Sir, take me to rebel (16): 

The teacher was someone who rewarded and punished fairly, and would certainly give rewards to outstanding students.

As for what the rewards were, the teacher would never tell others—only quietly, so that the student could secretly rejoice alone.

After the reward, the teacher would also say, next time keep working hard, I have more good things waiting to slowly give to you.

Because of this, the student was full of motivation, with endless energy every day.

Now that the Qiuchao dynasty had fallen, the Si state rose and absorbed vast lands in one stroke, with everything in need of rebuilding.

Siyi was busy, busy dealing with Qiuchao’s old officials, improving new systems, assigning his own people to govern different regions, and correcting all kinds of local bad customs one by one… so busy his feet hardly touched the ground.

At such times, he always felt fortunate to have Si Qi by his side. No matter how many matters there were, as long as the teacher was watching nearby, nothing would go wrong.

But every time he was correcting memorials, the teacher always liked to sit shoulder to shoulder with him, leaning slightly as he explained the details written there. The gentle voice like warm jade sounded in his ears, pale fingertips lightly tapping the contents on the paper. Siyi lowered his head, pretending to think, but all his attention was on Si Qi—painful yet joyful.

Si Qi noticed the man beside him even blushed while looking at memorials, and with a smile asked, “Is it good-looking?”

Siyi quickly came back to his senses, “Hm?”

Si Qi said meaningfully, “I’m asking if the memorial is good-looking, since you seem so absorbed.”

Siyi, feeling guilty, replied, “It’s you who look good…”

“Then how about this?” Si Qi blinked mischievously, and in a flash turned into a white-haired old man. “Still good-looking?”

Siyi’s body stiffened. He stared carefully at the features before him, and stubbornly said, “As long as it’s you, always good-looking.”

Si Qi deliberately said, “Oh, then I’ll stay like this from now on.”

“…Whatever appearance you like to use is fine,” Siyi said with particular stubbornness in his expression, “as long as you’ll still let me kiss you!”

Si Qi was speechless, finally managing: “You really are without any taboos.”

In other worlds before, when the two of them grew old and white-haired, even walking on the streets people would make way for them. Chu Feng could still kiss and hug him daily without hindrance, spoiling him down to the bone.

Now Chu Feng remembered nothing, just an arrogant, spirited eighteen-year-old youth, yet he could still bring himself to kiss this face—truly impressive.

When Si Qi was lost for words, Siyi pressed further: “Do you not believe me? Then I’ll prove it to you.”

Si Qi looked doubtful: “You just want to use this chance to kiss me, don’t you?”

Siyi said earnestly, “No, I just want to prove my sincerity.”

As he spoke, he leaned closer, landing a kiss on Si Qi’s lips. After kissing, he sensed something wrong—this wasn’t an old man at all, clearly the same as usual. Unable to resist, he held the man tight, kissing him again and again until fully satisfied, then reluctantly moved back a little.

Siyi pretended to be disappointed: “Did you only change your appearance? I feel it wasn’t much different from usual. I originally wanted to experience in advance what you’ll be like decades later. No good—you have to change again, and we’ll do it one more time.”

Si Qi only felt his lips burning, swollen from the kisses. “Why do I feel like your skin is getting thicker lately?”

Siyi: “Not at all. Clearly when you touch me, kiss me, I blush—my skin is thin. If you don’t believe me, you can try.”

Si Qi tugged his lover’s ear: “Then blush for me right now.”

Siyi’s gaze dropped, staring at the body under Si Qi’s clothes. Who knew what he was imagining, but his whole face instantly turned red.

Si Qi: “…”

Si Qi was utterly defeated.

With a swish, he returned to his original appearance: a spirited, graceful young man with arms folded, looking him over sternly. “Come on, tell me, what were you thinking just now?”

Siyi stared at that flamboyant, youthful face until his eyes glazed, shaking his head desperately: “No, no, I just remembered when we recently slept side by side, and you explained court affairs to me…”

“And then you said it was scary in the dark and clung to me without letting go?” Si Qi raised a brow. “I recall you took a lot of liberties then.”

“You can take them back,” Siyi said obediently. “Take even more, I don’t mind. It’s only right that I repay my teacher.”

Si Qi snorted: “I don’t have such an insolent student as you…”

“Injustice,” Chu Feng said, “I’ve always respected my teacher, only devoted to fulfilling your wishes. Whatever you want, I do. At that time you liked it very much, held my back tight, so naturally I…”

Si Qi’s ears grew hot. “So only I liked it—you didn’t?”

“Of course I liked it…”

The two lingered in intimacy inside the imperial study, frolicking for quite a while.

As dusk fell outside the window, Siyi, afraid the promised nighttime reward might be taken away, exerted himself and finished his tasks at record speed.

Si Qi reviewed the memorials Siyi had processed. He had to admit, this life’s Chu Feng truly had talent beyond imagination in such matters. Nodding, he had just uttered “approved” when he was suddenly scooped up into someone’s arms.

“Hey, slow down…”

Life was fulfilling and joyful. After over a month, only with reminders from ministers did Siyi recall he still hadn’t dealt with his biological father.

Those guilty former officials and sorcerers had already been executed at the market, blood flowing like rivers, stench still lingering.

The Qiuchao emperor should have shared the same fate, cut down by Siyi’s sword in the great hall. But at that time, seeing his face identical to Chu Feng in the painting, Siyi hesitated. Later, Si Qi told him the truth and stopped him, saying this man should be kept to reclaim what he had stolen. So he was left alive until today.

Keeping him alive was fine—Siyi wanted to kill him not just for the childhood torment, but for the countless lives he had caused to perish over the years. He deserved death.

Such a person shouldn’t die in secret, but be dealt with publicly.

Some ministers worried that Siyi killing his father openly would be criticized as immoral, and thought imprisoning him for life would be better. To this, Siyi said flatly: “If the Son of Heaven breaks the law, he is guilty the same as any commoner. If I commit a crime, I too must be punished. How could that man, merely my father by blood, be an exception?”

The ministers felt conflicted, but deeply moved.

With such an emperor, how could the Si state not flourish?

After setting the date of death, Siyi prepared to reclaim what was his. He didn’t ask others, but invited Si Qi to personally act.

Si Qi agreed without hesitation. Watching Siyi take medicine and lie down peacefully, he strode over to the struggling, fleeing Qiuchao emperor, lifted him up, and pressed him onto the operating table.

A few needles pierced acupuncture points, and the man was instantly immobilized. His trembling pupils showed his mind remained awake. Si Qi took out a scalpel, and before his eyes, without mercy, cut down through the center of his brow.

The blade sliced flesh with sticky sounds, blood flowing as tears streamed.

Si Qi looked on blankly as the man’s eyes filled with pleading, despair, and madness.

As if blind, he acted firmly, decisively, without hesitation, without speaking a word. He mercilessly opened the body, retrieved what belonged to his beloved, and carefully returned it to Chu Feng’s body.

Xiu Xiu knew Si Qi could be infinitely gentle when softhearted, but when cold, nothing in the world could sway him. As an assistant robot, he silently watched the whole process. When Si Qi finally restored the last drop of heart’s blood to Siyi, the youth transformed back into the face most familiar to him.

“You’ve suffered,” Si Qi murmured, touching his beloved’s forehead and kissing between his brows. Quietly, tenderly, he looked at him for a long while, then stood and returned to the dissected, ruined corpse. Taking the needle and thread from Xiu Xiu, he casually sewed him back together.

When the golden needles were pulled free, the man vomited and screamed in collapse.

The old, hideous monster shook all over, fell to the ground, writhing in agony, shrieking inhumanly, bashing his head against the floor to end it all.

Si Qi didn’t lift an eyelid, telling Xiu Xiu to watch him, not to let him die too easily. Then he carefully picked up Chu Feng and left the bloody place.

Chu Feng felt as if he had only slept. Waking, he found his body taller, muscles and bones smoother, his appearance no longer needing a mask.

Looking at the mirror, he turned to Si Qi. “Do you like me like this?”

Si Qi’s heartbeat quickened at the sight. “Of course.”

“Do you like this face more, or me as a person?”

Si Qi smiled: “If anyone else had your face, I wouldn’t give them a glance.”

Siyi was reassured. He went over, hugged him, and rested his head on Si Qi’s shoulder. “You’re so good to me. The happiest thing in my life is meeting you. Even when I avenged my greatest hatred, it wasn’t as joyful as being with you.”

Si Qi closed his eyes and embraced him, feeling his warmth.

“You are omnipotent, surely you’ll stay young forever, live as long as the heavens,” Siyi whispered. “When I’m gone, will you still remember me?”

Si Qi chuckled softly, kissing his ear. “Don’t worry. I’ll leave with you, then find you in the next world.”

Siyi’s grip tightened unconsciously, then slowly eased. “I don’t want you to die because of me. But what you said sounds so beautiful… I can’t help but be greedy.”

“You can be greedier,” Si Qi said. “I’m not coaxing you. I’ve been looking for you all these years. We are lovers across lifetimes, destined for eternity.”

Siyi’s nose stung. He hugged Si Qi tightly, until he could control his voice again, then smiled with reddened eyes: “Then in the next life, I won’t make you search too long.”

Si Qi’s eyes curved: “Of course.”

Meanwhile, the Qiuchao emperor, enduring the torment of Chu Feng’s past pain, after ten days of suffering, finally died in agony in a ruined hut.

Xiu Xiu, who had been guarding him, noticed and quickly treated him, dragging him back from the edge of death.

But revived, his eyes were vacant. Unable to bear the memory of being dissected alive, his mind collapsed completely.

Seeing Chu Feng happy every day, not remembering this man at all, Si Qi handed the Qiuchao emperor over for a public trial. After the judgment, he was taken straight to the market and beheaded.

The people of the capital, upon hearing that the former dynasty’s emperor was to be executed, flocked to watch. After witnessing it, they were both nervous and excited, marveling that the current emperor truly did what he said he would, and that the laws he had established were indeed strict and unwavering.

The people of Si Kingdom who had come from Liang Province and other places cried and laughed at the same time after seeing it. Thinking of the grievances they had suffered in the past years, and then of the kindness they had received since the new emperor ascended the throne, they felt that after this day, even the sky above their heads had become bluer than before.

As days passed, one day Si Qi suddenly remembered that although Chu Feng’s enemies had been dealt with, the original body’s enemies had been left unattended.

When Si Qi brought it up, Chu Feng, who had always kept an eye on the matter, said: “I didn’t kill them directly.”

Si Qi asked curiously: “Then what did you do?”

“Nothing much, just locked them up, not allowing them to go outside.”

After what had happened in the grand hall back then, those people regretted it bitterly, and hated the general’s wife and Si Yu down to the bone. Now, confined together in the same small courtyard, having to rely on themselves for food and water, forced to see each other every day, they quarreled constantly. They blamed all their suffering on those two, leaving no day of peace.

Those who hated the general’s wife and Si Yu tormented them relentlessly—ordering them around, snatching away their food. The general’s wife wept day and night, lost her past affection for Si Yu, and even joined the others in tormenting him.

After Si Yu’s true identity was revealed, he was no longer affected by the backlash of the general’s mansion’s fortune, and his body quickly recovered. His pigeon-fated destiny kept him alive, but such a life was worse than death.

Trapped among those who hated him, his fate was of no use. Even those who occasionally felt pity for him ended up resenting him even more, resenting Si Yu himself.

Soon, Si Yu was tortured beyond recognition. Once a delicate and pampered young noble, he became worse off than a beggar on the streets. Every day, his cries and pleas for mercy echoed.

This was exactly what Si Yi wanted to see. The Si family understood the emperor’s intent. When Si Yi locked them up, he had said that children were innocent. All the young children of the general’s household were taken away to live outside. In return, these elders had to remain alive, suffering in ways that satisfied Si Yi—an unspoken bargain between them.

Si Yi even ordered those who delivered vegetables weekly to tell them about Si Qi—about his achievements and the love and respect he received from the people.

Those sent were Si Qi and Si Yi’s most loyal followers, their respect for Si Qi carved into their bones. The Si family could clearly see their sincerity, could see how deeply the people admired him.

Each time, regret surged through them. They regretted ever listening to Si Yu’s bewitchment, regretted the cruelty they had inflicted on Si Qi.

Even without mentioning how powerful Si Qi was now, back in childhood he had already been far more exceptional than most children.

He had survived alone on the streets. During his years trapped in the general’s mansion, when many servants didn’t know the truth, he, locked away in a courtyard, saw everything clearly.

At the time, he could have left quietly. But hoping his kin might turn back, he endured in silence—until their cruelty shattered him, and only then did he leave without looking back.

In sincerity, Si Qi far surpassed Si Yu’s false affection; in wisdom, he exceeded nearly everyone; in martial skill, even as a youth he could defeat them all. He had truly inherited the general’s finest blood.

But they had been blind, unable to see jade from pebbles, tormenting an innocent child for three long years…

Now, whenever they saw the scars covering their own arms, they recalled the pain of forced bloodletting, recalled the fragile arms of that thin child.

The more they thought of it, the clearer it became just how hateful their actions had been.

But knowing was one thing—they still refused to accept it.

They were Si Qi’s kin, the closest people to him in this world. Even if they had done wrong, it was Si Yu’s fault for leading them astray. Without Si Yu, how could they have treated Si Qi so badly? It was all Si Yu’s fault!

Now that they had repented, suffered enough punishment, they wanted to cherish Si Qi as the most beloved of juniors, treat him better than they had ever treated Si Yu.

They only wanted to leave this cage-like prison of despair.

They begged the vegetable deliverers to pass a message to Si Qi, hoping for his forgiveness.

With Si Qi’s current status, as long as he spoke, Si Yi would surely release them. Perhaps even restore the general’s mansion to its former glory.

But their pleas were ignored again and again. Finally, after much crying, threats, even endangering their own lives, the guards reluctantly agreed—but instead of bothering Si Qi, they reported directly to Si Yi.

Si Yi’s face darkened. That very day, he led men to the courtyard. Looking at the haggard, evasive people, he said coldly: “You want to see my teacher? For what? Are your days too easy, and you’re looking for more suffering?”

The Si patriarch, dressed in coarse hemp he had never worn in his life, leaning on a branch for a cane, forced himself to speak firmly: “I am his elder! We gave him life! He should be filial to us!”

“You want my teacher’s filial piety? You are worthy?” Si Yi, who had killed his own father, was not swayed by such petty moral blackmail. As emperor, his words carried overwhelming force, pressing them into silence. “Since you once locked my teacher in a courtyard and drained his blood, I can just as easily lock you here and carve flesh from your bodies every day!”

The Si family had witnessed the executions at the marketplace, heads rolling to the ground. Now hearing this, they trembled in terror, not daring to doubt him.

The patriarch, pale and shaking, struggled to defend himself: “I—it was for Si Qi’s sake. If he shines outside while we suffer here, once this spreads, his reputation will be ruined!”

“My teacher’s reputation needs no concern from you. If I throw you anywhere in this kingdom, announce your identities and what you did to him, the people will beat you to death on the spot!” Si Yi sneered. “This kingdom of Si—its name comes from Si Qi. If not for his dislike of meddling, this entire realm would belong to him! Who could overshadow him? And you think you are worthy to threaten him?”

At this, bitterness filled their hearts.

It was worse than insults. And coming from the emperor himself, it was undeniable truth.

They had once held the best cards in life, could have lived above all others, yet squandered it, turning their strongest support into an enemy.

“Seems your days are too easy, for you to dare harbor such thoughts about my teacher.”

At those words, panic spread through them. They tried to plead, but Si Yi gave them no chance. He ordered: “Open fields in this courtyard. From now on, no more vegetables delivered—only seeds. No more clothes—give them flax and a loom. Seal this courtyard; no one enters.”

The Si family collapsed in tears, begging, “Your Majesty, forgive us! We won’t dare again!”

Si Yi ignored them and left.

He did not tell Si Qi about this. He didn’t want the matter to disturb him. He returned with his smile unchanged.

Si Qi pretended not to know, living like a carefree retired emperor. His only concern was watching the world’s fortune, hunting down hidden sorcerers, reclaiming forbidden techniques.

The world itself seemed to aid him—sorcerers accidentally exposing themselves, old books being unearthed.

The people, having suffered from fate before, now avoided such things, making Si Qi’s mission smooth.

Everyone respected him, loved him, treated him like family. He lived happily.

Sometimes, walking among the people, with his ethereal beauty, they felt he could ascend to the heavens at any step. Seeing him remain youthful and omnipotent, they believed he was an immortal sent down to save them. Tales of him spread everywhere, songs and poetry about him countless.

At first, the young Si Yi feared he was unworthy, working tirelessly to improve, afraid someone would take his teacher from him.

Until one day, he heard a new, deeper voice from his teacher. His sunny brows matured into calm strength.

Smiling, he said: “Kept you waiting.”

Si Qi’s eyes curved as he replied: “Not at all. That was you too.”

They lived together in this world, loving and supporting one another, year after year of happiness.

Until one day, Chu Feng felt exhausted. He said farewell.

Si Qi sat by his side, holding his hand, eyes full of reluctance.

“Don’t be sad. We’ll meet in the next world,” Chu Feng smiled, kissed his forehead, and imprinted his image deep in his eyes.

This was the one he loved—across all time, all worlds.

At last, unable to hold on, he closed his eyes.

Si Qi gazed quietly, tidied his clothes, then released his own power. With a faint smile, his body weakened, and leaning on Chu Feng’s chest, he too closed his eyes.

“Mm, see you in the next world.”

Sir, take me to rebel (14): 

The Si family regretted it.

But regret was useless.

Even if a cut healed, it would still leave a scar, just as what had been done could not be undone, as though nothing had happened.

Now the new emperor wanted to make an example of the sorcerers, forbidding everything related to them. They could no longer collect blood to ask sorcerers to refine it into medicine. In the end, Si Yu still had to leave the General’s Manor. Otherwise, even if they had blood, it would be useless—were they really supposed to risk the emperor’s punishment just to have medicine refined for Si Yu? Si Yu was not without another path to survival!!

Those who had long disliked Si Yu, who even dared not have children because of him, finally breathed a sigh of relief, smiles of genuine joy spreading across their faces.

In contrast, the general’s wife, who had long been obsessed with making Si Yu her own son, went mad. She pounded on the table, struck her own body, and cried out: “You just don’t want to save my Yu’er! You just can’t bear to part with your blood! If my blood were useful, even if it drained every last drop, I would be willing!! How can you be so selfish, do you have no conscience at all? Yu’er loves you all so much!!!”

The men’s faces darkened, but they restrained themselves from arguing with a woman. The other sisters-in-law, however, could no longer hold back. They leapt up angrily, shouting: “Yu’er is human, but my child isn’t? Qingran is only six years old, and you would cut him with a knife—have you ever thought of him as your own junior?!”

General Si looked at the chaos before him, his irritation spiraling into madness. He yanked a few women aside and slapped his screaming wife hard across the face. Her head snapped sideways, hair disheveled, clothes in disarray, looking like a madwoman.

Meanwhile, Si Yu stood to the side, crying softly like a pear blossom in the rain. He tugged at his brother’s sleeve and whispered: “Brother, did Yu’er do something wrong? Please don’t be angry, persuade Father and Mother instead…”

The eldest brother, who had cherished his younger sibling since childhood, looked at his wife’s cold gaze and could no longer endure it. He told Si Yu: “Why would I be angry? If I am angry, it is only at myself for being so blind! You did do wrong. You don’t need to cry to me—just go to Mother directly. Ask her to announce your identity and sever the mother-son bond. Mother listens to you in everything. If you begged her a few times, wouldn’t she agree?”

