imperial soldiers would arrive.

If the people of Liang remained, they would only sit and wait for death. Exploited of their last ounce of value, they would become the living cattle of the capital’s nobles, their final strength spent on the luxury of others.

But how could he bear that?

These were his people, for whom he had worked tirelessly to secure a better life.

So he called together the county magistrates to explain the situation.

Those willing to stay and serve peacefully in such a place were either incompetents abandoned here for offending their superiors, or truly kindhearted officials who loved their people as their own children.

After long deliberation, they reached a final, desperate decision: to abandon Liang Province and seek survival elsewhere.

The world was vast—so long as one lived, there was always hope.

Though it was painful for the people to leave their homeland, with the land in such a state, how could they survive by staying?

Thus, when the officials sent to requisition grain from Liang Province arrived, they found only desolate, deserted streets, emptier than before.

A few ignorant officials, left behind deliberately, stomped and cursed, complaining bitterly to the capital envoys. Enraged, the imperial officials accused the prefect and the people of Liang of unforgivable treachery—abandoning their vital duty of farming for the court, betraying the emperor’s trust, and fleeing like cowards.

This, they claimed, was open defiance of imperial authority!

The emperor, upon reading the memorial, flew into a rage and ordered the capture of Liang’s fugitives. Once caught, they were to be sent across the provinces as sacrificial offerings, then executed on a chosen day.

Already driven to abandon their homes, suffering bitterly along the way, the people of Liang finally snapped.

Stay, and they would die. Leave, and they would also die. What exactly did this dog of an emperor want?

Staring at the imperial troops chasing them with murderous intent, the people wailed and despaired.

At that moment, a strange man appeared—his figure eerie, as though he had crawled out of hell. Leading a band of followers, he blocked the imperial soldiers and protected the weeping, pleading peasants.

Not only that, he guided them to a secluded, fertile land with clear water and rich soil, giving them hope for survival.

Yet once they felt some relief, he warned them: even if they built homes here, as long as the dog emperor ruled, they would one day be found and punished.

If they wished to protect their families, they would have to take up arms and rebel!

The people trembled at the thought—how could their small numbers possibly fight the emperor?

But soon, natural disasters erupted across the land. People suffered unbearably, hating the officials sent to kill them. One by one, they rose up.

Thus, the hesitant lost their hesitation. They joined the rebellion, farming with all their might to supply grain. In that barren, remote province, the first sparks of uprising ignited.

And those sparks, in time, consumed the Qiuchao Dynasty in a raging inferno…

So this drought became the trigger for Qiuchao’s downfall, and the first omen of the coming disasters.

…

Si Qi saw his little apprentice drenched in sweat as they climbed the mountain. He wetted a cloth with fresh water from his flask and handed it to Si Yi.

Blushing, Si Yi took it and wiped his face.

Today was the last day for master and apprentice to check on the mountain herbs, and the villagers had followed to learn how to identify and harvest them.

The seasoned herb gatherers, after a busy morning, looked a little disheveled.

Si Qi, however, remained spotless in his white robes. His steps were light and graceful on the uneven paths, like walking on level ground. Just watching him made people yearn.

Si Yi, half-hiding his face behind the cloth, could not resist stealing glances at his teacher.

Cold and unworldly, his teacher stood out wherever he went.

Truly, his teacher was the most handsome, the strongest, the most perfect person in the world.

As he was thinking this, the group finished their inspection and prepared to descend.

Si Qi told the villagers, “Tomorrow I will be leaving.”

Everyone felt deep reluctance.

“There are many poisonous insects here, and miasma often lingers in the mountains. You must study the medical texts carefully,” Si Qi reminded them.

The villagers, once xenophobic and wary, now looked at him with reverence as if he were a god.

They eagerly invited him to taste their best foods, their gratitude overflowing.

Si Qi smiled and accepted each invitation politely.

Si Yi, with more experience now, often tried to squeeze into the crowd around his teacher, eager for some of his attention.

He asked, “Teacher, where will we go next?”

Si Qi replied, “It is time to return to Liang Province.”

Si Yi calculated the time and guessed, “I wonder how the corn and sweet potatoes you planted are doing.”

“These corn and sweet potatoes are treasures indeed!” The farmers before the fields beamed with joy, as though they wished to scoop up the thriving plants and cradle them with affection.

The prefect, already amazed by the wheat seeds Si Qi had brought before, now stared in disbelief at the towering corn stalks and lush sweet potato leaves. “These are truly the seeds we planted before?”

“Such good crops! Why were they never discovered before?”

“Master Si is truly our great benefactor.”

That year, the summer heat in Liang Province was far more severe than usual. Many peasants, sensing disaster, worried day and night that their crops would not survive, praying fervently for mercy from the heavens.

But just as Liang had been blessed for a hundred years, now it was cursed with suffering.

Each day grew hotter, and the seedlings visibly withered.

Yet to everyone’s astonishment, the wheat seeds distributed by the prefect—said to have come from Master Si—were thriving, strong and unyielding, their green shoots standing tall and vibrant.

It was nothing short of a miracle.

The prefect, upon hearing the news, was immensely relieved.

