Sir, take me to rebel (7): 

“The prefect has given an order, the people of Jiang Province must all relocate together, not a single person can be left behind.”

“What? Isn’t this making things difficult for us underlings?”

“Naturally, the prefect has his own judgment. Otherwise, what do you expect? That we just stand here doing nothing, and watch everyone drown?”

“I didn’t mean it like that…”

Similar conversations happened in county offices all over Jiang Province. Many constables, upon hearing the county magistrate’s orders, couldn’t help muttering to their colleagues in private.

“The prefect is not an ordinary man. He sees further than us and considers things more thoroughly. If he says the flood will drown the entire province, then nine times out of ten he’s right. Otherwise, why would he say such a thing?”

“That’s true…”

If it weren’t certain that this flood was truly unavoidable, why would the prefect trouble himself like this?

Relocating so many people—could that be an easy matter? On the road, with so much hardship, who would be the most worried if not the prefect?

Normally in such natural disasters, officials are the last to be in danger, unless they themselves foolishly choose to stick with the common people, fleeing together.

Now that word spread the flood would swallow the entire county, the constables sprang into action. They summoned village heads, knocked on every door, and delivered the notice: the floodwaters would soon engulf the land, and the prefect and magistrate would lead everyone to safety. People were told to prepare only food and clothing, to travel light.

The people, upon hearing this bad news, turned ashen. Many elderly collapsed on the spot, wailing that they would not leave, that they wanted to die in their homeland.

Their children were no less heartbroken, but since the magistrate himself had spoken, how could they really just sit at home waiting for the flood to take their parents, wives, and children?

So they thanked the constables, lifted the elders, and tried to persuade them inside their homes.

Within a single day, families hastily packed what they could, slinging bundles over shoulders, crowding the streets in a noisy, chaotic mass.

The constables’ heads ached at the sight and they shouted: “Are you fleeing for your lives or moving house? We told you to only bring food and clothing! Do you think the flood will slow down just to let you carry all that junk?”

Some elders, already grieving, broke down completely upon hearing they couldn’t bring their belongings. They cried out that they would rather not leave—that without their things, life would be meaningless.

Others were affected by the weeping, and a few even tried to drag their families back home, insisting they didn’t believe the flood would come, or fearing that thieves would sneak into their houses once everyone left.

The constables, furious, rushed forward and beat the stubborn men with sticks, cursing: “Do you think I want to stand here shouting at you? My own family can’t carry anything either! I’d give anything to take them away right now, but I’m stuck here worrying about you fools! You ungrateful idiot, still acting arrogant before me—if you want to die, don’t drag your wife and children with you! Go die alone!”

Then he yanked at the man: “Didn’t you say you want to die? Go on then! If you dare come back, see if I don’t beat you to death!”

The man turned pale with terror, while his wife and children cried and begged. Even the wailing elders fell silent, clutching their bundles and not daring to meet the constables’ fierce glares.

The constables knew it wasn’t easy to make people drop their possessions, so they stopped arguing and focused on driving the crowd forward.

Everyone waded through muddy, knee-deep floodwaters, trudging one heavy step after another.

They had to head for the high mountains. Rain lashed against them, seeping cold into their bones. Mud and branches made the ground slippery, and more than once someone stumbled and nearly drowned with their load. Soaked through, the wind chilled them to the bone.

Soon, despair set in. Some could not endure the grief of leaving home, and the complaints around them made their steps heavier.

If not for the people’s ingrained fear of officials, many might really have turned back, praying for heaven’s mercy instead.

After two days of slow, reluctant travel, weighed down by their burdens and their hearts, they finally reached the mountaintop outside the county.

That morning, as the mist lifted, someone shouted: “Look!!”

A surge of people crowded forward.

Then came cries of grief.

The slower ones rushed up, only to see below them a sea of floodwaters covering the land.

One man stared blankly. “W-where is our county office? Where is my home?”

Another cried: “Heavens! What a calamity!”

Young men with sharp eyes stared desperately, trying to convince themselves that this was not their home—that they had traveled so far they could no longer see it.

But then—

“Father, isn’t that our house?” one young man pointed at the tip of a willow tree and a familiar corner of a roof barely visible above the waters. The swaying branches and roofline looked just like what he saw every day in their courtyard.

“Father, our home is gone.” His voice cracked between laughter and tears. “Luckily we left. Otherwise, what would we do now?”