“Si Qingyuan!!!” The general’s wife clutched her swollen cheek, her shrill voice stabbing at everyone’s ears: “You beast! How can you speak to your brother like this? How can you side with these outsiders?! Do you even have a conscience!!”

The eldest son’s expression stiffened, his voice choked: “Yes, I side with outsiders. In your heart, even I am an outsider! You only have Si Yu as a son, don’t you? Have you ever noticed how many times I’ve been cut over the years? You never cared!”

“But are you dead? Are you dead?!” The general’s wife ignored his feelings, crying as she accused: “I wanted Si Qi’s life, but did I ever want yours? I only asked you to bleed a little for your brother, and you couldn’t even do that?!”

The eldest daughter-in-law rolled her eyes in fury. The eldest son lowered his head, fists clenched, taking a deep breath before saying to his mother: “Yes, just a little blood.”

He touched his arms, where ugly scars rose and fell. For six years, bandages had almost never left his body. Old wounds healed only for new ones to appear. Yet to his mother, all of this was just a “little thing.” In her eyes, not taking his life was already mercy.

He thought back to Si Qi, cornered by everyone, forced down with his head pressed low, nearly killed—his younger brother must have felt the same way, right?

No… it must have been worse. More despair, more pain, more isolation, watching his own kin side with an outsider who wanted his life, cutting his body to pieces…

The more he thought, the harder it became to breathe. He broke down, squatting and clutching his head, sobbing: “He was my real younger brother… what have I done…”

His sudden collapse left many present stunned.

Several elders, who had once forced Si Qi themselves and had even been kicked by him in retaliation, kept stony faces as they ordered servants: “Take the young master back.”

No one mentioned Si Qi’s name, as though none had ever admitted their mistake.

The general’s wife glared with hatred at those before her, her gaze treating them as though they were the executioners who had persecuted her and her son.

Everyone she looked at in this way felt deeply uncomfortable, and their resentment extended to the boy hiding in her arms.

He was already fifteen or sixteen, old enough to start a family, yet still clung to his mother for everything. Innocent? Pure? But with his habit of always acting in ways that only benefited himself, could he really be as naïve as he appeared?

The general’s wife took Si Yu away from the chaotic hall. Wiping her tears, she told him: “Don’t be afraid, Yu’er, Mother won’t let you be wronged. Do you remember what I told you? Back then, the sorcerer said at first sight that you would bring great glory to this house. They are short-sighted, forgetting your worth, treating you so heartlessly. When you recover, they will regret it.”

Si Yu held her hand and said softly: “Don’t worry, Mother. Yu’er will be filial and never disappoint you.”

The general’s wife, touched, held his hand tightly: “Good child.”

Si Yu lowered his gaze: “I only don’t want you to argue with Uncle, Grandfather, and the others. Every time I think of what they’ve done for me, I feel guilty.”

The general’s wife frowned: “You are their junior. It is their duty to protect you. If they hadn’t let that bastard escape back then, you would already be healed, not suffering from illness day after day.”

Si Yu asked calmly: “Do you still remember my brother?”

“He is not your brother,” the general’s wife said angrily. “That heartless wretch—he would rather hide all his life to protect his own worthless life than save you. If I ever find him, I’ll make him taste real suffering!”

Si Yu said gently: “Please don’t be angry, Mother…”

…

After she left, the mess remained. The family, already anxious because of General Si’s defeat and the change of dynasty, grew even more agitated.

“She has long hair but short sight. If the General’s Manor falls, how could a woman and that boy have a good life?” The old patriarch banged his cane and scolded General Si: “If she dares secretly meet a sorcerer and the new king discovers it, all of us will suffer with her!”

General Si’s face was grim: “I indulged her too much before.”

His brother asked: “Is Si Country really that powerful?”

In less than two months, they had marched straight to the capital. The local nobility had barely reacted before the enemy was at their doors.

General Si, utterly dejected, replied: “You weren’t on the battlefield, you don’t understand.”

The man pressed his lips together, unwilling: “But what about our dynasty’s fortune…”

“So what if our fortune was strong?” General Si said wearily. “That national preceptor of Si Country, Si Qi, said sorcerers only shifted the future’s harvest into the present. All the blessings we once enjoyed must now be repaid. Si Country did not rise because of sorcerers. You know the cause, and you’ve seen the result.”

Silence fell.

“Those who recognize the times are wise,” the old patriarch finally said. “In such peril, we must endure humiliation, bow our heads, and perhaps we may still find a path for survival.”

Just then, the distant doors slammed open. Armor clashed, voices shouted commands to arrest. Faces paled as everyone bowed their heads in despair.

General Si stood, straightened his clothes, and tried to preserve a shred of dignity.

When armed soldiers stormed into the hall, he stepped forward and surrendered without being asked. His family watched silently as he was taken.

But in the next moment, the soldiers surrounded them all. Shock and anger burst out: “What are you doing?!”

Why were they being dragged in as well?!

Soon, all the ministers of Autumn Dynasty were dragged into the imperial court. The Si family, pale-faced, was shoved forward into the great hall. Looking around, they realized no other generals’ families had been implicated. Anxiety and indignation filled their hearts.

—Why them?

The eldest son of the Si family, still drowning in guilt, suddenly stopped in his tracks. A thought struck him like lightning, his heart pounding wildly.

“Move!” a soldier behind shoved him. He stumbled forward, head down, into the center of the hall.

Before them stood pale-faced sorcerers in long robes.

The vast hall was silent except for the occasional barked warning from soldiers.

The officials’ faces were grim, eyes darting to their peers in search of solutions—until they noticed the Si family grouped together.

No one knew what crime this family had committed to draw the emperor’s attention.

The emperor had not yet appeared, only Si Country’s soldiers filling the hall.

A moment later, a group of people entered from the side. Relaxed, smiling, dressed in uniforms unlike Autumn Dynasty’s old robes—neat, new, practical.

They stood tall and bright-eyed, in stark contrast to the flabby, cowering officials of Autumn Dynasty.

They spoke plainly, without bureaucratic jargon, conversing naturally, their words full of national planning and development. But the old officials realized they understood barely half.

Some ministers, who thought they could rely on decades of experience to secure their positions under the new emperor, were now sweating profusely.

Si Country was clearly very different from Autumn Dynasty…

Then, two figures appeared. The generals who had seen Si Yi on the battlefield stiffened at once, lowering their heads. Officials quickly fell silent.

Everyone waited for the new emperor to speak. But when he sat on the dragon throne and looked down, he frowned: “Why must we speak like this?”

The ministers were baffled—how else could they speak?

Then Si Yi said: “Bring chairs for everyone. Sit down together.”

The officials were dumbfounded. Some wanted to glance up at the youth, unable to believe it.

The Si Country ministers, long used to sitting in offices around a table with Si Yi to discuss matters, were silent for a moment. Someone gently advised against it, but Si Yi refused: “In Si Country, we don’t believe in one-man rule. Later I will remove this throne and restore the chamber to a meeting hall. For now, let’s just do this.”

The Si Country ministers, moved by their emperor’s unchanged nature, smiled warmly.

After speaking, Si Yi looked at the lone throne and even considered letting Si Qi sit.

The Si Country people were unfazed, but the Autumn Dynasty officials were restless, wanting to admonish him for impropriety.

Yet with their lives at stake, they said nothing, only muttering in their hearts that Si Country had no sense of decorum.

Among the Si family, who all kept their heads bowed, the eldest son cautiously raised his eyes to the youth above. Studying his features, he realized this face resembled the boy in his memory by at least eighty percent. He felt as if struck by lightning, his body swaying, breath coming harsh and ragged.

Standing nearby, General Si heard the heavy panting, turned his head toward his son, and saw his expression twisted as if he were about to die. Thinking his son lacked the mental strength to endure, he warned in a low voice: “Stand properly!”

Large beads of sweat rolled down the eldest young master of the Si family’s forehead. He looked at his father in terror, hissing through his teeth: “Si… Si Qi… it’s Si Qi!”

The Si family members around them, hearing the young master’s broken voice, looked over in confusion. But when they saw the fear in his eyes, a sense of dread welled up in their hearts.

General Si’s younger brother, Si Qi’s uncle, was the first to realize something. He lifted his head for a secret glance at Si Qi, and before long, his body jolted violently and cold sweat drenched his back.

He hurriedly lowered his head, his face pale as death. “Si Qi… it’s Si Qi…”

“What about Si Qi…” someone asked reflexively, only for their voice to suddenly falter.

At that moment, everyone’s thoughts fell into chaos. One after another, they secretly looked up at Si Qi, despair spreading rapidly across their faces. Many who had once cornered him in the small courtyard and forced him to the brink of death felt their legs give way, nearly collapsing.

No wonder they had been tied up and brought here separately… Si Qi’s aunt now hated those people bitterly. She turned toward the general’s wife and Si Yu, spitting through clenched teeth: “It’s you, all because of you!!! Why don’t you just die?!”

The general’s wife stood stiffly in place, her eyes fixed blankly on Si Qi’s face above.

Not long ago, she had fantasized about finding him to flay and torture him alive. Now her face was ashen, flickering between regret and feral rage, twisted like a ghost crawling out of hell.

Many people noticed the disturbance among the general’s household. From his vantage point above, Si Qi naturally saw it as well.

He saw their regret and pleas, and he also saw Si Yu’s unwillingness and hatred.

But he paid no attention to this family, letting them tremble in fear as they quietly awaited the scythe of death. Every second was torture, stabbing into their very souls.

He sat calmly to the side, watching Si Yi distribute rewards for merit.

Si Yi first assigned positions to the ministers who had followed from the Si Kingdom, setting clear divisions of responsibility. Then, looking at the sorcerers and ministers kneeling or standing in the great hall, he spoke slowly, his voice cold enough to freeze men alive: “From this day forward, within the lands of the Si Kingdom, not a single sorcerer is permitted to exist. No one may use arts that manipulate fate, nor may any texts describing them remain.”

No one was surprised at his words. Yet most of the ministers had enjoyed the benefits of manipulating fate for generations, and now they feared being implicated. Sweating profusely, one ventured: “Your Majesty… one cannot judge all cases the same. If properly guided, fate could bless the people, protect—”

Si Yi cut him off coldly: “You presume to teach me how to rule?”

The minister fell silent at once, trembling all over. “This humble subject dares not…”

The other ministers sweated as well. They longed to defend fate’s advantages, but they all knew what torment Si Yi had endured as a child. In secret, many had also taken lives with sorcery, and they knew exactly what cruelties the victims suffered.

Si Yi continued: “Anyone who colluded with sorcerers, who ignored human life to pursue selfish gains with sorcery, will all be punished.”

At his words, the court erupted.

“You cannot do this!”

“This is unreasonable!”

“Everyone did it—you are forcing us to die!!”

Si Yi looked at them expressionlessly. “A new nation has no need for trash that ignores its people’s lives. I summoned you here to give you a chance to survive—so we can see if any of you deserve to live.”

Realizing his resolve, the ministers broke down in wails, claiming innocence, insisting they had only followed custom, doing what everyone else did.

Si Yi ignored their excuses. He turned to the sorcerers below: “Confess all the evil you have committed. Help me erase every trace of sorcery. In return, I will grant you a quicker death.”

The sorcerers did not lose control as the ministers had. From the moment they were captured, they had foreseen their end, along with the Si Kingdom’s rising tide of fortune.

Many of them had long treated human lives as tools, their hearts drowned in darkness. Apart from hatred toward Si Yi, they felt no guilt.

Only a few with lingering consciences bowed their heads and murmured: “We are willing to cooperate.”

“Fate is not something humans should manipulate. It brings chaos and drives nations to ruin.”

“Without you sorcerers, the Autumn Dynasty would not have been doomed to become a wasteland where no one could survive…”

Their faces showed shame, but Si Yi remained cold, unmoved. With a wave of his hand, he ordered soldiers to drag them away. Those willing to cooperate would follow procedure. Those unwilling—Si Yi had no objection to letting them endure the very torment they had inflicted on their victims, again and again, until death.

But just before they were dragged away, one sorcerer recognized Si Qi and said with a bitter smile: “Your name is Si Qi. You are General Si’s son.”

At once, the ministers and officials were stunned.

The Si family stiffened as though struck by lightning. They held their breath, staring at Si Qi to catch his reaction.

But Si Qi did not react—he remained calm, even smiling faintly. It was Si Yi at his side whose face darkened in fury: “You knew? It was you who left my teacher homeless, to be persecuted by the Si family like that?!”

The Si family blanched, trembling uncontrollably.

It was over. Completely over. Si Yi knew! Others might have some chance of mercy for their crimes, but not them—not after offending Si Qi. None of them would survive!

Why had Si Qi survived? Why had he become the legendary Grand Tutor of Si Kingdom? Why was he so powerful? Thinking back to what they had done, the words they had said, the hundred scars carved into his body… he must hate them to the bone!

The sorcerer shook his head. “I didn’t know—only that his bloodline connects to General Si. Back then, General Si sought to kill his own son, transferring his fate onto another child. Every court sorcerer knew it. I heard the tale myself. But I never imagined the Grand Tutor who built Si Kingdom was that very child…”

He did not understand why Si Qi appeared older than expected. He assumed the fate-transferring ritual had stolen years from him, making him age faster.

One minister collapsed, rushing forward to seize General Si by the collar, roaring: “It was you—it was you! Why did you drive your son away? Why commit such a beastly act! If not for your hunt, forcing him to flee to Liang Province, the Si Kingdom would never have risen, the Autumn Dynasty would not have perished, and we would not be ruined!”

The other ministers realized the truth as well. Their eyes turned blood-red as they glared at the general’s family with murderous rage.

“Si Qi could make even the barren Si Kingdom prosper. If he had stayed in Autumn, we would have had a peerless Grand Tutor! Everyone would have benefited, and our positions would have remained secure… It’s all because of you—all because of you!”

Others raved as well: “How could you not treasure someone like Si Qi, yet instead dote on a useless waste like Si Yu? Blind fools! And now you’ve dragged us all down with you!”

The sorcerer added quietly: “Si Yu’s fate was unusual—it drained the fortune of those around him to strengthen himself. Had it been anyone but Si Qi in his place, he would have died long ago.”

On the high platform, Si Yi froze, his face twisting with murderous rage. He would never forgive those who had nearly destroyed his teacher!

“But Si Qi was powerful, and so he survived. Si Yu could only leech off the general’s household’s fortune. I see his fate is still strong, not weakened at all. The general’s family must have supported him all these years. Today’s downfall is your own doing. Had you done nothing, Si Yu would have died long ago.”

The sorcerer’s words stabbed like daggers into the hearts of the Si family.

The women who had married into the family, long resentful of Si Yu, broke down completely. They tore at the general’s wife and Si Yu, scratching and biting, wailing in despair: “I knew it, I knew it! Why did you ruin me?! What did I ever do to deserve this?! My husband slit his wrists every week because of you, my son was never born because of you—I hate you! I hate you! Your whole family is insane!”

As they screamed, they shoved the eldest young master and other men of the Si family. The men stood lifeless, like punctured balloons. The eldest young master let out an animal-like wail, pounding his own head in regret.

The once sweet-faced Si Yu, slapped several times, could no longer keep up the act. He shoved away the woman in front of him and kicked her in the stomach, shouting bitterly: “Did I force you to bleed for me? Did I hold a knife to your throats and make you hunt Si Qi? You chose to do it yourselves! And now you blame me? All I ever did was say a few words! You were just too stupid! You couldn’t even deal with a child! If Si Qi had died back then, none of this would be happening!”

“We’re too stupid? No—it was your scheming!” the women screamed through tears. “Wasn’t it your hints, your manipulation behind it all?! If you hadn’t left Si Qi to die for you, if you hadn’t insisted on staying in the general’s household, why would we have harmed him? Why sacrifice ourselves year after year to save you? You used the whole family as your offering, letting us be slaughtered for your sake!”

Si Yu snapped: “If I really had that power, would my life have been this miserable? You say you wanted to save me, but you ignored the real cures, letting me suffer day and night. I’ve had enough of your hypocrisy!”

The Si family listened, hearts torn apart. “Good. Good. At last you speak your true thoughts!”

The general’s wife collapsed, hair disheveled, staring blankly at her venomous son as if seeing his real face for the first time. Silent tears streamed down her cheeks.

She turned toward the high platform, where Si Qi now stood—noble, strong, revered by all. He looked down on them calmly, without the slightest ripple in his gaze, as if seeing strangers, not his own mother.

Suddenly, she felt it was all a cruel joke, as if the world mocked her blindness. This was her true-born son, yet she had scorned him, treasuring a false gem in Si Yu, letting herself be used like a fool for life.

Her defenses finally shattered. She fell to the ground and wept bitterly.

Sir, take me to rebel (15): 

The old master of the Si family could not bear being attacked by so many people around him. Kneeling on the ground, he pleaded to Si Qi above, his aged face full of disgrace. Yet the words he spoke were all attempts to remind Si Qi of the blood ties between them.

Si Yi, deeply afraid that Si Qi would be upset by this, and unwilling to let anyone take the chance to use filial piety to criticize his master, immediately called people over to gag those fellows and throw them into prison.

After that, the sorcerers began one after another to confess the evil deeds they had committed for the high-ranking officials present throughout the years. Every single crime made the officials of Si gnash their teeth in rage, wishing they could rush forward and strangle these beasts with their own hands.

In less than half an hour, more than half of the ministers of the Qiu court present were dragged away. Those remaining collapsed to the ground with weak legs. Even if they weren’t dead yet, half their lives had been scared out of them.

This court had already rotted to its roots a hundred years ago. At this moment, only swift and decisive action to cut away the rot and completely eliminate the source of the disease would allow further development.

Over the past few years, Si Qi had trained many capable people in Liang Province. Even if the Qiu court underwent a thorough purge, he was not afraid of having no one to use.

Once the problem was resolved, the next step was the cycle of rewards and recognition.

In the army that followed Si Yi all the way to storm the capital, there had indeed been casualties. Many soldiers had bravely killed the enemy during charges, and had likewise earned great merit.

These contributions could not be overlooked.

After the enemy broke into the imperial palace, the common people of the capital were terrified and restless for a while. They heard that the civil and military officials of the court, simply for having contact with sorcerers, were dragged to the marketplace and beheaded. Everyone was horrified, utterly convinced that the emperor of Si was a cruel and unreasonable man.

Some wealthy great households, fearing they might be killed by the emperor under some pretext just like the ministers, chose to cut their losses. They abandoned their vast industries in the capital, took only gold and silver, and planned to flee this place of trouble with their families.

But among the great households, some bolder young men who had once traveled with trade caravans to Si and seen the local customs there had a different view.

“The emperor of Si is not someone who slaughters the innocent. He didn’t reclaim power from the ministers under false pretenses. It was because those ministers and sorcerers harmed the people, and that was what angered him.”

The elders of the households could not understand, saying, “You’re too young and naive. Do you think an emperor cares about the lives of commoners? He doesn’t even care about the lives of ministers—he kills them at will. And you say he would care about livestock-like peasants? That’s as ridiculous as saying an emperor refrains from eating meat out of pity for animals and goes to scold the butcher. Laughable!”

The youths replied helplessly, “But the emperor of Si said himself, before the law, everyone is equal. Those ministers colluded with sorcerers and caused deaths—they naturally had to pay with their lives.”

The elders now looked at their juniors as if at fools, with expressions almost saying “How did I raise such a stupid child?” They scoffed, “So if he says it, it’s true? These days, especially for a bloodthirsty emperor, what’s so hard about saying some nice words to polish his image? Who doesn’t want a good reputation after death?”