Had it not been for a trusted friend’s repeated praise of Si Qi’s talents and virtue, he would never have dared take such a risk—using seeds from an outsider. If they had failed to sprout, or yielded poorly, Liang’s people would have been doomed.

But the results proved his choice right. Si Qi lived up to his reputation—an almost godlike figure.

The seeds he brought were hardier and more heat-resistant than those refined over centuries in Liang, and their yields might even surpass expectations.

Having narrowly escaped disaster, the prefect was deeply grateful.

And that was not all. News soon arrived that the corn and sweet potatoes were also thriving, now entering their next stage of growth. Seeing the ears of corn sprouting, the prefect counted the number of kernels per stalk, considered the planting density, and estimated the total farmland planted with corn…

He was utterly stunned.

Could it be that Liang Province was about to turn its fortunes around?

He recalled that Master Si had promised to return by the harvest.

The prefect could hardly wait to see him again.

But before that…

He summoned his subordinates, ordering them to gather the county magistrates while keeping the useless, idle officials in the dark.

When Si Qi returned to Liang with Si Yi—now taller after four months—they noticed that a few officials were missing. Si Qi understood at once.

The people, upon hearing of Si Qi’s return, rushed from all around, lining the roads to welcome him. Each carried baskets of large corn and sweet potatoes as gifts. Children waved golden stalks of wheat, shouting and crying with joy, calling Si Qi’s name with tears in their eyes. The scene was jubilant and overwhelming.

Some officials, moved by the people’s hope-filled faces, discreetly wiped their eyes behind their sleeves.

Smiling, Si Qi greeted everyone and made his way to the courtyard he had stayed in months before, surrounded by the throng.

At the gate, the courtyard was piled high with fruits, vegetables, and pastries—a token of gratitude from the people.

The prefect, smiling, invited Si Qi inside to rest. They talked at length into the evening until the cooks had prepared a sumptuous banquet, where everyone ate their fill.

Before parting, Si Qi presented two things.

One was soft, pure-white cotton, like clouds.

The other was the plump potato, delicious no matter how it was cooked.

The prefect, sensing their importance, carefully wiped his hands and accepted them.

“This is…”

Si Qi smiled. “This is cotton and the potato.”

“Cotton is light yet warm, soft and breathable. Whether made into clothes or stuffed into quilts, it is an excellent choice. Sown in spring, it will spare the people from winter’s cold.”

“Potatoes are high-yield, filling like sweet potatoes, and taste excellent. Rotated with wheat and corn, they are less prone to disease and even help suppress weeds. Most importantly, they can be grown in winter—as long as temperatures don’t fall below freezing, they won’t be harmed.”

The magistrates grew increasingly excited as they listened, crowding closer to examine the crops. The prefect felt the cotton warming his hand, marveling at its lightness, his face breaking into an irrepressible smile. “Wonderful! These are truly wonderful things!”

The people nearby exclaimed in wonder: “It can even be planted in winter!”

“This cotton looks so soft and fluffy, who would have thought it could also protect us from the winter cold!”

“Master Si, did you bring this cloud down from the heavens?”

Everyone gazed at the cotton’s cloudlike whiteness and its feather-light weight, looking at Si Qi as though he truly were an immortal.

If he could even pluck clouds from the sky to make into blankets, what could Master Si not do?

Si Yi was also struck with astonishment, staring at Si Qi with eyes full of disbelief and open admiration.

Si Qi, half amused and half helpless, said, “No, this is a crop I found in lands of extreme heat and extreme cold.”

The crowd looked disappointed, as if they would rather believe Si Qi was a god than a learned man of vast knowledge.

But Si Yi’s expression grew doubtful. He had learned geography from his teacher—he knew those two regions were far apart, one in the south, one in the north, in opposite directions.

Yet his teacher had never been away from him for more than three to five days at a time.

How far could one travel in just a few days? And that was without even counting the return journey.

Where exactly did his teacher obtain these things? Why had the locals never discovered them before? And what about those wheat seeds, whose growth rate and yield were leagues beyond ordinary wheat? Where had those come from?

Why did his teacher, still so young, know so many things…?

The more Si Yi thought, the more doubts he had. But his trust in Si Qi had long surpassed ordinary limits. Suspicious and cautious as he was, not once did he want to imagine Si Qi in a bad light.

That bad possibility was, of course, the one Si Yi least wanted to face.

After all, words like “mystical powers” and “strange methods” were usually used to describe those he wished he could wipe from the world without leaving a single one behind…

The sorcerers.

Si Yi shook his head, forcing himself to push away that thought.

Autumn arrived, and the officials from the capital were about to come.

The prefect had prepared early. Without even needing Si Qi’s reminder, he had arranged everything months in advance.

Restless and corrupt officials were locked away; gossipy mouths were repeatedly threatened into silence; the peasants, fearful that the hard-won harvest would be stolen, obeyed the warnings of their county magistrates and village elders. They harvested their crops and hid their grain, then sprawled miserably in the streets, sighing and lamenting as if on the brink of starvation.

The grain collectors already knew this region had been hotter than usual, and had decided in their hearts that, whether or not the prefects produced food, they would force it out of them—or kill.