Others soon recognized familiar landmarks, and stood frozen, not knowing whether to cry or what to feel, staring at the roaring waters that cared for nothing.

The constables, hoarse from shouting the past two days, barked irritably: “Now you see why we made you leave? At your speed, do you think you could outrun the flood? Two days to climb one mountain—you really outdid yourselves!”

The people looked at the river below, then at the burdens on their backs, and fell silent.

Suddenly, someone dropped a soaked quilt from his shoulder, heavy as a stone.

He had wanted to throw it away long ago.

But once he did, his body felt lighter, and his heart felt hollow.

He squatted down, and under his family’s startled eyes, burst into tears.

“The fields I just planted are gone, the house is gone—everything is gone…”

A pair of hands gently rested on his head. A woman’s voice said softly: “It’s alright. I’m still here, father and mother are still here, our child is still here.”

Red-eyed, the man looked at his worried family. He rubbed his face hard, took the load from his wife’s back, threw it down beside the quilt, and said loudly: “Let’s go. These things don’t matter, life matters more!”

From that moment on, those who still clung to false hope no longer dared to dream of returning. They followed the constables closely, walking faster than ever before.

Wherever the constables led, they followed.

At least they had saved their families’ lives.

At the county border, the countless groups merged. The numbers swelled from thousands to nearly a hundred thousand.

Many had never seen such a crowd in their entire lives and were stunned.

Yet despite the sheer numbers, no chaos broke out.

Everyone found that those they had traveled with remained by their side, and the leaders continued guiding them, counting heads daily, checking on their situation.

It seemed they had nothing to worry about—only to follow the one leading the way.

A young man carrying a feverish child suddenly broke from the line, weeping: “My child is sick… his fever won’t go down…”

He was desperate, willing to risk everything to plead with the constables. For countless times, they had warned no one to slip away unnoticed. If there was a problem, they must report it directly.

The young man thought his plea would only earn him a few scoldings, that he would be shoved back into the crowd and told not to make trouble.

Who would have thought that the fierce-looking constable who had been leading them all this time would glance at him, then suddenly point at the village head to watch over the line, before bringing the anxious young man to a tall, thin man with a red cloth tied around his arm.

He opened his mouth and said: “Doctor, this child is sick, please take a look.”

The young man stood frozen, never imagining that in such a chaotic situation, the constable would actually find a doctor for his child. And then he even said—

“The cost of medicine and consultation, note it down first. We’ll settle it all together later.”

The young man almost doubted his ears. “W-what, this…”

The constable glanced at him and said indifferently: “Our prefect has ordered that if anyone falls ill, the expenses will be covered by the government. You just follow the group peacefully and don’t cause trouble, understand?”

The young man stammered, “No, of course I won’t!”

His child’s life depended on the doctor. Who would dare run away? Who would dare stir up trouble? If anyone messed up the line and caused the constable or doctor to be lost in the crowd, he would be the first to oppose it!

The constable had the child examined. The doctor said the fever had lasted some time and would become dangerous if it continued. He prescribed medicine to be boiled by the assigned attendants, then instructed the young man not to let the child wear wet clothes in the cold wind, to keep him warm. The young man quickly memorized every word, both deeply moved and overwhelmed.

He had never thought that, at such a time, the officials would care for them so well. This didn’t feel like fleeing from disaster at all—it felt more like traveling.

Even on a trip, one wouldn’t always have a guide and a doctor giving free treatment…

The more he thought, the more his chest swelled with emotion. After carefully feeding his child the medicine, he left full of gratitude.

When he returned to the group, his family asked what had happened while he was away. The young man couldn’t help but tell the whole story, leaving everyone astonished, and at the same time reassured.

The magistrates really hadn’t abandoned them, even willing to pay for their medicine! As long as they followed the officials, surely they would find a way out.

Similar incidents happened often in the migrating crowd, and for every situation the constables had been trained beforehand.

The constables were scattered among the people, separated from their own families. Naturally, they hoped their families would remain safe.

And safety could only be ensured if they all took their duties seriously.

With that mindset, the constables responded swiftly to problems without a trace of carelessness. Seeing how well-prepared the government was, the people, though nervous at first, gradually relaxed as they watched troubles solved one after another. Slowly, they even began to help the constables maintain order, keeping an eye on their relatives and making sure they obeyed.

What should have been a chaotic, tragic disaster was, to everyone’s surprise, proceeding smoothly in a positive direction, leaving the common people feeling it was unbelievable.