The youths sighed wearily, “But I saw it with my own eyes… if you ever met him up close, you’d understand.”

The family heads dismissed them impatiently, “As if you can just meet an emperor whenever you like!”

The youths protested, “But you really can! I’ve met him several times. He works in the government office building. If you wait in the lobby downstairs, you’ll see him. He even gives public speeches in the People’s Square every so often, to promote the laws and basic regulations of Si. Everyone there knows what their emperor looks like!”

The elders were stunned, “What nonsense are you talking about, silly child?”

The youths said weakly, “You’ll see for yourselves later.”

But the family heads didn’t want to wait. They hurriedly packed up, loading carts full of valuables, worrying they’d be robbed by guards when leaving the city.

The youths looked at their elders fretting about how hard life was and how violent soldiers were, their own faces full of speechless exasperation. Later, when news spread that the emperor of Si was going to publicly reward the soldiers, the youths perked up and said, “If you don’t believe me, just go and see for yourself! I guarantee the emperor of Si will appear in person.”

The elders were bewildered, “Rewards? Isn’t that something decided in court? You mean rewarding common soldiers instead of the generals who lead them?”

The youths: “Yes! Soldiers!”

The elders’ jaws almost dropped.

Soldiers—lowly men from peasant families, with no background at all.

Why should such people need rewards? Isn’t a meal enough for them?

And the emperor would appear in person??

“You must have misheard. It’s probably the ministers who will hand out rewards. Hah, Si really knows how to put on a show to win hearts.”

The youths sighed, “But Si really isn’t the same as Qiu was… Please, just believe me this once!”

Nagged by the youths, the elders reluctantly went along after carefully confirming it was safe.

This time the ceremony wasn’t held in the usual open square for celebrations, but inside the imperial palace itself! A vast space that could easily hold tens of thousands, a place officials used daily to reach the audience hall, but that ordinary folk would never in their lifetimes be able to enter.

Many citizens of the capital, intimidated by the emperor’s reputation, hadn’t dared attend. But hearing that the palace gates would be open to all, their curiosity overcame their fear, and they came to the site when the gates were opened.

The grandeur of the palace was beyond their imagination. Many felt that seeing this alone meant no regrets in life. At the same time, they were surprised that the emperor of Si didn’t seem to mind ordinary people entering such a sacred place, which made him feel just a bit closer to them.

Even nobles who weren’t court officials had never been allowed inside before. Now, standing on the smooth bluestone paving before the dazzlingly ornate palace, they felt the trip worthwhile.

The youths who had followed their elders sneered at the sight, unimpressed. They said bluntly, “The houses of Si’s citizens are more luxurious than this. Their windows are made of glass, their floors are smooth concrete covered with carpets or tiles.”

The elders gaped. Looking again at the palace’s brick and stone, it still seemed splendid, but suddenly felt one step lower in comparison.

Following the soldiers’ directions, they soon reached the award site.

A tall platform had been erected, decorated with red-and-gold cloth, solemn and magnificent.

A youth pointed to the red flags flying above. “That’s Si’s national flag. People there often hang it on government buildings, schools, even their homes. Wherever it flies, they know it marks their people, their protection.”

“Once when I visited a small town in Si, I saw a child pick up a dirty fallen flag, carefully wipe it clean, and rehang it on a roadside tree… I realized then that every person in that country loves their land deeply. They can’t even bear to see their flag dirty. If their emperor called, each of them would stand up for their nation. Isn’t that far greater and stronger than how Qiu used to rely on exploiting the people to sustain its fortune?”

The family heads, hearing this, felt their prejudice waver. They sighed, “No wonder Si has grown so fast. If everyone works together for the nation, how could it not rise?”

Even if poor and backward at the start, even if once bullied and oppressed, they could still rise in the shortest time, growing into a force no one could ignore.

The youths added, “And you’ll see—Si’s officials and emperor are nothing like the ones we used to know.”

Just then, music sounded from behind the platform.

It was loud and stirring, full of inspiration. The murmuring crowd fell silent, their attention fixed ahead. Soon, an official in uniform stepped onto the platform, holding a strange object before him. His voice, amplified, was astonishingly loud.

A youth whispered, “That’s a loudspeaker. In remote areas, officials use it to address crowds. In the capital, they already have better sound systems, but here the infrastructure isn’t as advanced, so they use this…”

At the phrase “infrastructure not advanced,” the elders felt a pang of complicated emotions.

This was the imperial palace, built with all the best of Qiu, yet it was only on par with the rural level of Si.

The official’s speech carried no pompous tone, nothing intimidating, and was clear enough for even the less educated to understand. He seemed like a kind, approachable uncle from next door.

When he finally revealed his high-ranking position, the people gasped in shock. They could hardly believe such a legendary figure was patiently speaking to them here.

And… he truly didn’t seem frightening at all, but rather someone you wanted to talk to.

After his introduction, he began recounting the soldiers’ deeds in the war. First, he read the names of the fallen.

The soldiers standing on either side of the platform kept solemn faces as they listened. The common folk dared not utter a sound out of place.

Each name was read, with details of where and how they died, and what contribution they made to the nation.

Even the former Qiu citizens felt moved, thinking, “If Si values even its soldiers’ deaths so much, then surely its emperor treats his people with great care.” They felt a faint envy.

When the names were finished, the official announced that these soldiers’ deeds would be honored, their remains collected and buried in a national cemetery where all could pay respects. Their families would receive pensions, their children education, their relatives jobs—every aspect of their lives cared for. The crowd wasn’t just envious now, but stunned.

Imagine—a soldier on the battlefield, alive or dead, never needing to worry about his family. If he survived, he’d be admired by all. If he died, he’d be honored forever. His wife and children forever protected by the state, never bullied, his parents never left uncared for.

How could such an army not be strong? Even people from the fallen Qiu Dynasty wanted to join the Si Kingdom’s army and serve it.

The Si Kingdom was truly too benevolent toward its own people.

After the solemn ceremony honoring the fallen, came the most thrilling part—the awarding of merits.

One by one, soldiers in mighty armor walked onto the stage, their backs straight, their steps firm, their heads held high. They looked particularly dashing, carrying a visible air of discipline.

Their faces were flushed with excitement, but not a single one spoke out of turn on stage. When the uniform-clad emperor appeared, the people below gasped. None of them had expected this young ruler to truly appear in person, and their nervous yet joyful gazes locked tightly onto him.

If even the former Qiu citizens below were this moved, how much more so were the soldiers standing proudly before everyone’s eyes, waiting for their reward?

As they saw the most exalted man in the Si Kingdom step forward, personally pinning the medals to their chests, these warriors—who had bled without shedding tears on the battlefield—suddenly felt their eyes sting with heat. They tilted their heads back desperately so the tears wouldn’t fall.

Some soldiers, who hadn’t earned glory on the battlefield or hadn’t given their all, looked on with envious red eyes. For this one small medal carried such enormous meaning.

Whether for the practical benefits of promotions or for the honor it symbolized, it was enough for them to boast about for a lifetime.

As round after round of awarding continued, sharp-eyed civilians noticed that some of the recipients were women, and they could not help but cry out in disbelief.

How could women be soldiers? How could women fight in battles? This was…

The crowd stirred noisily, but the soldiers of the Si Kingdom showed no reaction at all.

So what if they were women? Women were people too, and of course they could serve their country, earn honor, and achieve merit. They could charge into battle to kill the enemy, or fall back to heal the wounded; they could take part in strategic discussions or deliver intelligence. There were plenty of ways for them to contribute.

It was only that women in the Qiu Dynasty had been restricted from even auxiliary roles, and the Si Kingdom had no practice of conscripting women, so the number of female soldiers here appeared relatively small.

When the officials calmly recited the deeds of these heroines, the eyes of the women hidden among the crowd below glittered as they looked up at the confident, heroic figures above, their hearts pounding faster without realizing it.

The Si Kingdom treated women the same as men. Not only did it allow them to join the military, but also to study, to work in government offices. Wasn’t this far more convincing than any speech could be? Some clever women of the former Qiu, no less capable than men, were moved. They no longer wanted to spend their lives locked in deep courtyards, wasting their youth. They wanted to live a life that belonged to themselves…

The Si Kingdom… was truly good. It treated its citizens well, down to its very bones—not only with words, but with actions.

To become one of its people must surely be happiness itself…

The grand and stirring ceremony lasted the entire morning. Even though the crowd had stood there for nearly two hours, not a single person felt tired. As they slowly left the palace, they no longer lingered on the scenery, but excitedly discussed everything they had just seen and heard, full of envy for the soldiers and growing admiration for the Si Kingdom.

Walking beside his elders, a young man cautiously asked, “Grandfather, are we still leaving tomorrow?”

The elders paused mid-step, then slowly replied, “I recall you said that in the Si Kingdom, discipline is strict, and soldiers are forbidden from plundering others’ property?”

“Yes,” the youth nodded, “so you don’t have to worry about being robbed when we leave the city. They would never do such a thing. If caught, they would be dismissed, and anything taken would be returned.”

The elder said nothing. The youth pressed on, “You really still want to leave? Wasn’t today’s ceremony convincing enough?”

After a moment of silence, the elder suddenly raised a hand to knock the boy on the head. “You rascal, your heart’s already leaning toward the Si Kingdom, isn’t it?”

The youth chuckled sheepishly, saying nothing.

The elder sighed deeply. “In the end, this family’s future will be in your generation’s hands. You may be flighty, but your judgment isn’t bad.”

The boy’s eyes lit up, but before he could speak, the elder cut him off. “We’ll discuss the details when we return. As for tomorrow… we’re not leaving.”

The boy let out a cheer of joy.

Scenes like this played out across the capital. What seemed like a simple awards ceremony made many of the Qiu citizens see clearly the character of the Si Kingdom, and even of its emperor.

Although some could not understand the emperor’s eradication of the sorcerers, as the Si Kingdom’s ways took root on this land—when people grew accustomed to relying on their own ability instead of fate, when children in schools learned the true meaning of fate and the dangers it brought, when history revealed its harm—slowly, they began to understand the emperor’s foresight. They were grateful that his decision had saved every person on this land and countless future generations.

…

Si Qi arrived during the latter half of the ceremony, quietly finding a corner from which to observe.

The young figure on stage stood tall. Even dressed in the same uniform as the others, his presence could not be ignored.

Looking at him from behind, Si Qi could see that even though the man’s bone structure and physique were entirely unfamiliar, the aura was identical to Chu Feng’s—there was not a single difference.

How had he ever believed this was just some substitute he had trained, even feeling a pang of guilt over it?

His instincts had already recognized who this person truly was.

When the ceremony ended, the emperor stepped down. Spotting Si Qi nearby, the youth’s face lit up in a radiant smile, hurrying over with none of the cold majesty he had worn on stage.

“Sir!”

Bathed in that beautiful smile, Si Qi couldn’t help raising a hand to brush back the hair on the youth’s forehead. Seeing the faint red on his ears, he chuckled, “Why are you calling me ‘sir’ again? Just call me by my name.”

The youth bit his lip shyly. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the nearby officials, who were pretending not to look though they were dying of curiosity, and murmured, “I’m used to it, I forgot…”

“Then you’d better get used to it quickly. We still have a whole lifetime ahead of us.” Si Qi’s words made the boy’s breath quicken. “When I take back everything the Qiu emperor stole from you, you’ll return to your true form. Your life won’t end in just a mere twenty or thirty years.”

Seeing the joy shining in Si Qi’s eyes, the boy couldn’t help asking softly, “But what if I don’t change back? Would you still like me?”

He remembered how long ago, when he had asked Si Qi what he liked about Chu Feng, Si Qi had teasingly said he liked his good looks.

Si Qi smirked mischievously. “If I said I only liked your face, would you refuse to change back?”

“…Not exactly,” the boy muttered. “It’s just… I’ve worn this mask so long, maybe I’ll keep it on forever.”

“Oh? So you’re threatening me now?” Si Qi pinched his ear, making his face flush bright red. He wanted to dodge but couldn’t bear to pull away, letting himself be teased.

“You know how deeply I long for you… it’s not just your face I like,” the boy murmured.

Si Qi leaned closer and whispered, “There you go again, saying ‘sir.’”

The youth looked up at him. “Then will you punish me?”

“I’ve only just found you. How could I bear to do anything harsh to you…” Si Qi’s fingers slid from his ear down his cheek, tracing his lips.

The air around them grew warmer.

Turning his back to the passersby, the youth extended his tongue, lightly brushing Si Qi’s fingertip, gazing at him with tender eyes full of unspoken meaning. “Then give me a reward… all those soldiers got rewards, I want one too…”

Si Qi chuckled softly. “What do you want? A star? The moon? Whatever you wish, I’ll bring it to you.”

“I know you can,” the youth’s gaze burned into him. “But I only want the best thing in the world.”

“The best in the world?”

The boy clasped Si Qi’s hand tightly within his own, his eyes blazing as though they could set him aflame.

“Of course—it’s you…”

Sir, take me to rebel (13): 

How, how could this be…

The partner his lord had been yearning for all these years, how could it be his father, the man he had wished to kill with his own hands day and night!

Si Yi’s mind was in chaos, and in his daze it seemed as if he saw the man on the ground across from him shouting something.

But he did not hear a word clearly, only hurriedly drew his blade, strode forward, and raised it to cut off the man’s head.

The emperor collapsed to the ground in terror, the stench of filth seeping from his body.

Si Yi could not bear that such a wretch could occupy his lord’s heart; he wanted nothing more than to tear him apart and grind him to dust.

At the instant the blade was about to fall, Si Yi remembered the expression his lord always wore when he thought of Chu Feng.

At the last possible moment, the blade narrowly missed the emperor’s neck, merely slicing through his dragon robe and leaving a deep line of blood across his chest.

Si Yi gripped the hilt tightly. He did not want his lord to feel grief over this man’s death, nor for his lord to hate him because of it.

For that, he was willing to give up his revenge in exchange for a sliver of leeway.

The emperor screamed, his face twisted in pain as he fell to the ground, cursing and begging for mercy all at once. His tear-streaked, snot-covered appearance made the surrounding soldiers frown. No wonder their lives had been so hard before—because the one on the throne had never been worthy of it.

Si Yi stared at him, forcing himself countless times not to slash open the man’s face. The governor and others urged him to behead the tyrant himself and remove all future threats, but he refused grimly.

No one understood why Si Yi, who had hated the Autumn Dynasty’s emperor so deeply, would suddenly hold back after seeing him. But since he insisted, no one pressed him further. They obeyed.

With the change of dynasty came endless matters to handle. Everyone was busy. Even Si Qi was summoned to deal with problems that baffled the ministers.

Si Yi, who should have been the one taking the lead, behaved strangely. Many of the elders who had followed him for years noticed something was wrong. Unable to get an answer from him, they secretly turned to Si Qi, hoping he could persuade him.

Yet even the usually calm and capable Master Si seemed unsteady.

Distracted, Si Qi agreed to the ministers’ request, swiftly handled the most difficult issues, and then, guided by Xiu Xiu, went directly to find Si Yi.

Xiu Xiu had always stayed by Si Yi’s side over the years, indirectly protecting him. So it was Xiu Xiu who first saw the emperor’s face before the throne and realized it looked exactly like that of the Lord God!

Startled, he hurried to tell Si Qi. Si Qi felt as if struck by lightning—understood much in that instant—yet was soon engulfed by ministers again, only now finally finding a moment of freedom.

He went straight to Si Yi.

Si Yi looked at his lord bursting in, saw his anxious, impulsive face, and froze stiffly. His clever mind turned to mush—filled with anger, grievance, and the fear of losing his lord.

When he was about to speak, even daring to think of using authority to threaten Si Qi to stay—willing to spare the tyrant’s life for that—Si Qi rushed forward in a few strides, embraced him tightly, and spoke in a trembling voice.

“It’s me, it’s my fault, it’s all my fault…”

It was the first time Si Yi had ever been held like this by the man he loved. His pale face flushed red at once. One hand hung midair, wanting to touch yet afraid to.

“I should have come to this world sooner. I made you suffer too much…”

Si Yi’s mind buzzed. He did not understand what Si Qi meant, but he vaguely realized his lord had not come to despise him for that man, had not chosen someone else over him—instead, he had chosen him!

The pain of past abuse was nothing compared to the agony of almost losing his lord. Now he had him back.

He clutched his lord tightly, holding him close, and said hoarsely, “Sir, you’re not wrong. This isn’t your fault. It’s the emperor’s fault, the sorcerer’s fault… Don’t blame yourself…”

“No, no…” Realizing the man’s identity, Si Qi no longer kept any pretense. Remembering the first time he saw Chu Feng, Si Qi nearly choked on his pain.

Xiu Xiu could not bear seeing him so sad and burst into tears as well, sobbing: [Wuwuwu, Master, don’t be sad. You don’t know—the Lord God is the child of the world…]

The fault lay with the emperor’s vile deeds. Neither Si Qi nor Xiu Xiu had ever thought to connect him to Chu Feng, nor cared to look closely at a villain’s face to see if it resembled their beloved.

Thinking of his cold rejection of Si Yi all these years, Si Qi grew even sadder. He kissed the lips revealed beyond the mask and whispered, “I knew it, but I was afraid of being wrong and never dared admit it…”

Feeling the warmth on his lips, Si Yi’s neck flushed red. He stammered, “I… Sir, what are you saying? I don’t understand…”

Si Qi took a deep breath and explained, “That tyrant is your father. His face already resembled yours. He stole your lifespan, your bones, absorbed your entire existence. Naturally his appearance grew ever closer to yours…”

If they had not been blood-related—say, if Si Yu had tried to steal Si Qi’s fate—then Si Yu’s features would have gradually shifted toward Si Qi’s while still keeping his own traits, until everyone believed they were kin.

But when a father robs his son, their already-similar features eventually become identical.

Si Yi froze. He had never heard of such a thing. Disbelieving, he asked, “So, so I am…”

Si Qi nodded firmly. “It’s you. It has always been you. The one I was searching for is you. You are Chu Feng.”

Si Yi’s heart pounded madly. The pain of thinking he’d lost his lord flipped into the joy of realizing he had always been loved by him. The surprise was overwhelming.

He could hardly believe such good fortune. Was it a dream?

It was all too beautiful.

Si Qi removed the mask from Chu Feng’s face. Though the features weren’t the same as he remembered, the eyes and bearing were his beloved’s—always had been.

He kissed him lightly, cherishing his presence, his excitement, his nervousness.

After a long time, their lips parted. Si Qi stared at Chu Feng’s flushed face and smiled. “From now on, I’ll make it up to you…”

“No!” Chu Feng blurted out. “You never owed me anything. You never harmed me, you’ve always helped me!”

“But I didn’t do more for you…” Always keeping his distance, afraid of being swayed.

“How is that your fault? You didn’t even know who I was!” Chu Feng refused to hear self-blame from the man he loved. He grasped his hand tightly—something he’d longed to do but had never been allowed—and now, finally, he could. His heart brimmed with joy. Lowering his head, he said, “I don’t know how you knew what I’d look like grown, but I only know you chose to love me, to accept me. That’s enough. The past doesn’t matter. I know you had your worries.”

Si Qi studied his expression, then laughed.

He tugged at Chu Feng’s cheek. “How did you become so easy to bully?”

“I only let you bully me.” Chu Feng stared at him. “Sir, you can bully me however you like. Just don’t leave me.”

Si Qi’s eyes curved into a smile. He had never laughed so freely before anyone else, but with Chu Feng, it was different.