They never imagined that on this barren land, crops could not only endure the blazing sun, but even yield an abundant harvest.

Looking at the officials’ ashen faces, hearing the villagers’ pitiful sobs, the imperial officer grew irritable and shouted, “What are these deathly faces—have your families died, or are you putting on a show for me? Don’t think I don’t know your petty tricks. This year’s grain must be delivered, not a single grain less!”

The peasants, glaring at the officer’s hateful face, longed to tear a piece of flesh from him. The more they hated him, the less they dared reveal the harvest—otherwise, all that precious food would surely be taken away.

They cried even louder, as though crushed by despair.

The officer grew even more certain their harvest had failed. Cracking a whip on the ground, he roared, “Silence, all of you wretches!”

The prefect hurried forward to placate him. “Please, calm your anger, my lord. I… I will find a way…”

“You should have found a way long ago!” the officer bellowed. “Every time you need me to press again and again before I can return to the capital with an account! A useless man like you should have his office stripped by His Majesty and be cast down as a commoner!”

The peasants, who loved their prefect, gnashed their teeth in fury at these words. But the prefect showed no shame, bowing low with submissive humility, apologizing again and again: “Please, do not be angry…”

With forced smiles, they escorted the officer into the yamen. Outside, the people remained silent, their hearts burning with anger, desperate to vent it but not knowing how.

The prefect and the other officials wrestled with the officer for over a week, finally scraping together most of the grain along with piles of gold and silver, sending the huffing official on his way.

Not once during this time did anyone tip off the officer or present him with corn, sweet potatoes, or the like.

The officials, dulled by arrogance and blind fortune, never bothered to investigate. Thinking their mission accomplished, they left without a second thought.

They had no desire to linger in such a desolate place.

“Next year won’t be so easy to fool,” the prefect muttered. “News always spreads.”

The peasants wouldn’t betray them to the court, but they would surely write to relatives outside, urging them to come live here, or send out corn and sweet potato seeds for them to plant.

Such things couldn’t—and shouldn’t—be stopped.

After all, Liang was not the only place where people went hungry.

The surrounding provinces also suffered. In the years Liang had failed to pay its grain, it was those neighbors who had tightened their belts to provide food for them.

And not just tribute grain, but also seed for the next year, and the rations that kept the peasants alive—a true lifeline.

This had to be repaid.

The county magistrates, long simmering with anger, grumbled, “And what if they do find out? I’ll never compromise, not in this lifetime!”

Those who held office here were all stubborn men, unwilling to join the corrupt.

They would rather starve with their people than exploit them for comfort. They were truly men who would rather die than betray the people.

One even said bluntly, “If not for Master Si giving us hope, I’d have rebelled long ago!”

“Hey.”

“Mind your words.”

The others frowned and warned him.

But none looked alarmed, which showed they had thought the same. They just lacked certainty.

“Have you spoken to Master about this? What does he think? Will he help us?” asked the one who had spoken of rebellion, looking expectantly at the prefect.

The prefect was silent a moment, then, to their delight, nodded. “Master has already made plans.”

“Then—”

“He gave me some things, told us to live in peace and store more grain,” the prefect said.

“He said that with enough food, only then would we have the confidence to act.”

The officials’ faces lit up, all agreeing: “That is true.”

…

One morning, Si Yi rose early to prepare breakfast for himself and his teacher. Then he went to wake him.

The bed curtains shut out all sunlight. Si Yi opened them, letting the light spill across the young man lying there.

Hearing the sound and sensing the change of light, the youth lazily turned over.

His jet-black hair cascaded like a waterfall across the white sheets, revealing a perfect side profile. Beneath the thin blanket, his slender, flexible figure showed faintly.

Si Yi approached, gazing at his teacher’s sleeping face with a small smile. Softly, he called, “Teacher, it’s time to wake up.”

Si Qi mumbled incoherently.

Si Yi leaned closer, speaking warmly: “Breakfast is ready—it’s all your favorites.”

Those familiar words stirred Si Qi from his dream. His eyes opened a slit.

Half-dreaming, he saw a familiar figure. His voice escaped before his mind caught up, aggrieved and plaintive: “Why… did you only just come…”

Si Yi froze at his expression, his heart skipping. He called more loudly, “Teacher.”

Si Qi recognized the voice, saw the face before him, and instantly came fully awake.

The sadness on his face vanished in a heartbeat. He sat up, all traces of drowsiness gone, his manner cool and composed once more. “Mm. I’m up.”

Si Yi noticed the change, and found himself strangely reluctant to lose the glimpse of that other side of his teacher.

Seeing him bow his head in silence, Si Yi sensed his teacher’s low spirits and grew somber as well.

Lately, his teacher was often melancholic, and just now he had spoken such words, shown such an expression.

Carefully, Si Yi asked, “Teacher… are you waiting for someone?”

Si Qi hadn’t expected his apprentice to have heard so clearly. Lifting the blanket, he sat up and answered faintly, “Yes.”

“Who is it?” Si Yi asked. “Let me help you find them.”

Still troubled, Si Qi sighed silently. He had spent the whole night dreaming of searching for Chu Feng along endless roads.