On the third day of travel, a man blushing with shame approached the constables, stammering: “We… we’ve run out of food…”

He hadn’t thought he could even bring himself to say such a thing, but somehow the constables seemed approachable enough that he did.

Under the watchful eyes of many nervous villagers, the constable said calmly: “Don’t worry. Food will be delivered soon.”

What?!

The crowd erupted, staring at him in disbelief.

Tens of thousands of mouths to feed—could they really get food for free?

Many who had already received help before burst into tears. At such a hopeless time, for someone to offer aid and guidance was beyond words.

It was clearly wonderful news, yet it made them want to cry.

Half an hour later, a supply team truly arrived. The people’s hungry eyes almost rushed forward to snatch the food, but under the constables’ shouting, the crowd only stirred a little—no one actually broke rank.

The suppliers handed food to the constables, who distributed it evenly to the people. Everyone received the same amount—no more, no less.

If anyone tried to seize another’s share, the constables beat them on the spot, no matter who they were. The prefect had said that at such a time, even the smallest wrongdoing must be stopped, for otherwise it would lead to the collapse of the entire line, and people would no longer dare to follow.

Thinking of their own families possibly being bullied, the constables struck especially hard, quickly quelling those with wicked intentions.

Those protected felt even more secure. This team was worth following—even if there were no food, they would still follow. Because as long as they stayed, there was hope.

The more people thought this way, the more united they became. When troublemakers appeared, they banded together against them, their fierce momentum frightening those accustomed to mischief.

No one wanted to incur the wrath of the crowd now.

At the rear of the procession, the prefect and his officials listened to reports with disbelief.

How could things be going so smoothly?

In past years, if even one out of ten refugees survived, it was considered good fortune.

Why were they so obedient now?

Because of medicine? Because of a bowl of rice?

No—it was because they had hope.

Thorough preparations showed them the government’s capability. They believed that following would keep them safe. So they didn’t want to cause trouble, and they especially feared others causing trouble.

If one can live, who wants to die?

And the officials’ confidence came entirely from that youth not far ahead.

Thinking of this, the prefect and others couldn’t help but sigh with relief. How fortunate they were—if not for that young man, their situation would have been dire.

The youth stood under an umbrella, studying the map.

Ahead lay a mountain with narrow paths and steep slopes on both sides. He worried the continuous rain might cause rockfalls. Anyone struck would surely die.

But if they went around the mountain, in such harsh conditions, neither the people’s strength nor their limited food supplies could hold out.

The prefect said to the youth: “At a time like this, we can only gamble. Tell the ones in front to quicken their pace. We must cross that stretch in the shortest time possible.”

There was no other choice.

Sensing the constables’ tension, the villagers in front fell silent and hurried on, even if sharp stones cut their feet. They pressed forward even faster.

Rain and falling rocks wouldn’t slow down for anyone’s wounds.

That short stretch of a few kilometers took the ten-thousand-strong crowd three whole days to pass.

By then, more and more people fell ill, herbs were gone, wagons of food were nearly empty, carts discarded on the road. The people’s strength was nearly at its limit.

At the rear, the officials burdened with the greatest pressure couldn’t sleep from worry. Every day they sighed a hundred times, staring at the endless line with growing anxiety.

Would the counties ahead help such a hungry, weary mass?

Had the counties behind, also threatened by floods, managed to escape?

Had the envoys sent to request aid returned?

Would the indifferent nobles send help?

With such thoughts, they finally reached the narrow mountain path.

The trail, trampled by thousands before them, had widened enough for five or six to walk side by side.

Heads bowed, they trudged silently, the rain pattering on umbrellas, splashing in puddles, sliding off leaves, an endless sound that gnawed at their hearts.

Suddenly, a man came running against the flow from the front. Even through the curtain of rain, the joy on his face was unmistakable.

Could it be—the imperial relief had finally arrived?

The people’s hearts leapt. Instinctively, they quickened their pace to meet him.

The man shouted excitedly: “My lord, so many supplies! So many people!”

The prefect asked urgently: “What supplies? Who are these people?”

“Food! Yellow rations, red rations—I don’t know what they’re called, but they’re edible! And there are many doctors and strong men! All here to help!”

He pulled from his robe an ear of corn and a sweet potato, both already cooked, ready to eat.

Fragrant and steaming, carrying the rich aroma of grain, in such a time to receive such warm food was truly an incomparable happiness.

The prefect personally divided the sweet potatoes and corn into several portions, letting the nearby officials each have a taste.