Chu Feng gazed at him, entranced. He had discovered a new side of his lord, and he wanted to discover more.

Si Qi held his hand. “Don’t call me sir. Just use my name. You can call me Xiao Qi.”

Chu Feng grew nervous. “How could I…”

Si Qi winked. “I really am younger than you.”

Chu Feng was puzzled.

Si Qi said, “Look.”

His figure shrank—shorter, smaller—until he looked fifteen or sixteen.

Chu Feng froze, forgetting to breathe.

He lowered his head, staring at the youth in adult clothes. “You… this, I…”

“I told you not to say ‘sir’ anymore.” Si Qi tapped his lips with one finger, grinning. “When I first met you, I was only eight. How could an eight-year-old guide anyone? So I took on that appearance.”

Chu Feng was dumbfounded. He swallowed hard and forced himself to accept it. “No wonder you’ve stayed young and handsome all these years, without change.”

But… how cute must he have been at eight or nine? He had missed it!

Curious, he asked, “How did you do this?”

He knew sorcery was beyond common understanding, but this was the first time he’d seen someone shift appearance so freely.

Si Qi thought for a moment, then admitted, “This is different. It’s an immortal technique.”

“Immortal?” Chu Feng thought the word fit his lord perfectly.

Si Qi: “Back then, when I went to find you, I used a teleportation array to enter the palace directly. The seeds too—I collected them from around the world.”

Chu Feng remembered the strange things surrounding his lord over the years and suddenly understood.

“So, you searched for me because… because you knew I was your destined partner? And about my memory loss…”

Si Qi warned, “If you say ‘sir’ again, I’ll kiss you.”

Chu Feng nearly gave in to the forbidden thrill of wanting to call him that forever.

Seeing the temptation, Si Qi sighed, amused. “Fine. If you say it again, then I won’t kiss you.”

Chu Feng peeked at him carefully. The young man’s lively expression was so different from his usual calm restraint.

He must be happy too—after searching for him all these years, he had finally found him.

Gathering courage, Si Yi said, “Then if I say ‘you’ once, you have to kiss me once. You do want me, don’t you? I’ve heard you say it countless times—you love me, you like me… I just said it twice, so you owe me two kisses.”

Si Qi widened his eyes. “How did you become so mischievous!”

“When it comes to you, I’d do anything.” Chu Feng shamelessly added, “You promised to make it up to me, and now you won’t even kiss me once.”

“Didn’t you just say you didn’t want it?”

“I do now.”

Si Qi was both annoyed and amused. He nudged Chu Feng with his shoulder, teasing him.

Playfully bickering, their bodies brushed closer. Finally, Si Qi couldn’t resist the yearning in his heart. Meeting Chu Feng’s gaze, he stood on tiptoe and kissed him.

Chu Feng couldn’t restrain himself. He pulled him close, licking and biting, savoring his beloved’s lips with closed eyes.

After a long time, he whispered, “I must be the happiest person in the world.”

Si Qi’s cheeks were pink, his breath unsteady, leaning against Chu Feng. “Of course you are.”

“Then why did you call me Chu Feng before? My name is Si Yi.”

Si Qi asked, “If I hadn’t found you, what name would you have chosen?”

Si Yi hesitated. “…I wouldn’t want his surname. Maybe I’d use my mother’s. When she tried to save me, she called me Feng’er. Maybe that’s the character you wrote.”

“Your mother’s surname was Chu?”

“I don’t know.”

“In the capital, families with the surname Chu are few. I searched each one—there was no trace of your family. Perhaps the emperor already…”

“Mm.” Chu Feng hugged him tightly. “I won’t let him go.”

Si Qi patted his back gently. “Of course. Neither will I.”

Chu Feng had many doubts. “You’re really only fifteen or sixteen?”

Si Qi: “Yes.”

“Not an immortal? You won’t leave here to return to the immortal realm?” Chu Feng held him tightly.

“How afraid are you that I’ll leave,” Si Qi laughed, “I’m not an immortal, just a mortal like you. Do you remember General Si, the one you fought before? He is the father of this body I’m using.”

Chu Feng was astonished. “Him?”

That fellow who lasted less than fifteen minutes in battle before fleeing in terror without the slightest backbone?

Such a man could actually father someone as pure and noble as Mister Si??

Si Qi patiently explained, “Back then, when I was lost outside, another child took my place… The Si family favored him. Just as the emperor did to you, they tried to steal my destiny. So I left…”

Chu Feng tightened his grip around Si Qi’s hand. “How dare they!”

“Don’t worry, their days haven’t been good these past years.” Si Qi patted his back reassuringly and smiled. “The destiny given to that Si Yu would help him continuously absorb the Si family’s fortune, draining their life force. The Si family has been locked in fierce internal strife, and no new children have been born for years. I didn’t strike them down directly at the time because I didn’t want to let them off so easily—I wanted them to torture each other.”

Chu Feng still felt unsatisfied. “But they hurt you.”

“Yes.” Si Qi nodded, smiling wickedly. “So, will you help me punish them?”

Chu Feng agreed without hesitation.

When Si Yi and his men broke through the imperial city, it meant that General Si and the other commanders had completely lost any reason to keep fighting.

They had already been chased and beaten all the way down by Si Yi’s forces, and at this point, resisting was pointless.

Instead of avenging the emperor, they cared more about how the new emperor would deal with them after his ascension.

And how they themselves could please the new ruler.

After all, Si Yi was still of royal blood. Surrendering to him was not really betraying the dynasty, but merely choosing a more suitable master.

The court ministers each used every trick they had, trying to befriend Si Guo’s officials and gain an audience with the future emperor. Those who had actually crossed swords with Si Yi on the battlefield were the unlucky ones—for back then, they had shown him no mercy at all, shouting anything they pleased.

Now, thinking back, every word was like a death warrant, waiting to come back and claim their lives.

General Si led his soldiers back to the general’s mansion in a daze. Outside was a mess, the common folk shut their doors tightly and dared not go out. Soldiers of Si Guo, who had marched all the way here, patrolled the capital to keep order, but couldn’t help muttering to each other:

“This is the capital?”

“Nothing like I imagined. It’s worse than Jiang Province, which we just built up…”

“The roads are so narrow, the stone slabs uneven. If a carriage passes over, the people inside will be jolted to death.”

“Those nobles strut around so proudly, but they live in a place like this, and dare to boast how great they are… laughable.”

“Our Mister Si is the real one with skill.”

“Didn’t you see those merchants from Qiu Dynasty nearly go mad snatching up our goods? They even said only big shots could afford them…”

“There’s no more Qiu Dynasty from now on.”

…

Hearing the soldiers outside, a Si family servant pulled back his head nervously from the corner, face bitter. Just as he turned to report the situation to the gathered Si family members, General Si stormed back into the house with his soldiers, looking utterly disheveled, making everyone’s hearts jump.

The steward quickly ordered people to bring a clean towel to wipe General Si, and Si Yu obediently poured him a cup of tea. But General Si had no mood for tea—he sat down irritably, looking dejected.

“You’re back. I heard those Si Guo soldiers shouting outside, are we…”

No one dared say the word “defeated,” but everyone could see the answer on his face.

Their hearts sank heavily, the room silent as death.

Just then, noise erupted outside. One of General Si’s men rushed out to ask, then returned and said, “Si Yi ordered the soldiers to arrest all warlocks. He demands that if anyone is hiding them, they must hand them over immediately. All items and rituals connected to warlocks must be thrown out and stopped…”

Before anyone else reacted, the general’s wife jumped up, shrieking, “Why! Who does he think he is! How dare he demand that the warlocks—”

“Shut up!” General Si slammed the table so hard the teacups bounced, spilling tea all over.

No one cared about the mess. His eyes were bloodshot, beard stubbled, and he roared in a low, furious voice, “Do you want the whole family to die? Huh?!”

The sisters-in-law, who had long disliked the general’s wife, rolled their eyes and said mockingly, “Of course she does, so her precious son can have his life prolonged.”

Si Yu’s eyes reddened. “Aunt…” he said sadly.

“Hey, don’t cry. Or else your brother and uncle will accuse me again of targeting you and bullying you in secret.” The woman rolled her eyes.

She had only been married into the general’s mansion for a few years. At first, she liked this child as much as her husband and the rest did. But later, she discovered her husband’s arms were covered in scars, with new wounds appearing from time to time. As his wife, how could she not feel distressed? Naturally, she asked questions.

When she learned the truth, she could accept it, but couldn’t help resenting it. She gently told Si Yu a few words, asking why he wouldn’t just reveal his true identity—then everyone wouldn’t have to suffer because of him.

But that very afternoon, her husband, nephew, and all the elders of the Si family forced her to kneel in the main hall to apologize to Si Yu. The way they glared, it seemed like they wanted to tear her apart alive. And all she had done was ask privately.

She felt wronged, hoping Si Yu would speak up for her. After all, he had always been gentle—if he said it was fine and forgave her, things would have eased. But instead? Si Yu, with the most harmless words and the most pitiful face, spoke sentences that pushed her deeper into the abyss. It was then she realized—the purer his appearance, the darker his heart.

Indeed, if he were truly an innocent child, how could he swallow those blood-forged pills without guilt? How could he, for the sake of “not upsetting mother,” never once admit his true identity to the outside world?

From that day, she saw how mad this family truly was. She secretly investigated Si Yu’s past, learning that his eldest brother once said, “Why not just have another child.” The thought chilled her to the bone.

If she bore a child, would that child become Si Yu’s sacrifice? Would the elders take her baby by force to die in his place?

Even if she managed to save the baby’s life, would the child, when grown, have to live in constant fear of being killed? Would he, like his father, have to bleed regularly?

The more she thought about it, the more terrified she became. In secret, she had her maid bring her contraceptive herbs, which she drank regularly.

Her in-laws noticed her childlessness and showed her sour faces, but she endured it.

Childbirth was already walking through death’s gate. And here, the child’s chances of survival were slim. Why should she give birth at all?

Look at Si Yu’s eldest brother—married for years with no children. Did anyone believe they didn’t share her thoughts?

Year after year passed. The vast general’s mansion produced no new infants. Even the dullest person should have noticed something was wrong.

Her husband privately confronted her, coldly asking if she had taken contraceptive herbs. She admitted it, answering with the same icy tone, and pulled his scarred arm before him, demanding if he wanted their child to end up like that.

The man fell silent.

From then on, he never spoke of the matter again.

The woman only sneered and said, “Of course—you already have Si Yu. Why would you need a child of your own blood?”

Enraged, the man smashed the entire bedroom to pieces, while she stood calmly, watching him rage.

From that day, his attitude toward Si Yu cooled. He was not the first. In the following years, more and more people grew resentful of Si Yu. The protective general’s wife quarreled constantly with others, and like today, seized every chance to hurl barbed words.

Even those who usually avoided disputes grew angry. Who wanted to live in such a foul atmosphere every day? Tempers flared.

But no matter their anger, when it came time for Si Yu to take his medicine, they still had to obediently roll up their sleeves, let the sharp blade cut their arms, and watch their blood drip into that bowl which seemed it could never be filled.

How had things come to this?

They had only wanted to protect a younger member of the family, willing to sacrifice even their own kin without hesitation. Yet because of this same younger one, their household was no longer a home. They couldn’t even have peaceful lives or children to bring them joy, and still had to suffer the pain of the knife again and again.

Sir, take me to rebel (11): 

The ministers, upon hearing that such rare treasures came from a poor and remote place like Liang Province, at first only found it absurd and laughable.

Yet the facts were undeniable. The young man’s answers matched exactly with those of the servants who had traveled with him to Liang Province. After questioning them again and again, even though they were reluctant to believe it, they had no choice but to accept it. One after another, they advised the emperor:
“Your Majesty, craftsmen with such skill are rare in the world; they should be brought to the capital to serve you.”
“This is fortune itself protecting our Great Qiu dynasty, sending Your Majesty gifts through human hands.”
“All fine things under heaven should belong to you.”

The emperor paid no attention to their flattery. To him, it was entirely natural. He issued an order:
“Send all related craftsmen to the capital. All treasures are to be delivered into the palace, and none may be privately sold. Whoever is found to use such techniques without authorization, execute them.”

The ministers were overjoyed to accept the command.
Once the craftsmen arrived, the emperor would order them to create things—when that happened, would the ministers not get what they wanted anyway?

Disregarding the craftsmen’s own wishes, the emperor casually decided their fate and continued to tour the treasures. Among them were corn and sweet potatoes, along with various medicines that had been prepared in advance by doctors from Shan Province.

The corn and sweet potatoes were taken away for study, and soon a report came back: they were previously unknown, but tasted excellent. The emperor, however, was indifferent—his empire had never lacked food.

The medicines were sent to the Imperial Medical Institute. After examining them, the imperial physicians scoffed:
“These powders, called Cold Remedy and Stomach-Pain Relief, are named plainly and simple to use. They hold some reference value.”

But such things, they had in abundance already. Only commoners would find them useful and cheap.

After roughly finishing his inspection of the treasures, the emperor sat on the throne, his gaze resting on objects so fine they could not be found even within the palace. His expression was unreadable.

The ministers who knew him well immediately sensed danger and hurried forward to advise him:
“All treasures under heaven belong to Your Majesty—why did the governor of Liang Province not present them sooner?”
“To conceal craftsmen and hoard wealth in secret, such a heart deserves punishment!”
“The people of Liang should have long since perished—how could so many fine things suddenly appear?”
“Could it be they colluded with sorcerers in private, stealing the dynasty’s fortune, and thus obtained these treasures?”

The voices of debate rose one after another. The emperor, who looked no more than twenty, listened to their opportunistic words with a blank expression, then dismissed them and summoned the court sorcerers.

The sorcerer arrived clad in pure white robes, exuding an immortal air.

No matter how wanton the emperor was, toward these sorcerers—who had secured his throne, solved countless troubles for him, and safeguarded the dynasty’s centuries of prosperity—his attitude was always good.

He asked gently: “How is the fortune in Liang Province and nearby regions of late?”

The sorcerer, mindful that he was addressing the emperor, did not give the obvious answer at once. He carefully divined, tracing the flow of fortune across the land of Great Qiu, and suddenly his expression froze.

The emperor’s dark eyes remained fixed on him. Seeing this, he asked: “What is it?”

The sorcerer lifted his gaze to the man on the dragon throne, hesitated a moment, then replied:
“In the regions centered on Liang Province, fortune seems to show signs of recovery, and…”

He paused, gathering courage before continuing:
“And a dragon aura has appeared, the fortune immensely powerful—so much so that… it even surpasses Your Majesty’s, by a few degrees.”

A few degrees? In truth, it utterly eclipsed him.

Crash—

The teacup in the emperor’s hand was hurled to the ground, shattering to pieces.

With his youthful face expressionless, the emperor said slowly:
“That wretch… the direction of his escape was south, wasn’t it?”

The sorcerer instantly understood, calculated carefully, and confirmed: “It is him.”

“The resurgence of fortune—is that also tied to him?”

The sorcerer studied the flow of fortune intently, scalp tingling: “…Yes.”

It was more than tied—fortune seemed to be nurtured directly by that dragon aura, tightly wound around him, already forming the outline of dominion.

And above the head of that dragon, something even more unfathomable seemed to shroud and protect it. At a glance it resembled the sky, and the sky often symbolized Heaven’s will. Could it mean the other was Heaven’s chosen, destined to…

Even with his lofty status, the sorcerer was still mortal—one stroke could end his life. Facing the emperor’s mounting fury, he dared not speak the full truth, only offering a cautious, roundabout warning.

The emperor did not press him further, simply waved him away.

Soon after, decrees were issued from the palace. General Si, who had been staying in the capital’s General’s Manor, received the imperial order to enter the palace. That very evening, holding the tiger tally bestowed by the emperor, he set out for the south.

Xiu Xiu had always left a camera running in the General’s Manor—partly to await Chu Feng’s appearance, partly to watch the bustle there.

Now seeing General Si depart, Xiu Xiu reported to Si Qi.

[Master, Master, the emperor has discovered the existence of the Child of the World!]

Si Qi gave a nonchalant hum, eating pudding as he answered casually: [Hadn’t he long known that Si Yi wasn’t dead?]

The pudding had been made by Chu Feng, brought from another world and preserved within the leaves of the World Tree.

If not for that bite of food, and the assurance that he could leave this world at any time to find Chu Feng in the Main God’s domain, Si Qi would not have been able to remain calm.

It had already been four years.

Xiu Xiu: [Yes, he knew—but this time he is certain. He even sent the original body’s scumbag father with troops, to kill the Child of the World.]

[Scumbag father?] Si Qi had not heard those words in a long time. Recalling memories of his original body, he said with interest: [That Si family still exists?]

Though phrased as a question, his tone carried mockery.

[They do, but their lives are in chaos.] Xiu Xiu sneered: [Ever since Master left the General’s Manor, the entire Si family agreed that each person would take turns giving blood to Si Yi.]

At first hearing, it sounded like a kindly proposal. But taking turns meant Si Yi could never fully seize one person’s identity, leaving him forever weak and unable to recover.

[The general’s wife doted on Si Yi and worried about his frailty, watching the Si family closely to make sure they complied. Later, as Si Yi grew older, weekly blood was no longer enough. Cutting flesh was too extreme, so they increased the frequency of medicine instead.]

[The frequency of bloodletting in the Si family rose as well, and discontent began to spread. Distrusting them, she set her sights on her next child.]

Si Qi clicked his tongue and instructed: [If she hasn’t conceived yet, give her sterilization medicine. If she’s already pregnant… once the child is born, tell me, and I’ll take him away.]

He had no wish to see another child suffer as pitifully as Si Yi.

[Rest assured, Master. Knowing the general’s wife was taking fertility tonics, General Si secretly switched them for sterility drugs. It’s been over a year now.] Xiu Xiu said: [Since she only wanted a child to sacrifice, both General Si and the eldest young master resisted it strongly.]

Although they had once been capable of killing the original body to save Si Yu, the idea of bearing another child just to trade one life for another… that was of a different nature altogether. They were not as insane as the general’s wife.

The original body’s eldest brother, because of living so closely with his mother, knew all too well how obsessed she was with Si Yu. For that reason, he had not dared to have children all these years, afraid that once born, his child would be stolen by his mother and turned into medicine for Si Yu.

Sometimes he even worried that one day he himself might be kidnapped by his mother and locked away in the courtyard, just like the original body back then, pressed down to have flesh cut and blood drawn.

The words Si Qi had spoken before leaving had indeed had some effect.

Xiu Xiu: [After years of failed attempts to conceive, the general’s wife’s emotions grew extreme. The people in the general’s manor couldn’t stand her watching them constantly for bloodletting. Even when they were sick or unwell, she still forced them to bleed. Because of this, they began privately speaking badly about her with other members of the Si family…]

[Last year, when Si Yu’s nephew had just turned six, the general’s wife demanded he bleed as well. His mother couldn’t bear to see her son suffer and quarreled with the general’s wife, which turned into quite an unpleasant conflict.]

This household, raised pampered and delicate since childhood, was the sort to scold servants even over a pricked finger. Now, having seen again and again their own arms cut open with knives, how could they feel at ease?

If such sacrifices had been one-time, perhaps it could be tolerated. But the problem was, they would have to endure this for the rest of their lives. Their children, their grandchildren—none could escape being dragged down by Si Yu, always under the watchful eye of the overprotective general’s wife.

Flesh from one’s palm or the back of one’s hand, both are dear. These elders cherished Si Yu, but they also cherished their own grandchildren dearly. How could they bear to see little arms covered with scar after scar?

They had all seen with their own eyes the hideous, grotesque state of Si Qi’s arm back then.

They wanted to refuse, but when they saw Si Yu’s face, they couldn’t bring themselves to say “I won’t give you medicine to save your life.” All their suppressed emotions stayed bottled inside, and they grew increasingly weary of it.

Those who once unrestrainedly took the original body’s blood now personally experienced what it was like to be drained repeatedly. That obedient, lovable child had become someone who could only survive by consuming their flesh and blood. The longer it went on, the harder it was to bear.

They would think: If you truly were obedient and understanding, Si Yu, how could you bear to let so many of us suffer for you?

Losing the identity of a young master of the general’s manor—would that really mean you would lack food or drink? Why must you cling to that position and pretend ignorance?

The medicine you take is made from the blood drawn from me. Can you take it with peace of mind? How can you accept it so naturally?

The once harmonious family, without the “discordant” original body, instead grew more and more discordant.

Xiu Xiu said unhappily: [And whenever they complain that the general’s wife is pushing them too hard, they always curse you a few times as well, saying why didn’t you stay, why didn’t you bear all the trouble alone?]

Xiu Xiu was furious just hearing it.

Si Qi sneered: [They truly haven’t repented.]

[Exactly!] Xiu Xiu puffed angrily: [They even said you’d die outside sooner or later anyway, so why not die in the general’s manor for Si Yu, sacrificing your life. At least then they’d remember you fondly. Bah! I hate that family. They deserve to be sucked dry by Si Yu for life!]

Si Qi chuckled and ruffled the little one’s head.

[Don’t worry, they won’t have a good ending.]

Not long after Si Qi’s talk with Xiu Xiu, a majestic white eagle swooped down from the skies and landed firmly on Si Yi’s raised arm.

He reached for the small bamboo tube tied to the bird’s leg, took out the letter inside, and released the eagle. Si Yi scanned the paper quickly, then fell into thought.

Back when they let that merchant leave, Si Yi and his group had already prepared for the court to move against them. They just hadn’t expected the emperor to react so sensitively, directly dispatching troops.

Logically, the backlash shouldn’t have been so severe…

Had he realized something else?

Si Yi relayed the matter to the governors. The governors and county magistrates from several provinces looked at each other, equally surprised that the usually muddle-headed and inactive emperor would react so strongly.

The governor of Jiang Province glanced around and asked: “Where is Mister Si?”

“Mister doesn’t often interfere with our actions,” Si Yi answered.

“This matter is of great importance. It would be best for Mister to hear it.” The officials all held Si Qi in high esteem, always believing that any problem placed in his hands would receive the perfect solution.

Even if he said nothing after arriving, merely sitting there, to them he was a great pillar of strength.

So Si Yi had his men invite Si Qi over.

When Si Qi arrived, he glanced at the letter and immediately said: “The court is guided by sorcerers. Likely they sensed fluctuations in fortune here and realized Si Yi’s existence.”

The officials stared in shock, never expecting the exposure to come from that.

“The sorcerers’ methods are mysterious and unpredictable—truly impossible to guard against.” One official frowned. “If they siphon off our fortune…”

Then all the improvements in their lives would return to what they once were.

Si Yi asked Si Qi: “Can they really do such things from afar?”

“They can,” Si Qi replied with a smile, “but I won’t let them succeed.”

To play with the world’s power before the Main God himself—calling it “showing off before an expert” would be giving them too much credit.

Hearing this, the officials all let out a breath of relief.

Si Qi said: “I can ensure that the sorcerers accompanying the army will not be able to interfere with the battle. The rest is up to you.”

The officials broke into smiles and declared boldly: “Mister, rest assured. Leave this matter to us!”

Si Yi too nodded, fearless.

Xiu Xiu muttered softly: [The Child of the World has extraordinary fortune, destined never to lose. With Master helping behind the scenes, there’s no way this war can be lost…]

It was fortunate the emperor’s sorcerers didn’t know their true identities—otherwise they would have fled in terror overnight, carrying trains on their backs if need be.

The troops of the Autumn Dynasty were fully armed, pressing toward Liang Province. Si Yi and the county magistrates moved quickly, recruiting strong young men from all around.

The common people gathered around the posted notices outside the yamen, listening to the clerks read them aloud, buzzing with discussion.

“Why is the court sending troops to attack us? What did we do wrong?”

“They say it’s because the emperor covets the fine things Mister Si gave us. He wants to seize the factories, leaving us jobless and forcing us back to farming.”

“Farming? Why should we?! When we were starving before, the court didn’t care about us. Now that we can finally live better lives, they come to rob us and take our achievements. They’re trying to force us to die! To keep us slaves forever!”

“The magistrate is calling for recruits. Is it to resist the court? If so, I’ll enlist for sure—otherwise if the court reaches our doorstep, what will become of our families?”

“I never want to be oppressed by the court again. They never saw us as human.”

“Joining the army, the government guarantees three meals a day, plus pay. All we need to do is train. Honestly, they don’t even need to pay us—I’d bring my own rations!”

“The magistrate is too good to us… He saved me once back then.”

“Where do we sign up?”

“Why only those over sixteen? I think I’m already strong enough.”

The people whispered among themselves, their reactions fiery and passionate.

Knowing what disaster the imperial army would bring, they were eager, fearing only that the magistrates might obey the court and hand over all their treasures—forcing them back into misery.

Had they merely escaped disaster and remained poor, perhaps they wouldn’t have thought of resisting.

But this past year had been like living in a dream, their lives improving day by day, their children on the verge of enjoying happiness they’d never even dared to imagine. To return to the old days? They’d rather fight the court to the death!

Si Yi’s recruitment plan proceeded smoothly. How to drill troops, make weapons, command battles—ever since he had revealed his plans for the future to Mister, Mister had been guiding him, hand in hand.

Si Yi never doubted his dream could be realized, just as he never doubted Mister’s strength.

Three months later, the Autumn Dynasty’s army finally reached the border of Qu Province.

A deputy general rode up to General Si, smiling: “General, ahead is Qiliang County. Why not rest there a few days before continuing on to Liang Province?”

From the time they received the emperor’s orders to their arrival in the southern provinces, General Si’s army had taken over three months.

To Si Qi, it was as slow as a crawling turtle. But to General Si—who had known nothing but peace for centuries, with no real battles—this was already a rare hardship.

Dozens of days of weary marching left General Si exhausted. He ordered: “Send men ahead to the county, tell the magistrate to open the gates, arrange lodging, and prepare fine wine and dishes for our reception.”

The deputy general grinned, glad at the chance to rest, though he complained: “The further south we go, the harsher the environment. The wind cracks my skin—it’s unbearable. I wonder what the magistrate here can offer. Never mind meat and fish, but at least there should be good wine and women! Otherwise, how can we ease the hardship of the journey?”

General Si chuckled: “A county this size—surely they can provide that much. Just go. I doubt they’d dare to hide good things for themselves.”

The deputy general laughed heartily and called out to the soldiers: “Hurry up! Once we reach the county, the general permits you to eat and drink your fill—wine and meat for all!”

“Ohhh—” The soldiers, previously dragging their feet, cheered and quickened their pace.

But before their joy could last, thick smoke and dust suddenly rose ahead. From the far end of the plain appeared a massive, endless army, stretching beyond sight.

As the opposing army drew closer, a thunderous rumble rolled over like claps of thunder. Their steps were uniform, their momentum crushing and unstoppable, leaving General Si, who had hardly experienced real combat, utterly dumbfounded.

“Where did this army come from?!” he shouted in panic.

The sorcerer beside him had also turned pale, hastily taking out his instruments to calculate. A moment later, he spoke in alarm, “They are people gathered from all parts of Liang Province…”

“They couldn’t even afford to eat in recent years—how could they possibly have soldiers this formidable?!” General Si roared. “Even the troops I personally trained don’t have that kind of momentum. This must be a foreign army trespassing into our realm!”

The sorcerer’s face went blank.

The enemy was already within a few li, yet this man only just noticed them with his naked eyes. With vigilance like that, he dared to call his own force an elite unit?

And the speed at which they had marched from the capital to Qu Province over the last three months was so slow it was practically sightseeing. If these were truly foreign troops, they could have stormed into the capital in a month.

Moreover, his calculations clearly showed that every man in the opposing force was a subject of the Autumn Dynasty, all hailing from the south.

The sorcerer once again stressed, “They really are people from Liang Province and nearby regions.”

General Si’s face turned red and white in turn.

On the other side, every step, every grip of their spears was uniform and precise. Clearly, they had undergone strict centralized training and moved with seamless coordination—an obvious contrast to his own troops, who couldn’t even march properly.

The difference was too glaring, making it all the harder for him to accept.

Liang Province had only just begun to recover this past year. Until recently, they were suffering famine and floods, only lately managing to fill their bellies thanks to a stroke of better fortune.

And in such a short time, they had developed soldiers like these?

Wasn’t this a direct slap to his face?!

Hearing the restless murmurs of his own men behind him, General Si grew more irritable. He grabbed the sorcerer by the collar and shouted, “How did they know we were here, and even lay an ambush ahead of time? Did some sorcerer collude with them?!”

The sorcerer was speechless. “You’ve been marching for three months without ever concealing your movements. Of course they could spot you.”

“I—” General Si choked with frustration.

He knew full well that with such a large force, their movements couldn’t possibly go unnoticed. The problem was, he had never thought these people would dare to resist!

Back then, when the court treated them as sacrificial livestock, they hadn’t dared to defy orders at all. They even believed that their sacrifices would bring their surviving families a better life. Whatever the court said, they accepted.

This time, General Si had come expecting submission, imagining they would meekly hand over their craftsmen, even bind and deliver the runaway prince themselves. Who would have thought such rebellion could happen!

So they had made some glass mirrors and cups, grown sweet potatoes and corn to fill their stomachs. How dared they oppose the court? Weren’t they afraid of death?!

The sorcerer said from the side, “Judging by their disciplined formation, they must be prepared to fight you head-on, General. You must not underestimate them.”

General Si ground his teeth. “Of course I know that!”

The sorcerer fell silent, unease stirring in his heart.

Still, he believed that the Autumn Dynasty’s fortune would protect its emperor, ensuring his armies were invincible. So even if he thought General Si unreliable, he had no plans of fleeing. He told him, “I will condense the dynasty’s fortune upon you. Go fight without fear.”

General Si snorted coldly, gripping the red-tasseled spear at his waist. “Soldiers, hear my command! Slaughter these traitors!”

The troops behind him stirred restlessly, then followed the shouts of their officers into a charge.

Across the battlefield, Si Yi glared coldly at the chaotic mob and gave a steady order: “Form the Dragon-Serpent Array!”

The order spread quickly through the runners. Tens of thousands of men, guided by shouted signals, swiftly arranged into the dragon-serpent formation. Their months of relentless drills flowed from their bones into motion. With a thunderous roar, they surged forward.

The pampered capital soldiers had never faced such terrifying momentum before. Those charging in front instinctively slowed down, retreat already forming in their hearts before blades had even clashed.

Just then, an east wind swept in, lifting up clouds of dust beneath the soldiers’ feet, driving it straight into Si Yi’s ranks.

Far away in Liang Province, Si Qi lifted his head, his hand plucking the invisible strings of fate in the air.

The power of the world bent causality itself. The dust that should have blinded Si Yi’s soldiers merely obscured sightlines without causing any real hindrance.

Meanwhile, sharp blades pierced easily into enemy chests. The Autumn soldiers, unprepared for battle and not even wearing proper armor, shrieked in agony. Their cries for mercy spread quickly across the field.

At the rear, General Si and the sorcerers watched in shock as the two armies collided. On one side, a ferocious tide; on the other, men who could not resist for even a moment, shattered instantly by triangular kill-formations of blades, scattering into chaos.

Encircled by the rebels, the Autumn soldiers could not escape in any direction. Within a few breaths, swathes were cut down, bodies piling on the ground.

General Si was trembling, spear in hand, furious and terrified.

He could not understand how the battle had become so one-sided. A life of smooth sailing had never prepared him for such disaster. He turned to roar at the sorcerer—when suddenly, blood spurted across his vision. The sorcerer, still on horseback, toppled lifelessly to the ground, convulsing.

For a moment, General Si’s mind went blank. Then he cursed, yanked up another sorcerer, and shouted to his men, “Retreat! Withdraw at once!!”

Watching through the monitor, Xiu Xiu let out an exasperated “Uh…” and said, “This General Si is useless. Ten thousand against thirty thousand—he retreats the instant contact is made?”

Si Qi brushed the air with his fingers, diverting countless misfortunes that should have struck their side. Seeing the projection of the scene in his mind, he chuckled. “Truly a coward who only bullies his own people.”

At the same time, Si Yi, holding his telescope, saw the retreating commander’s banner. Spotting General Si fleeing in disgrace, he shouted, “Archers, prepare!”

At once, the rebels at the front halted their pursuit and quickly contracted back into formation.

The capital soldiers, realizing their enemies had stopped chasing, could no longer endure the feeling of being slaughtered like cattle. They turned and fled in all directions, weeping in terror.

But before they got far, a hiss filled the sky—countless arrows arcing overhead like a vast net, blotting out the sun. They rained down, piercing the fleeing men.

Like stalks of grain cut by a sickle, soldiers fell in waves mid-run, leaving behind corpses and groaning wounded strewn across the field.

Before setting out, Si Yi had put his men through several mock drills. Si Qi, who had observed, had affirmed his months of preparation. Si Yi had imagined his first battle might end in victory.

But witnessing firsthand how pitifully weak the enemy was, how quickly they broke, still left him stunned, question marks flashing through his mind.

How could victory be this easy?

Still, he wasted no time and shouted, “Press the advantage, pursue them!”

The soldiers around him, drenched in blood and gripping their blades, were wild with excitement.

They had been nervous before setting out, even fearful. But months of training under their officers had burned discipline into their bodies. Who would have thought it would work so well?

The so-called capital troops were nothing but fragile cowards, timid as rabbits in a field.

Thinking of all the years of suffering under their oppression, thinking of their families waiting at home for news of triumph, the men roared and charged ahead with merciless blades.

Sir, take me to rebel (12): 

The one hundred thousand strong army that took three months to finally reach the border of Qu Province did not accomplish anything before being ambushed right at the doorstep and utterly annihilated.

The military report took only a week to reach the capital from Qu Province.

The entire imperial court was stunned.

The ministers, filled with righteous indignation, submitted memorials asking the emperor to dispatch troops to exterminate these traitors and rebels, in order to safeguard the prestige of the Qiu dynasty.

The emperor, furious, ordered three hundred thousand troops to set out immediately along with twenty sorcerers toward the Liang Province region. At the same time, he sent envoys to Liang Province demanding the local governors present themselves in the capital to confess their crimes and accept punishment.

Unfortunately, the envoys, though sent with great momentum, never managed to see any governor. Along the way, the enraged common people, upon hearing the news, beat them nearly to death and dumped them at the gates of the Qiu army’s camp at night. The emperor was so enraged that he smashed his glazed bowls to pieces.

The three hundred thousand troops, full of ill intent, met up not far outside Qu Province with General Si and his ragged remnants who had barely escaped with their lives. Across from the trenches dug by Si and his men, the army launched a fierce assault, but the first volley of arrows claimed over a thousand lives.

Next, the first wave of cavalry that barely managed to charge through the arrow storm had not yet crossed the enormous trench before suddenly being stopped by thick ropes that had somehow sprung up from the ground.

The galloping horses fell in unison, many snapping their legs from the violent momentum. The riders were either killed instantly with crushed organs or trampled to death by the mounts charging from behind.

The fallen horses blocked the path forward, clearly slowing the army’s advance. Another volley of arrows rained down, and screams filled the air.

General Si, haggard after being hunted by the rebels for half a month, looked at the battlefield ahead, his face dark as iron. He kept roaring furiously at the sorcerers beside him who were collapsing one by one: “Why is this happening, why?!”

Weren’t they supposed to be protected by destiny itself, unstoppable and invincible? Why?!

One sorcerer after another fell, gasping: “No… how could this be…”

An elderly sorcerer, rashly straining against the backlash of fate, collapsed weakly to the ground, his voice fading: “…there are sorcerers… helping them… stronger than…”

Before he finished, he fainted.

The first clash ended in a crushing defeat for the Qiu army.

Seeing the field littered with corpses and wounded soldiers, the Qiu commanders no longer dared to take reckless risks relying on their supposed fortune. From a thousand meters away they glared at the rebels, stuck in stalemate, unable to advance or retreat.

The court, enraged at the news, sent more reinforcements and provisions, determined to make these traitors pay.

Meanwhile, many merchants in the capital who heard of the matter became deeply tempted by the priceless glazed bowls and mirrors. Where there is great profit, there are always brave men—merchants were no exception. Fearing that once the emperor conquered Liang Province the artisans would no longer sell such glassware, they hurried south, secretly bypassing the confrontation zone, and entered Liang Province from elsewhere. Seeing the prosperity there, so different from the rumors, they were left in awe.

Afraid they would lose the chance if they didn’t buy now, the merchants purchased goods on a massive scale. Cart after cart of merchandise was transported throughout the Qiu lands, while Si and his men collected large sums in customs duties, gaining considerable wealth from the trade.

The merchants dared not sell openly, so they used smuggling routes. Nobles and officials, long yearning for such treasures, were unwilling to lag behind once others began using them. Silver poured out in abundance, delighting the merchants. After selling their stock and seeing the emperor still had not taken Liang Province, they grew bolder and returned to discover even more treasures they had missed before…

By the time the emperor realized, he was shocked to find that while he spent endless manpower and resources sending troops thousands of miles away to destroy the rebels, his own people were lining the rebels’ pockets with silver, indirectly strengthening them.

Waging war itself was already costly—feeding tens of thousands daily in remote lands drained the treasury. Even the wealthiest coffers could not endure for long.

Meanwhile, Si and his followers had cities at their backs, eating as much as they pleased for years if need be, not fearing a prolonged war at all.

As one side declined and the other flourished, the emperor realized his massive army had made no progress in months and finally grasped the gravity of the situation.

But realization was useless. The problem was no longer whether he could defeat the rebels, but whether they, emboldened, would turn on him instead.

If not for the palace sorcerers’ repeated assurance that the Qiu dynasty’s destiny still overwhelmingly favored him over the rebels, the emperor might not have stayed calm.

Helpless, he left two hundred thousand soldiers stationed in the barren land, watching the rebels’ every move.

Because the cost of transporting provisions was too great, some ministers, after consulting old records, suggested letting the soldiers farm the land themselves.

The idea sounded good, but it was extremely difficult in practice.

First, the soil there was too poor to grow much, far from enough to feed the soldiers.

Second, the pampered soldiers had never endured hardship. With nothing there—no food, no housing, scarce drinking water—they quickly suffered. Away from the capital’s protective fortune, their faces and hands cracked under the harsh winds. Allergies, acclimation issues, and illnesses spread. No herbs could be found, and dwindling medical supplies barely sufficed. Life was bitter beyond words.

They could not fathom how anyone could survive there. Their spirits visibly withered.

By contrast, the tens of thousands of rebels across from them thrived, living happily, tirelessly training with strict discipline, their shouts resounding day and night. Fear slowly crept into the Qiu soldiers’ hearts toward these once-despised “commoners.”

The standoff dragged on so long that the rebel army swelled from thirty thousand to fifty thousand, so long that Liang Province’s goods flooded the Qiu lands, so long that bold nobles even followed merchants to visit Liang Province and witness its prosperity surpassing the capital.

On wide, flat roads, crowds with fair faces and neat clothes bustled about.