Once in the mouth, the corn was sweet, crisp, and refreshing. The sweet potatoes were soft, glutinous, and fragrant, with an excellent sense of satiety.

It was impossible to stop eating.

“When did the court start cultivating such crops?” the prefect wondered.

And why would the court’s relief effort thoughtfully bring along doctors instead of soldiers to maintain order, sending so-called strongmen instead…

This approach didn’t seem like something the court would ever do.

Si Yi curled his lips into a smile. “It was the gentleman.”

Everyone looked at him in astonishment. “You mean Mister Si?”

Si Yi said, “The gentleman had me come ahead. He stayed behind to prepare manpower and provisions. He must have guessed where we would head and so waited for us here.”

The group was overjoyed.

After carefully asking about the quantity of herbs and food, they couldn’t help but laugh heartily. The heavy burden pressing on their shoulders for days could finally ease a little.

“Quickly, quickly, I must personally go pay my respects to this gentleman,” the prefect urged.

The one they were all thinking of, Si Qi, was at that moment standing outside the path, feeling unable to calm himself.

A cultivator’s intuition was often extremely accurate.

His gaze shifted from the pouring rain above to the streams of water flowing at his feet, then to the mountain beside him.

His slender, fair hand gently touched the mountain’s surface.

What looked like solid rock crumbled like tofu. With a light dig, a large chunk came loose.

From the hollowed spot, murky water seeped out, quickly pooling to a certain level.

Si Qi fell silent.

[Xiuxiu]

Xiuxiu quickly controlled a small machine that slipped from Si Qi’s fingertip, scuttled toward the mountain, and scanned the entire mass with an invisible radar.

The next second, Xiuxiu cried out urgently: [Master, a landslide is about to happen!!!]

Rumble—

Mud and water gushed down, rocks collapsed. Everything happened in an instant without any warning.

The commoners who had just walked out of the mountain path raised their heads blankly to the gray sky.

The next moment, dirt and stones pelted their faces, making them scream in terror and run madly forward.

“The mountain is collapsing!!!”

Those still trapped on the path felt the sky darken overhead, then heard the pounding of debris falling.

Instinct told them what was happening behind, and sheer survival made them draw on all their strength to flee forward without hesitation.

At the very rear of the column, the prefect and officials protecting everyone stared blankly at the roaring torrent of mud and boulders crashing down. Their bodies swayed and their faces turned ashen.

Si Yi pulled the terrified prefect and others along, his eyes fixed firmly on the exit of the mountain path—where his gentleman was, the one he longed to see.

They had traveled thousands of li, only to be trapped in these final few hundred meters. He was unwilling…

“If I can survive this time…”

The whisper rose in his throat, but before he could voice his final wish, startled cries erupted ahead.

A streak of white light flashed before everyone’s eyes, soaring swiftly upward.

The cascading mass of mud and stone was suddenly blocked by an invisible barrier. Defying all reason, it veered off to the right and back, surging over everyone’s heads, past even the prefect at the rear, before crashing heavily to the ground with deafening booms.

Feeling the trembling earth, the prefect and others nearly lost their souls from fright. Their legs gave out, and they collapsed to the ground, lips trembling.

“It’s an immortal!!”

Someone pointed at a distant figure in the sky and shouted. Some even fell to their knees at once, hands clasped in prayer.

Si Yi’s eyes locked onto a snow-white figure in the distance. Through the sheets of rain nearly a hundred meters above, he met a pair of familiar eyes.

Those eyes looked at him. The figure slowly descended and walked toward him.

The suspicions in his heart were finally confirmed. Yet he found he did not resist at all—on the contrary, he was filled with joy. Because he realized that his gentleman, even if a sorcerer, was the most powerful among them. A gentleman was indeed a gentleman.

His heart brimmed with feelings he wanted to express.

But as he tried to run forward, he saw that as his gentleman drew near, those who had been about to kneel in worship suddenly froze, then acted as if entranced, completely ignoring his presence. They merely discussed the landslide in fear, grateful for their luck—none remembered the gentleman’s actions just now.

The prefect and others sensed something was wrong. Instinctively they stepped back, even fearful of Si Qi’s approach.

They did not want their minds controlled or their memories rewritten. Such things were far too terrifying.

So when Si Qi was about to come close, Si Yi pleaded, “Gentleman, don’t—I don’t want to forget that you saved me…”

Si Qi’s raised hand halted.