Several young nobles in silks, surrounded by attendants, curiously stomped the paved road beneath their feet, then gazed down the endless stretch, bewildered: “How could such huge stones be laid so flat and smooth?”

Not even the road to the palace in the capital had stones so vast and polished like paper.

If not for their own eyes, they would never have believed it.

Just a few years ago, this place was spoken of as a famine-stricken backwater where people could not even eat.

And now?

These pampered nobles, born in the capital, felt like the true bumpkins, while the houses here rose two or three stories high, with windows luxuriously made of glass simply to let in more light.

The shops’ goods amazed them further. Books that would cost dozens or hundreds of taels in the capital were sold here for a few coins. Even vegetable sellers read them during spare moments, asking neighboring shopkeepers how to pronounce words—studious beyond the nobles themselves.

At the inns, the details shocked them further. Toilets were indoors, so clean that one would not know their purpose.

Clear water flowed from a “faucet” just by twisting it, without servants hauling buckets. The self-proclaimed worldly nobles studied the faucet for half a day but could not fathom how water flowed through walls without any river nearby.

As for the glass bottles and blue-and-white porcelain set casually on tables, any one of them would fetch hundreds of taels in the capital. Yet here, with inn fees only fifty coins a day, the proprietors feared no theft—they were simply not valuable in Liang Province.

When they saw the so-called schools, hospitals, and administrative districts, they were left speechless.

At first they still criticized the women walking freely in public, decried the schooling of girls, and condemned the private forging of iron and production of salt…

After eating the thing called cake, tasting roasted meat seasoned with all kinds of spices, seeing an office building as tall as seven stories, and then witnessing physicians of Liang Province easily curing illnesses long known to be fatal…

The young nobles grew more and more silent, until at last they could no longer utter a single arrogant word.

At that time, it had been only two years since they first learned of the existence of glazed mirrors, yet Liang Province had already developed this far.

So in another two years, five years, or even ten years—

Could the capital still claim to be the most prosperous city of the Qiu dynasty? Could they still claim to be its noblest people?

With such thoughts, after being struck by reality for several days in Liang Province, the young nobles calmed down and took the initiative to speak with the common folk.

For the first time, they learned that the rule of women not going out freely was mostly a custom of great households. For ordinary people, who once could not even afford food, how could women in their twenties live like noble ladies doing nothing at home, waiting to be supported? Of course they had to farm, go out, buy and sell things. There was never such a rigid rule against meeting men.

As for little girls studying with boys, that was easier to understand. Few had ever had the chance to study before. Now it was possible only thanks to the magistrates and Master Si providing schooling free of charge. The county magistrate had decreed that girls must attend classes, and if discovered otherwise, their parents would be punished. After completing their studies, girls could seek jobs or even official posts without issue.

Although in Qiu society it was commonly believed that women could not enter government service, and needlework was valued more than literacy, once the government declared that studying was useful, and since the people trusted the government so deeply, they naturally believed it. After all, in these times, needlework had no future compared to education. Who cared about weaving when a textile mill could produce so much daily? But entering an office, one could earn a fine salary simply by wielding a brush.

Because they had never been so bound by convention, they were in fact less restricted by rules.

If they dared to rebel, why would they not dare to go to school?

Hearing the common people speak, the young nobles found it absurd, yet at the same time oddly reasonable.

If anything seemed unreasonable, it was only by the standards of Qiu dynasty etiquette. But in reality, Liang Province’s development over the past two years clearly showed who was right and who was wrong—and certainly not the province where the people lived well.

The nobles who came with curiosity returned with heavy hearts.

Back in the capital, they told family and friends what they had seen and heard. Many did not believe them, but many did. More and more people quietly entered Liang Province, eating food far tastier than any capital restaurant, using objects seemingly ordinary yet crafted with unmatched refinement, tasting candies that ought to be priceless, playing all kinds of novel games, and finally gazing at the massive dams and waterwheels rolling on the great river, sighing deeply—unable to repeat the lie that “the rebels are nothing much.”

In truth, compared to the capital, the rapidly advancing Liang Province had already surpassed it in many ways.

And yet, this “remote region,” while defying the court, continued its own development undisturbed, ignoring the emperor’s growing anxiety and living ever better.

Many people, while still saying “our dynasty’s destiny is flourishing, we fear no enemy,” had already begun to see the people of Liang not as fellow subjects but as a powerful neighboring nation that could swallow the Qiu dynasty at any time.

Even the people of Liang themselves no longer wished to call themselves Qiu subjects.

At first, they said they were Liang people. Then, finding it strange to say so when not living in Liang itself, they said, “we follow Master Si, we are his people.”

After a while, it became, “we are people of the Si State.” They spoke of “your Qiu dynasty” and “our Si State,” proud to call themselves Si people.

The names of Si Qi and Si Yi spread wider as Si State rose, and the deeds of this master and disciple became known to all.

No one knew who Si Qi was or where he came from. Even the General’s household never connected him with the frail boy who had once fled from their home.

But as for Si Yi’s origins, under deliberate promotion by the governors of Liang, the story was made public.

Of royal blood, born with astonishing destiny, his life force was coveted by his father, who sought to seize it. Imprisoned in the harem, he suffered inhuman abuse for years.

Six years ago, discovered and rescued by Master Si, he was taken in as his disciple. Since then, he had worked tirelessly, contributing greatly to the people of Si State and saving countless lives.

Now Master Si stayed mostly behind the scenes, seldom appearing. The policies of Si State, and even the battles with Qiu, were handled personally by this student.

Though young, his skills were reliable, his learning broad, his character steady. He was deeply loved by governors and magistrates alike.

Most people already considered him the future emperor of Si State. Apart from Si Qi, who cared nothing for power, none was more suited to the throne.

Thus, in the third spring of the standoff, the emperor, weary of delay, sent envoys to negotiate with Si State. They proposed ceding the Liang region entirely to Si Yi as a vassal state. In return, Si Yi must not invade Qiu, must send yearly tribute, must not sell specialty goods directly to merchants but only through Qiu, and must send artisans to share their knowledge with the court.

When the emperor wrote these terms, he felt utterly humiliated, as if disgracing the nation. Yet he thought: compared to ceding land, what harm in taking a few things? All of Qiu was his anyway. If he deigned to accept goods, it was their blessing, adding imperial glory to them.

But when Si Yi and his people heard the envoy’s words, their faces were expressionless as ice. With a wave, they had the trembling envoy dragged out and dumped at the gates.

The envoy was miserable.

The emperor wanted to trade barren land, long exploited and worthless, for treasures that brought endless wealth. He wanted to seize trade rights, cut off revenue, and demand that an equal rival become his vassal and pay yearly tribute. How could he dream so beautifully?

After the envoy tried to explain, the emperor flew into a rage, overturning his desk. Worse still, he could do nothing to punish Si State militarily. Persuaded by sycophantic ministers, he rewrote the treaty again and again, furious enough to want to cut the rebels down with a blade. At last, the envoy carried the edict to Si State.

This time the emperor’s terms were more reasonable: he recognized Si State, ceded the land, allowed trade between the two states, but reserved the right to collect heavy customs duties. His only demand was that Si Yi not violate Qiu’s borders—else there would be war.

Qiu spoke with confidence. With centuries of history, their destiny had always been overwhelmingly strong. They did not believe their armies could lose in their own lands, even if they had suffered in Si State’s cursed territory. If Si dared to invade, it would be their soldiers who paid.

Si Qi understood their confidence, for they did have reason.

Xiu Xiu once asked: “Master, why don’t you directly control the world’s power and shift Qiu’s destiny over to us?”

Si Qi replied: “I want the people of this world never again to believe in destiny, never again to depend on it. If I used fate to help Si Yi, wouldn’t that give them false hope—that destiny can be trusted, so long as it’s in the right hands?”

By now, the people of Si State hated sorcerers bitterly, convinced destiny was nothing but a curse, and embraced Si Qi’s belief that humans could triumph over heaven, relying only on their own strength to live on this barren land.

Even many Qiu nobles now doubted the sorcerers. Otherwise, how could Si State, once a backwater, have grown so quickly, and even gained the upper hand in the standoff?

The sorcerers themselves had no answer. Their theories were not wrong—but Si State had played a bad hand brilliantly, while Qiu’s pampered people squandered their advantages. How could they argue?

They too feared Si’s strength. Their future ruler had been tormented by them for years—surely he hated them deeply. If Qiu lost, none of them could hope for mercy.

Not only Si Yi, but even the common folk they once sacrificed would gladly tear them apart to vent their rage.

Many sorcerers finally realized their misuse of fate had been a mistake. Far from helping, it only hastened death and ruin. But regret came too late.

Among them were many executioners who never valued life, already corrupted beyond return. They had no path but to sink deeper into darkness.

Si Yi ignored the emperor’s offers of peace, focusing only on building his power. The emperor finally saw they were determined to rebel, to seize the throne, to force him down. Whether or not Si could be defeated, he gave the order: General Si and the others must attack, crush Si State, and kill Si Yi, Si Qi, and all the traitors.

War was on the brink.

Si Yi and the governors had long prepared, and with three extra years they had accomplished much—bringing gunpowder to the battlefield.

What the emperor thought would be a war lasting months or years did not drag on. The Si soldiers, eager for vengeance, charged with sharp weapons and sturdy armor.

Behind them stood giant crossbows, before them fierce gunpowder blasting city walls, and within Qiu itself, agents placed through trade routes, opening gates, swaying hearts, calming the people.

In only two months, Si Yi led his army into the capital. There they found the emperor, face dark as iron, forced to kneel before the throne, held down by his own soldiers.

At the sight of the emperor’s face, Si Yi’s steady steps suddenly froze.

Sir, take me to rebel (9): 

In the golden autumn of September, the tax officials arrived in Liang Province, fierce and imposing.

Before they even had the chance to sneer at how Liang Province had managed to survive until now, the tax officials were led by the governor into a heavily guarded treasury, where they saw a mirror smooth as glass, crafted with a skill so divine it seemed like a gift from the heavens.

Staring at the arrogant figure reflected in the mirror, the tax official’s hands trembled with excitement. He did not dare touch the treasure but turned around to reveal a greedy expression to the governor, dropping hints and outright words in hopes of obtaining it.

The governor understood perfectly and played along. The two conversed cheerfully inside the storeroom, and the tax official never mentioned increasing taxes. What were taxes compared to such a treasure that could endure through the ages? Naturally, the priority was to obtain it by any means.

His only thought was to present the mirror to the emperor in exchange for rewards. He ordered his men to carefully transport the fragile object onto a cart, terrified it might be damaged. Personally accompanying the convoy, he rushed back to the capital as fast as possible.

Watching his elated figure leave, the governor sneered inwardly at his lack of vision. Turning back, he adjusted his attire in front of an even larger mirror in his own chamber, feeling a thrill as though he had indirectly outshone the emperor himself.

Yes, he was just that petty.

When the master of ceremonies returned, what he saw were the governor and others looking smug and self-satisfied.

Earlier that summer, locusts had struck a county in Qu Province. To prevent nearby counties from being affected, the master of ceremonies rushed there with his men.

Locust plagues were, by nature, common every few years. Normally, what was needed was to spot them early in spring, prevent their spread, and kill the disaster before it began.

But thanks to the sorcerers of the Qiuchao dynasty, there had been no such locust plagues for many years. The people had completely forgotten such things even existed and naturally did not remember to guard against them.

Now, as swarms of locusts descended, months of crops were reduced to scraps. The farmers broke down in despair, helpless as their future food supply was devoured before their eyes.

Local officials panicked and sent desperate pleas for aid to the court—with predictable results.

Just when hope seemed lost, the disciple of the famed Mr. Si arrived with supplies and manpower. To the locals, it was more precious than a timely gift of life-saving coal in the snow.

Before the county magistrate could even properly host him, the master of ceremonies declared he must leave immediately: the swarm, after stripping these fields, would soon move on to others, so preparations had to be made in advance.

The magistrate ground his teeth upon learning that the swarm would not die off after destroying their fields, but instead would go on to ravage others.

On instinct, he asked if there was anything he could do to help. To his relief, the master of ceremonies readily agreed, “Of course, your assistance would be most welcome.”

Thus, chickens, ducks, and even frogs from the fields were brought forth by the outraged locals, who marched to the next county in a show of determination, startling its magistrate.

Fortunately, Si Qi’s reputation was already widespread. Though the nobles in the capital cared little for the survival of distant commoners, the people here cared deeply.

When word spread that the locusts might arrive, the magistrate immediately opened the city gates, welcomed the master of ceremonies, and asked for guidance.

He instructed them to search the soil for locust eggs, release the borrowed chickens and ducks into the fields, forbid the hunting of birds during this time, and set up fire pits in different locations to burn the swarms, taking advantage of their attraction to light. Though the magistrate did not understand at first, he still followed the advice to the letter.

The locals were confused at first, even eyeing the chickens and ducks as potential meals.

But when the refugees from the neighboring county arrived, weeping as they described the devastation, the people here were frightened into action. They wasted no time in scouring the fields for locust eggs.

And sure enough, the swarms came, darkening the sky like a nightmare.

Strangely, this time the swarm was smaller, not larger, proving that the preparations had worked.

Some who had never seen such horror were paralyzed with fear. Yet the army of chickens and ducks rushed forward without hesitation, devouring locusts faster than the desperate farmers themselves.

Only then did everyone understand their purpose, and they were filled with admiration for the young master’s wisdom. No longer willing to be outdone, they joined in the slaughter.

Through day and night of tireless effort, countless locusts perished in the fire pits. After teaching his methods, the master of ceremonies hurried on to warn the next county. Those who witnessed his deeds were overwhelmed with gratitude, and yet another story was added to the legend of master and disciple.

After a whole autumn of work, he finally fulfilled the task entrusted to him and returned to Liang Province with honor.

There, in the marketplace, he saw the mirror.

The master of ceremonies disliked mirrors—they reminded him of his own ugliness, and of how unworthy he seemed standing beside his ethereal teacher.

He could not help recalling the drawing his teacher had once made of a man so handsome he seemed divine. To him, the slight smile on that man’s lips was like mockery, as if to remind him to give up.

He casually set down the so-called priceless treasure that others coveted, feeling none of the emperor’s obsession for it. Instead, he went home, bathed, dressed neatly, applied a refreshing fragrance, and trimmed his nails with care.

Satisfied with his appearance, he ignored the teasing looks of his men waiting outside and went to his teacher’s residence.

Si Qi was leisurely enjoying his afternoon tea.

While most teachers risked being outshone by their disciples, Si Qi simply let his disciple do all the work while he relaxed.

The young man, though exhausted from months of travel, felt all his weariness vanish the instant he saw his teacher, as though he were floating.

Almost dreamlike, he drifted over, murmuring “Teacher” in a voice so meek it would have shocked those who knew his usual sternness.

Si Qi beckoned him to sit, poured him tea, and handed him a pastry.

Behind the mask, the young man’s ears burned red, and he struggled to speak.

But his eyes shone with unrestrained affection and longing.

“What happened while you were away? Did you gain anything?” Si Qi asked warmly.

With that prompt, the disciple eagerly began to speak, skipping over all hardship and sorrow, telling only cheerful tales with lively detail that made even Si Qi laugh.

His smile was cool and effortless, otherworldly, filled with an allure that made the disciple lose himself in admiration.

He stared blankly until Si Qi raised a brow and flicked his forehead. The boy cried out, covering his head, half complaining, half acting spoiled.

“Teacher!”

“If anyone else looked at me like that, they wouldn’t get away with just a flick,” Si Qi remarked.

The boy’s heart leapt. “So I am special to Teacher after all!”

“Do you want me to send you away again?” Si Qi replied dryly.

The boy backed down quickly, muttering, “Teacher, please don’t…”

Ignored, jealousy gnawed at him, and he whispered, “Why does Teacher favor that man so much? What’s so good about him?”

“The one I love is good in every way,” Si Qi snorted.

“For example?” the boy pressed.

“For example, he is handsome.”

The disciple froze, touched his masked face, and wilted. “Teacher always bullies me.”

He knew full well that was his sorest spot.

But almost at once he cheered up. “But Teacher only bullies me, never others. That means you do like me best.”

“…”

Si Qi shot him a sideways glance. “You’ve not only grown taller over the years, your skin has grown thicker.”

The boy grinned. “And so has my respect and love for Teacher.”

Si Qi shook his head with a smile.

Seeing no trace of displeasure, the boy finally relaxed.

He only wished that Chu Feng would stay gone a little longer, so he could slowly win over Teacher’s heart.

Once he became master of the realm, wielding ultimate power, he refused to believe anyone but him could be worthy of Teacher.

Surely, Teacher would forget that long-missing man and come to love him—young, brilliant, and full of promise.

…

The glazed mirror appeared in court. Ministers surrounded it, praising the perfect clarity of its reflections with flowery words. Soon, all of the capital knew of the treasure, longing for a glimpse to satisfy their hearts’ desire.

Along with the articles came trading caravans traveling throughout the Qiu Dynasty.

Because the remote regions were barren and poor, with little profit to be made, caravans that normally operated around the capital rarely ventured to such desolate places. Better not to risk making no money and instead being robbed by dirty, desperate disaster victims.

This year was slightly different. Winter had just ended, spring flowers were blooming, the weather was pleasant, and the caravan from the Northern City leisurely arrived in Liang Province.

They did not bring much cargo, but their entourage of tall, strong attendants was unusually large.

A young man traveling with the caravan whispered to his elder brother, “This place looks so desolate. Its fortune must be poor. Why come here to trade?”

The elder brother smiled and explained, “Where vegetation is lush, fortune is strong. Naturally, one should trade in such blessed lands. But even though Liang Province looks ruined, there are still people here. As long as there are people, there is business.”

The younger brother objected, “But they can’t even afford food. How would they have money?”

The elder laughed loudly. “Who says you must trade for money? Don’t you know that sometimes a human life is cheaper than a blade of grass?”

The younger one looked puzzled. “Brother, I don’t understand.”

The elder lightly tapped his brother’s head with a fan. “You’ll understand soon enough.”

The farther they went, the drier the land became, withered grass and barren trees everywhere. After traveling dozens of li, not a single trickling stream could be found. It was hard to imagine anything living here.

The group grew uneasy at the bleak sight, but the elder brother looked satisfied. He said, “For years, Liang Province has suffered famine after famine. The court keeps receiving pleas for aid. Now it’s clear—they really can’t go on anymore.”

The younger thought his brother’s tone strangely cheerful.

“Later, keep an eye out for pretty-faced girls and tall, strong, capable men.”

The younger’s heart skipped. “Brother?”

The elder laughed. “I’ll rescue them from misery, give them food and clothes, and send them to a place where they’ll want for nothing. They should be grateful to me.”

The younger suddenly understood, stammering, “But… but you’re going to sell them as—”

“Prostitutes and slaves at least get fed,” the elder said matter-of-factly. “You don’t know how awful hunger feels. If I hand them a piece of dry bread and send them somewhere better, they’ll fight each other to kneel and beg me to take them.”

The younger, raised in comfort, felt his heart race with unease at such words.

“Listen. If they sell themselves, at least they remain human. If the court seizes them, their fate will be no better than pigs and dogs.” The elder smiled as he lectured. “We are different from them. Born in the capital, we are noble by nature. Don’t grow soft-hearted and ruin my business, or Mother and Father will be disappointed in you.”

The younger’s throat went dry. “Mother and Father think this way too?”

“Everyone does. Otherwise, why are we carefree while they suffer disaster after disaster?” The elder explained. “Do you think fortune comes for free? For you to live well, someone else must suffer.”

The boy pursed his lips, his young mind shaken.

At that moment, the attendants ahead shouted that they saw city walls. The group quickened their pace, eager to rest.

The younger had already pictured emaciated, half-dead wretches lying in the dirt like dying dogs, reeking and stretching out hands for food. He covered his nose in advance.

But before he even saw the scene inside, he heard the lively sounds of prosperity from beyond the gates.

The group froze in place.

The armored gate guards frowned. “What’s wrong with you all?”

The elder brother stared in confusion at the sight ahead. “Is this not Liang Province?”

The guard looked annoyed. “Of course this is Liang Province. You don’t even know where you are?”

“But… but—” the elder stammered.

“Well, are you coming in or not?” the guard pressed.

“Y-yes… we’re coming…”

“Entry fee: one coin per person, three per cart of goods.”

“So cheap?” the naïve younger brother muttered, earning a glare from his elder.

Even though still bewildered, the elder knew enough to seize a bargain.

The younger stuck out his tongue.

Once inside, the group’s eyes widened at the sight of the bustling crowd.

It wasn’t that they couldn’t believe people here were still alive—and well-fed at that.

The shocking part was the clothes on their backs, the shoes on their feet—what were these things?

The guards noticed their stunned expressions and, out of pity, asked, “Where have you fled from?”

The merchants from the prosperous capital blinked. “What?”

“I knew it—you must have had a hard life before,” the guard said kindly. “But don’t worry, now that you’re here, you’ll be fine.”

The group was speechless, feeling oddly insulted.

“We’re not refugees! We’re here to trade!” the younger shouted, face flushed.

The guard blinked, then studied them. Their muscles were full, they didn’t look underfed. But their long robes and rough hemp clothing… something clicked in his mind.

His voice turned colder. “So you’re merchants. What do you intend to sell?”

“We…” The younger faltered, glancing at his brother nervously.

Were they really going to offer those dry, tasteless cakes in exchange for forcing people into servitude, prostitution, and slavery? Saying such a thing aloud might get them beaten to death.

The elder’s face reddened, and through clenched teeth he forced out, “Naturally, fine goods from the capital.”

They might be rejects discarded by the nobles, but to these commoners, they should still count as treasures.

When the guard heard “fine goods from the capital,” he did show some interest.

It had been years since a caravan from the capital had come this way.

The elder noticed the longing on the guard’s face, felt a brief swell of pride, then tensed, bracing himself for extortion.

But the guard only glanced at the cart, didn’t even step closer, and said nothing suggestive.

The elder: ??

Why wasn’t he following the usual script?

Seeing the elder staring, the guard thought he understood and said, “If you want to sell, go to the western market. Lots of people there, easy to trade.”

The elder felt uneasy, thinking the man was hinting at something. He quickly forced a smile, pulled out a money pouch, and tried to slip it to the guard to avoid trouble later.

And yet that man had no idea what he was trying to do. Suddenly something was shoved into his hand, and he pulled away warily, asking what he meant by it.

He was left speechless, so he opened the money pouch with a forced smile, saying it was just a small token of goodwill.

The soldier finally understood his intention, his expression extremely peculiar. That reaction was something the older brother would never forget for the rest of his life: “Do you not know that taking bribes is against the law?”

The older brother: “…”

Completely at a loss for words, the older brother could only bow stiffly, stifling his frustration, and call his men to leave.

It seemed that ever since entering Liang Province, nothing had gone the way he had anticipated.

On the way to the western market, they observed the passing pedestrians. The people’s faces were ruddy, their skin full, showing no signs of famine at all. Compared with the barren landscape they had seen along the road, the more they thought about it, the stranger it seemed.

The younger brother tugged at his sleeve: “Brother, didn’t you say that in places where the vegetation is desolate, the fortune must already be dead? What about these people…”

The elder admitted, ignoring his usual pride: “I don’t know. There’s something odd about this place.”

The younger brother was startled: “Could it be we’ve entered some kind of ghost city? All of this is just illusions created by demons!”

Everyone shuddered at the thought, their hair standing on end. The older brother’s temple vein bulged, and he smacked his brother on the head with his fan: “Are you awake now?!”

The younger cried out in pain, clutching his head and looking tearfully around. Seeing nothing had changed, he said innocently, “If this were a dream, I should be awake now.”

“Then it seems you weren’t dreaming.” The older brother snapped.

The younger looked aggrieved. Just then, he noticed a little girl of six or seven holding candied hawthorn and staring at him. Feeling embarrassed, he asked her, “Are you a spirit creature?”

The girl looked baffled. The boy quickly covered it up with glib words: “I mean, you’re pretty, like a spirit from a dream.”

The woman beside the girl chuckled, picked up her daughter, and said, “Little brother, you’re not bad-looking yourself, rosy-cheeked and bright-eyed, like a child from a New Year’s painting.”

The boy had never been complimented like that before, and his face immediately flushed red.

The older brother glanced sideways at the woman. Seeing her well-dressed but with no servants following, speaking so casually to strange men, he silently cursed her for being improper. Outwardly, however, he showed none of it, smiling as he asked, “Madam, the cloth you wear looks so delicate, and the color so bright. May I ask where you purchased it?”

The woman had already noticed the group’s travel-worn appearance and plain clothes, but she had no intention of mocking them. Smiling, she said, “This is cotton cloth. If you want to buy some, just go to the market over there.”

Then, curious, she asked, “Where did you flee from?”

Most who came here had done so because they could no longer survive where they were, seeking a new path. In the city, anyone dressed in plain hemp clothes without the distinctive accessories of Liang Province was easy to spot as an outsider, and recently arrived at that.

The group was startled, once again feeling insulted.

The older brother restrained his anger. “We are not refugees. We are merchants from the capital!” He deliberately stressed the word capital.

“Wow, the capital!” The woman’s expression instantly turned to shock, her gaze carrying a trace of awe. “I spoke thoughtlessly just now, please forgive me—”

“As long as you understand.” The older brother cut her apology short with a cold face and turned to leave.

The younger looked at the uneasy woman, then at his grim-faced brother. He felt she had not meant to offend. Wanting to smooth things over but unable to find the words, he hurriedly bowed slightly in apology before quickly following after his brother.

“Brother, don’t be angry. She said she didn’t mean it—”

“Long hair, short sense,” the older brother said harshly. “I see the women here strolling freely in the streets, chatting casually with men. Likely, after years of hunger, they’ve done all sorts of things, so they care nothing for their reputation.”

The younger froze, hurt by his words. “How can you…”

His usually refined and courteous brother, who always greeted others with a smile, why was he so harsh toward the people here?

After all, the woman had kindly explained where the fabric came from and even gave them directions. She had only asked out of curiosity where they were from.

The older brother’s face hardened. “Have you forgotten what I told you earlier?”

The people living here were lowly, doomed to desperation. They were not the same as them.

“…I understand.”

The boy’s face showed distress. Apologetically, he lowered his head. Out of the corner of his eye, he suddenly caught sight of something. His body went rigid, and he rushed forward.

“You!” the older brother barked angrily, quickly chasing after him. “Just a few words of scolding and you act so thoughtlessly.”

“No, that’s not it,” the boy said breathlessly, flushed with excitement. Carefully picking something up from a stall, he showed his brother. “Brother, look! Isn’t this a glazed mirror?”

The older brother stopped in his tracks. His gaze fell on the man reflected in the glass.

Snatching it from his brother’s hands, his fingertips trembled slightly.

The man in the mirror looked agitated, every detail down to the trembling eyelashes clear as day. Just as the rumors had said, it was flawless, smooth as jade.

He quickly tucked it away carefully into his chest and barked at his brother, “Go, now!”

“Hey, hey, hey! What are you doing?!” The stall owner shouted, stopping them. “You’re trying to steal?!”

The surrounding crowd turned to stare. The older brother froze in place, his expression darkening.

Their attendants instinctively reached for their weapons, ready to cut a bloody path, but the younger noticed the stall was full of such mirrors. He quickly tugged at his brother’s sleeve, shouting, “Brother, look! There are lots of them here!”

Sir, take me to rebel (10): 

The eldest brother impatiently lowered his head to glance, then his whole body stiffened.

His eyes stared fixedly at that pile of mirrors, his expression blank, his mind filled with visions of a glorious future, leading his family to the peak of life.

He walked over to the stall owner, who looked displeased, and said: “This gla… these things, how much are they? I’ll take them all.”

To think that such treasures were casually placed next to those ceramic jars—truly a bunch of shortsighted fools.

No wonder they lived in Liang Province, their lives so miserable. It was all because they were too stupid.

That worked in his favor though…

The stall owner frowned and said: “All of them? Do you even know how much this costs? Shan, yu, bing, xi.”

He stared at the clothes on the eldest brother and his companions: “You can’t even afford a cotton coat, and you want to buy mirrors?”

The eldest brother suddenly felt insulted by these lowly folk, but endured the humiliation and said: “Of course I have money. Hurry, tell me, how much?”

The stall owner lowered his head, counted the mirrors, and said: “Altogether eighteen mirrors. One mirror for fifteen coins, so in total it’s…”

He paused for two seconds, then said: “Two hundred and seventy coins.”

The only brothers present who knew arithmetic froze for a moment.

The younger brother counted on his fingers, then after a long while said with amazement: “It really is two hundred and seventy coins!!”

The eldest brother looked at the elderly stall owner with a complicated expression and said: “Your arithmetic is indeed not bad.”

The stall owner replied casually: “Oh, it’s nothing. Even little kids know this.”

That winter the officials had taught them a lot of knowledge for free. With nothing else to do at home, they learned quite a bit alongside their children.

The eldest brother was at a loss for words: “…………”

That strange sense of dislocation grew stronger in his heart. The young man didn’t dare waste time. Without asking anything further, he carefully wrapped the mirrors with cloth, then threw enough coins at the stall owner.

The stall owner, not minding their rough manner, counted the coins and then eagerly promoted more goods: “Since you’re so interested in mirrors, why not see if you like these?”

The eldest brother only wanted to leave quickly and return to the capital, so he turned away in silence.

But the younger brother, curious about everything, ran over, looked, and picked something up: “Uncle, what’s this?”

“That’s an arithmetic card,” the old man said kindly, knowing these people hadn’t even learned basic math. “With this, calculations become easy.”

The eldest brother, ready to leave, paused mid-step.

He had witnessed the old man’s arithmetic skill himself—it was impressive.

If it was really as he said, it wouldn’t hurt to take a look.

His gaze fell on the small cards in his brother’s hand. His eyes glazed, and he quickly snatched them away.

The younger brother, repeatedly robbed: “…………”

Ignoring his brother’s feelings, the eldest brother touched the smooth surface of the card, felt its thickness, and studied the neatly printed characters. The writing was clear, uniform in size, and identical page after page.

He looked at the card’s size, the neatly cut, smooth edges that didn’t cut the hand—the more he looked, the more extraordinary it seemed. He couldn’t help but complain: “Such fine paper, and you waste it cutting into pieces this small, what a crime against good material!”

The old man didn’t understand the refined phrase, looking puzzled but simply explained: “Cutting it small makes it easier to memorize.”

Only then did the eldest brother look at the card’s contents. On it were neat lines such as “seven times seven is forty-nine, nine times nine is eighty-one.”

So…

The reason the old man had so quickly calculated eighteen times fifteen earlier—was it thanks to these cards?

By organizing such formulas into chants to memorize, one could calculate mentally without even using an abacus…

Born into a merchant family, the young man immediately saw the profit behind these little cards. The paper, the font, and the knowledge they contained were enough to fetch a high price in any wealthy household.

“How much are these? I’ll buy them all.”

The old man widened his eyes in surprise. Never did he expect these fellows, who couldn’t even afford cotton, to be so generous. He said: “Three coins each. Wait, I’ll count how many there are.”

The eldest brother endured his impatience and waited. While waiting, he began to observe the other items on the stall. What he saw almost made him choke on his own saliva, face turning red as he asked: “What is this?”

The old man glanced back and said casually: “Oh, that’s a glass cup.”

The eldest brother’s breathing grew rapid, his neck flushing red: “Glass? Isn’t this crystal?”

“Crystal? That’s very expensive, isn’t it? No, no, this is just glass,” the old man explained seriously.

The eldest brother felt a bit disappointed, but then realized this so-called glass was even clearer and brighter than priceless crystal, flawless and without impurities.

Except for being so cheap it was casually sold at a roadside stall, it had no drawbacks.

He swallowed and said words that no longer surprised the old man: “How many glass cups do you have? I’ll take them all.”

The old man nodded readily: “No problem!”

The onlookers, who had thought it was a robbery, now watched with curiosity.

“They don’t look poor. Why did it seem like they were about to steal?”

“Must be refugees… but how can refugees have so much money?”

“Why buy so many mirrors and cups? Do they really need them?”

A little boy who had been following finally couldn’t hold back: “Why do you keep saying we’re refugees?”

This had already been said several times!

The crowd looked at one another, then said: “Because you’re wearing hemp clothes.”

“Wearing that now means you must be refugees from outside.”

The boy suddenly felt ashamed and protested: “My cloth is soft—it’s very good clothing!”

As a merchant’s son, he had known about fabric quality since young. Except for luxury materials like silk and satin that couldn’t be worn casually, he was already wearing the finest grade available.

Rather than say his clothes were poor, it would be more accurate to say these people’s clothes were too good!

Their garments looked light, soft, not cumbersome, and the dyeing was exquisite—so many colors, all vibrant and bright. Even in the capital, such craftsmanship would be considered top-quality!

Not to mention, there were valuable crystal mirrors and glass cups being sold casually at street stalls…

Was this really the famine-stricken, barren province of rumors? Were they really the ones sacrificed and abandoned, and not the people in the capital?

It was said that the emperor and ministers lavished praise on the crystal mirrors, and even the emperor considered it an honor to use one. Yet here, any random old man sold mirrors for a few coins each…

The boy found it more and more absurd. He pinched his own cheek hard—it hurt. So he wasn’t dreaming.

If not a dream, then what was this?

The bystanders looked at the group, puzzled. Their clothes weren’t great, but their bodies were strong and sturdy. Curiosity grew:

“Where exactly did you come from?”

The eldest brother hesitated, but the child blurted out: “We’re from the northern city, right below the capital! We’re people of the capital!”

The crowd erupted.

People from the capital! The legendary capital!

Another child, equally blunt, said: “But you’re wearing hemp clothes. Mother said hemp is for wiping tables, not even fit for bedding.”

The boy instantly flushed red, stammering: “Of course there are better clothes, I just didn’t wear them!”

The crowd nodded knowingly:

“I thought so.”

“People from the capital can’t be dressed worse than us.”

“They must wear silk and satin like the officials.”

The eldest brother was already realizing something was wrong.

At first, crystal mirrors had been brought from Liang Province by a tax official as tribute to the emperor, so finding them here again made sense, though a little too much sense.

Now they were so cheap, everyone had one.

And it was said Liang Province had been abandoned by the emperor due to constant disasters, left to die without even relief aid.

Everyone thought the people there would starve to death, but instead they were thriving—producing crystal mirrors, glass cups, solving food shortages, even finding better, cheaper cloth than hemp.

Even the emperor didn’t know about this. Otherwise, how could he treasure a mirror so dearly? Why would officials write so many articles praising it?

If they learned that ordinary people could buy such things on the roadside, they would die of shame.

The young man suddenly felt he had uncovered a great secret, one that could shake the empire’s balance with Liang Province.

The court would never let such profitable things remain in commoners’ hands. They would become property of the nobility. The lowborn had no right to touch them—even if they had created them in the first place.

Realizing this, he felt he was in a brilliant position.

On one hand, he could buy treasures cheaply and sell them in the capital for fortune. On the other, he could deliver this news to court and earn great merit.

His face lit up with joy as he asked the old man: “What other good things do you have here?”

The old man looked confused: “Good things? Nothing good, it’s just a stall.”

The young man: “……”

The old man added: “But you, coming from the capital, must have many treasures with you. That’s wonderful!”

The crowd, hearing this, looked envious.

The younger brother, not understanding, puffed his chest proudly and said in a loud, crisp voice: “Of course, we brought many treasures from the capital! We came to trade!”

The Liang Province folk gasped: “A caravan from the capital!”

“There must be so many things we’ve never even imagined…”

The boy grew even more smug, declaring proudly: “If you want to buy, it’s possible! But the prices are high—you’ll need to be ready!”

The crowd asked timidly: “How high? Several taels of silver?”

“Of course!” the boy said. “These are things only the nobles of the capital can use!”

At that, the people didn’t even dare ask to see anymore.

They didn’t notice that while they chatted with the boy, the young man beside him was staring at the stall’s goods with an expression that said: compared to these, even the possessions of the capital’s nobles seemed crude.

If they truly tried to sell their wares for several taels of silver, the people of the capital would lose face entirely.

The attendants who had come along shared the same expression as the young man.

Everyone’s cheeks burned with shame, wishing they could shut the proud little boy’s mouth that kept running on. The young man, after taking the goods from the old man, dragged the child back toward the carriage.

“Brother, are we going to sell our things too? Should we set up a stall? Or rent a shop?” The boy, carried away by all the flattery, spoke in an especially cheerful tone.

The young man smacked the child on the head in anger. “Rent a shop for what? The things we brought, no one would take them even if we gave them away for free!”

The child was stunned. “Huh? But didn’t you say—”

“Enough!” The young man’s face burned with shame at his own earlier arrogance, and he could hardly speak.

He had actually thought that people here would gladly sell themselves as slaves, or even their bodies, in exchange for a mere piece of bread… this, this…

Covering his face with one hand, the young man struggled for a long time to compose himself.

A servant nearby asked, “Young master, where should we put our things? The carriage is already full.”

“Throw away what we brought. Toss it far so no one sees.” the young man ordered.

“And the things you bought this time?”

“Just load them on the cart.”

“But these are glass mirrors…”

“Enough. In the capital they’re worth a fortune, but here? Who would bother stealing them? They’re scattered all over street stalls.” The more he spoke, the hotter his face grew with humiliation. What kind of mess was this!

“Just have two men stand guard by the cart.” he added.

“Yes, young master.”

The little boy stared wide-eyed at his brother in disbelief.

The young man cleared his throat and said to him, “Enough. Your brother was deceived. Only after coming here did I realize what this place is truly like.”

The boy pressed on, “What do you mean, truly like? Are we really poorer than these people in the middle of nowhere?”

The young man hesitated awkwardly. “Well… I don’t really know.”

To call themselves poor… they were, since not even the empress or imperial consorts could afford glass mirrors.

But to say they weren’t poor… that was also true. They could casually pull out hundreds or even thousands of taels of silver, something the people of Liang Province could never do.

“This place is really strange…” the young man muttered.

It seemed he had to find someone to ask and understand things clearly.

…

“A trade caravan from the capital has arrived.”

The governor received the report and quickly went to find the master of ceremonies.

“A caravan?” The master of ceremonies raised an eyebrow. “What did they come here for?”

“They came and bought a pile of goods, but didn’t sell a single thing of their own.” The governor’s expression was a mix of loathing and smugness. “When disaster struck, we begged them for help, but they wouldn’t part with a single coin. Now that they see benefits, they spend money more recklessly than anyone else.”

The master of ceremonies was silent for a while, then said, “The news couldn’t have spread that fast. If they were real merchants, they wouldn’t have come so quickly.”

Only after the autumn harvest did things like glass start entering the market, followed by the harsh winter. No one would deliberately travel to the capital in that season; there was no food or water on the roads, while in the city there was work to do and food to eat.

Elsewhere, spies might be needed to pass along news, but in a forsaken land like Liang Province, no one cared to bother.

The governor froze. He remembered that it had been at least ten years since any caravan had come from the capital.

In recent years, the taxes had become so unbearable that the court surely knew how dire things were here. With the people starving, who would buy fine goods from the capital? Merchants would never risk being robbed for such slim profits—life itself was too hard to hold on to.

So these so-called merchants weren’t here to buy goods, but rather… to buy people.

They hadn’t offered help when salvation was possible. They had waited until everyone was on the brink of ruin before swooping in to push them further into despair, offering a so-called way out…

The governor’s eyes turned red with rage. “Beasts, beasts!”

The master of ceremonies rose, poured him a cup of tea, and set it before him. “Calm yourself, my lord.”

The governor grabbed the bowl, gulped a few mouthfuls, and swallowed his fury. “You just said they came so quickly…”

“The autumn court’s fortune still lingers. Perhaps it wanted to remind the court sooner that there are treasures here, so the caravan discovered them so quickly,” the master of ceremonies said coolly. “Otherwise, it would have taken months for these goods to trickle to the capital.”

The governor’s face twisted. “Autumn court’s fortune… If fortune truly wished the people well, it should have shielded us from that dog emperor forever!”

“Fortune is a blade. It can save lives, or it can take them. It all depends on the one who wields it.” The master of ceremonies’ tone was steady. “More talk is useless. If we wish to grow, sooner or later we’ll clash with the Autumn Court. Best to prepare early.”

The governor exhaled deeply, calming down. “Then what do we do about these merchants?”

The master of ceremonies said calmly, “Better to guide than to block. Since we can’t stop the news from leaking, we might as well reveal it openly.”

…

In the height of spring, a new shop quietly opened on a bustling avenue in the capital.

Not long after, young masters and ladies out enjoying the sights were caught by the sudden glimmer of light from inside. Looking closely, they saw a small crystal-clear cup on the shelf, casting rainbow colors under the sun. Their steps carried them inside almost against their will.

Within half an hour, the stream of passersby noticed the crowded shop and were stunned that even the worldly nobles of the capital were so taken with whatever it was selling.

Soon after, a minister’s son, having managed to purchase a glass cup, couldn’t stop stroking its cool surface. “I must present this treasure to my father!” he declared.

Another wealthy lady emerged from the crowd, clutching a silver-wrapped hand mirror, gazing at her reflection in infatuation, her fingers brushing her cheek.

Her maid sighed with envy. “Madam, that is a treasure only His Majesty could use!”

“Congratulations, madam!”

The lady, pleased but thoughtful, sighed. “Such a treasure—I cannot keep it. Best to prepare it carefully and gift it to the imperial concubine. She will surely love it.”

The maids chimed in, “A wise decision, madam. The concubine will certainly be delighted with your gift.”

Those nearby were shocked.

If even a minister’s household and an imperial concubine coveted such items, how many treasures must this shop hold!

It wasn’t long before news of the shop spread through the capital.

Treasures once praised by countless officials and even the emperor himself could now be found in a modest little store.

And not only glass mirrors—there were countless other wonders, as beautiful and enchanting as, or even surpassing, them.

A minister reported this to court, describing the shop as though it were a palace from the heavens. The emperor, intrigued, ordered the owner to bring the treasures into the palace. Everyone envied the shopkeeper’s good fortune.

Of course, a few instead secretly envied the emperor.

Only the most powerful man under heaven could truly enjoy such treasures.

Whereas they, to buy anything, had to face limits, compete with others, and even if successful, still couldn’t keep them—forced instead to offer them up.

In the palace hall, the emperor and ministers beheld row after row of treasures laid carefully on tables covered with soft blankets.

Even an emperor used to countless wonders was dazzled.

The young man who had once stood at a street stall now stood obediently at the side, his heart pounding wildly, waiting for the emperor’s questions.

No one knew that these treasures, now revered as priceless, had recently been sold casually by peasants at roadside stalls, worth only a few copper coins.

The young man kept his head bowed, but from the corner of his eye saw the intoxicated expressions of the powerful ministers, endlessly praising the treasures and declaring that only such things were worthy of their noble emperor. He certainly didn’t dare reveal the truth.

The emperor stepped forward and picked up a glass cup.

Its surface was smooth and delicate, its feel exquisite, as if crafted from the finest porcelain—but clearer and purer than porcelain itself. One could easily imagine pouring fine wine into it, watching it glow in candlelight, breathtakingly beautiful.

Setting the cup down gently, the emperor reached for a stack of papers.

The sheets were smoother and whiter than any existing paper, firm yet thin, without the lingering scent of grass or wood. Running his fingers over the surface felt like stroking silk—finer than the best paper in the palace.

And these sheets had been used to make books—multiplication chants, beginner literacy lessons, everyday knowledge for life…

Never before had the Autumn Court possessed such simple, easy-to-understand texts. Students always memorized classics like the Three Character Classic or the Thousand Character Essay, never learning from one to ten. No one would waste expensive paper to draw simple illustrations reminding people to wash hands before meals or boil water before drinking.

What’s more, the writing on the pages looked as though measured with a ruler, perfectly uniform in size and spacing. On different pages, the same character looked exactly the same, down to the smallest detail. Could a human hand truly produce this?

The emperor was more and more astonished.

He asked the young man, “Where did you obtain these things?”

The young man carefully lifted his head, and by chance glimpsed the emperor’s face—he froze.

The emperor who had ruled for over twenty years looked extraordinarily young and handsome, without a trace of age.

His tall, strong frame, his imposing aura, his godlike features inspired instinctive awe. Only his eyes, shadowed with decay, gloom, and a hidden cruelty, seemed out of place.

A chill ran through the youth’s body. He dared not look again and quickly bowed. “Replying to Your Majesty, this commoner discovered and brought back these treasures from Liang Province…”

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.

Sir, take me to rebel (8): 

Si Qi’s raised hand froze midair.

Then, without much hesitation, it fell.

“Phew, that was really dangerous just now.” The prefect standing beside Siyi let out a long sigh.

“Heaven bless us.” The county magistrate next to him said with a smile.

“Heaven?” Another magistrate’s tone was sharp. “If it weren’t for this so-called heaven, would we even be standing here now?”

The survivors all reacted differently after escaping death.

Only Siyi stared blankly at the towering heap of mud and rocks behind him, with a nagging feeling that something wasn’t right.

Si Qi also felt something was off.

He clearly could have used magic to manipulate the collapsing rocks from afar—so why did he rush out to save people in person, letting so many witnesses see it?

Even though controlling memory was hardly difficult for him, he was still too reckless.

Thinking it over, Si Qi concluded that the aura surrounding Siyi, this so-called child of the world, was too overwhelming—even stronger than that of Si Yu. It had even affected his own judgment.

So afterward, whenever he faced Siyi, Si Qi kept his expression in check, speaking in as normal a tone as possible, warning himself against any action that might cross the line.

Yet ironically, his disciple had narrowly escaped death, and as his teacher, he hadn’t even stepped forward to comfort him. That in itself was unreasonable.

Siyi recalled the despair he had just felt before almost dying, then glanced at his teacher, who acted as though nothing had happened. His eyes darkened.

The prefect and the others had no idea how miserable Siyi felt at that moment. They only thought it was double good fortune and were overjoyed.

One joy was that they had narrowly escaped disaster, miraculously unharmed beneath a landslide.

The second was that Si Qi’s presence brought tremendous aid: manpower, resources, and even spiritual encouragement.

What was more interesting was that the food Si Qi brought came from Liang Province; the medicine and physicians from Shan Province; the able young volunteers from all corners of the land, each a talented figure in their own trade.

All these people and supplies came from Qiu Dynasty’s impoverished regions—discarded by the nobility after being exploited.

For the past two years, their homelands had been plagued by disasters; Jiang Province had even vanished from the map due to flooding.

Thanks to these two teacher and disciple, people had survived to this day, and even had strength left to follow Si Qi in aiding other areas.

Meeting now, the prefect felt especially close to these companions from far and wide. It wasn’t just gratitude—it was also shared experiences and common ground.

If Si Qi asked them to help in other places later, they surely would. They knew better than anyone what it meant to receive a helping hand in despair.

With the arrival of doctors, volunteers, and food, the group’s spirits grew lively.

As a teacher, Si Qi handled matters with far more ease than his student.

The same procedures, but his way was more perfect, more thorough.

For example, when they reached the nearest county town, the prefect worried the magistrate might mistake them for refugees and tried to plead for at least a place to rest.

But the guards at the gate showed no resistance at all—rather, they were surprised: how could supposed refugees look so healthy, so numerous, even with families in tow? This didn’t look like refugees at all.

The prefect, astonished, asked around and learned that the local magistrate had already received Si Qi’s letters, along with relief supplies. Preparations to welcome them had long been made.

The prefect couldn’t help but admire the abilities of Si Qi and his disciple.

When the refugees entered, townsfolk were initially fearful. In their minds, refugees were desperate enough to eat people.

But sneaking a look, they were shocked—did these people look displaced? They sat on dry mats, smiling with children and family, showing no resentment.

Tall, strong youths bustled about, delivering food and supplies. Nearly a hundred physicians with medicine boxes moved among the crowd, giving diagnoses and follow-ups. Were these really refugees?

Then those who usually couldn’t even afford treatment realized—weren’t they even worse off than these so-called refugees?

It was around then that a reply from the court finally arrived.

The result was hardly unexpected. The prefect read it, tried to endure, but his face flushed blue with rage. At last he exploded, cursing so furiously that even his organs seemed to tremble.

The magistrates, some bitter, some sneering, poured out their frustrations to their aides. Word spread quickly.

When commoners heard, they weren’t shocked.

Unlike officials who had studied the classics all their lives only to sink into disillusionment when ideals clashed with reality, these people, born and raised here, knew well what the imperial court was like. They knew too well what awaited them in times of disaster.

They never held out much hope for the lofty emperor. If he didn’t make their suffering worse during calamity—if he didn’t force them to become living sacrifices—they already counted themselves lucky.

So when messengers from the capital said the court would let them fend for themselves, offering no aid and forbidding them from approaching the capital, they calmly accepted it as “just as expected.”

Reality proved that even without the court’s help, they could live well.

Why beg help from those whose only fortune was their birthright?

Farmers bent to the soil cared nothing for who wore the crown. They only cared who could protect them, keep them fed and clothed, and give them a good life.

They were deeply grateful to the prefect and others who had led them to survival.

After this, Jiang Province was wiped from the map. Its people, with nowhere to go, were taken in by Siyi, scattered among nearby counties, or followed him into Liang Province.

Though displaced, before they could worry about the future, they found life here utterly different from Jiang Province. Work was plentiful, food abundant, prices low.

It was like a paradise compared to Jiang.

Old folks, once heartbroken over lost ancestral land, no longer sighed daily. Women worked in textile mills, men in new “factories.” Even the elderly could take light tasks home for wages.

They never imagined life could be so easy: work hard, earn money, eat well.

“Life is truly better in Liang Province.” An old man sat at home, sipping thick porridge with satisfaction.

“I heard a year ago, Liang Province was even worse than Jiang. Years of drought, nothing would grow.” A man beside him said.

The elder frowned. “But didn’t they say Liang Province had fertile land, that anything would yield a harvest?”

“That was long ago.” The man scoffed. “Once, Jiang was called the land of fish and rice. Cast a net in the river and you’d haul in boatloads of seafood. But that was generations ago.”

The elder reminisced. “Back then, people said sorcerers were immortals sent from heaven, bringing us fortune…”

“Hah, nothing in this world is free.” The man’s chest ached recalling his home drowned by floods. “Our foreman says cause and effect never fail—borrowed fortune must be repaid. The capital took everything from us, and we’re the ones paying. Not only did they abandon us, they even blocked us from fleeing north. Just thinking of it burns me up.”

“We won’t go to the capital.” The elder shook his head. “That’s no place for people like us—we’d just be livestock.”

At that, everyone fell silent.

In every disaster, the court chose sacrifices—it was standard practice.

Each year, one heard of some place where people vanished overnight. In truth, they’d been offered as tributes when the court faced trouble.

“But wasn’t Liang Province the same?” the elder’s wife said. “Look here—people aren’t skinny. Could it be they practiced sacrifices too…”

“Mother, don’t say that.” The worker quickly cut her off. “The prefect has forbidden it. Even if sorcerers came demanding it, we mustn’t comply.”

“You child.” She glared. “Do you think I’d truly believe that? I just worry…”

She feared the local lords might trick them outsiders into becoming offerings.

“No, mother,” the worker smiled. “Our foreman despises the capital’s people. He himself nearly became a sacrifice once. He hates them even more than we do.”

“Then what’s going on with Liang Province?” the elder asked. “Wasn’t it barren? But food is plentiful and cheap here.”

“It’s mainly thanks to Master Si!” The worker’s voice rose in excitement. “When our home was flooded and we fled with the prefect, it was all by his guidance. Master Si gave us food, medicine, and even places to settle. He’s a living Bodhisattva!”

“I’ve heard of him.” The worker’s wife, silent till now, spoke. “The women in the textile mills say Master Si gave them miraculous seeds… the wheat they grew was so heavy, the yield was seven or eight times the usual.”

“So much?” The family gasped.

“And not only that—the factory itself was built at Master Si’s request.” She continued, “Mother, you said cloth was cheap here. That’s because weaving is so easy now. I can weave two bolts in a day.”

The old woman, once a weaver herself, was baffled. “How is that possible?”

“The new looms are nothing like the old. They’re wonderful to use.” She still sounded amazed.

She remembered her first day entering the factory, trembling, stunned by the other women’s work. Only after trying it herself did she realize such tools existed.

Later, hearing cloth was so cheap, she learned it was because hemp was abundant, weaving easy, and cloth more durable than before—yet still cheaper.

Like fish by rivers always being cheaper, it was simply supply.

It was good, of course. But she also noticed not just cloth—food, tools, everything here was cheaper than in Jiang.

Didn’t that mean Liang Province had ways, like weaving, to make everything more abundant and easy?

She wasn’t a scholar, but she felt sure: life here would only get better.

Then she heard the elder sigh, “We truly owe this master. Our whole family was saved by the prefect and Master Si.”

“Yes,” her husband agreed. “So many elsewhere lost family or lives… yet we sit together here. Heaven has blessed us.”

“Where is this Master Si? I want to thank him…”

“He lives in the residence arranged by the prefect. Best not to disturb him. But he sometimes visits factories—you might see him someday.”

“Then be sure to thank him properly. This is a debt of life.”

“Of course.”

…

As autumn neared, Si Qi went to inspect newly made mirrors at a factory, when a worker shyly stopped him.

Noticing his expression, Si Qi understood. Hearing the thanks, he smiled and accepted.

“I’ve heard him talk about you for over half a year.” The foreman teased, grinning. “Always asking about Master Si. Now that he’s seen you, satisfied?”

The worker flushed. “As long as I didn’t disturb Master Si…”

“No disturbance,” Si Qi smiled. “Are you living well here?”

The man’s face reddened further. “Very well, thank you, Master Si.”

“That’s your own effort, nothing to do with me.”

“How could you say that, Master Si?” The foreman laughed, but his tone was earnest. “You saved our lives and brought us so much…”

The words could have gone on forever, so Si Qi just waved with a smile.

Accompanied by the foreman, he inspected the mirrors. The foreman said proudly, “So clear—even in the royal palace, none would be better!”

Si Qi picked up a palm-sized hand mirror. The youth reflected within was extraordinarily beautiful, his aura ethereal. His black hair shone, every strand visible.

In truth, it was an ordinary mirror of glass. Yet in this age where people only used bronze or water’s surface to see themselves, it was no less than a divine treasure.

Many people saw a mirror for the first time and, without exception, were startled.

Everyone gathered together, chattering noisily, the scene looking extremely lively.

“Heavens, why is my nose so ugly!”

“I never knew I was this fat!”

“You really do look exactly like the person in the mirror, so I must look exactly like the one in mine! So this is what I actually look like!”

“I’m much prettier than I imagined.”

The mirror, surrounded by the crowd, reflected dazzling rays under the sunlight. Its flawless surface, crafted from precious glass, looked like a treasure that only nobles and royalty could possess.

The steward originally intended to order everyone to step back and not recklessly touch this valuable item.

But before he could speak, everyone had already finished marveling, now shrinking back and not daring to get close. It was as if they were afraid this thing would steal their very souls. They cautiously poked their heads forward, saw their own faces appear in the mirror, and quickly pulled back again.

The steward: “…………”

Remembering how everyone had shrunk back in fear at the time, the steward couldn’t help but laugh out loud.

At the same time, he was filled with pride that he had actually managed to create such a divine object according to Mister Si’s secret formula.

With such craftsmanship, no matter where he went in the future, he would surely be admired.

He asked Si Qi, “Sir, where would you like me to store this treasure for you?”

Si Qi shook his head, speaking casually, “No need to put it away, just take it and sell it.”

The steward was dumbfounded, his heart pounding wildly: “Sell it? Our goods here… can actually be sold all the way to the capital?” This was an unprecedented feat! Enough for them to be proud for a lifetime!

“There’s no rush for that,” Si Qi casually set down the mirror in his hand, “let’s use it ourselves first. No need to set the price too high, just enough profit to keep the workshop running.”

The steward froze on the spot.

“But…”

His tone was hesitant, clearly finding this unbelievable.

If they sold it to nobles, even selling just one might bring as much profit as selling ten thousand to commoners.

And if every common household had one, the nobles likely wouldn’t be willing to spend piles of silver buying it.

They were wealthy, but not foolish.

Si Qi chuckled, “I made these to improve your lives, what’s there to hesitate about?”

Hearing this, the steward looked at him as if at a saint: “Mister Si, your kindness to us is something we could never repay, not in this lifetime or the next…”

“No need to repay. Everything you gain comes from your own effort. Don’t you still need to spend money to buy these things?”

“That’s not the same…” Warmth spread through the steward’s heart. Without needing a reminder, he quickly declared, “Rest assured, the secret formula for making mirrors—I will absolutely tell no one. I won’t cause you any trouble.”

Si Qi laughed, “Then I’ll leave it to you.”

The steward felt deeply satisfied: “It’s my honor to be of service to you.”

And he meant every word of it.

Just then, the Prefect happened to pass by. Hearing that Si Qi was in the nearby workshop, he deliberately brought his subordinates over.

Across the way, he saw someone in official robes of the same rank as himself. The Prefect quickly bowed in greeting, wondering who had come without notifying him.

Then he saw the person opposite also bowing back, and hurriedly said, “Pardon me for not greeting you sooner. May I ask where you are from, my lord…”

Si Qi and the workers nearby: “…………”

When the Prefect received no reply for a long time, he stood up in confusion. Seeing the man opposite also stand, he walked closer: “My lord…”

As he approached, he noticed the man’s tall, lean figure and strangely familiar face. Suspicion rose in his heart, and he couldn’t help but ask again, “You… why do you look…”

Si Qi finally couldn’t hold back a laugh: “My lord, there’s no one opposite you.”

Hearing Si Qi’s voice, the Prefect immediately greeted him respectfully: “Mister Si.”

Si Qi walked over, “My lord, this is a mirror.”

“Mirror?” The Prefect certainly knew what a mirror was—he had one in his bedchamber. But shouldn’t it be bronze-colored?

He looked back, and all of a sudden caught sight of the man turning his face too, wearing the same confusion as him. The Prefect’s heart skipped a beat, and he was left speechless.

After a long while, he suddenly blurted out, “So I look this ugly?”

The onlookers: “Pfft.”

The Prefect didn’t notice the laughter around him. He clicked his tongue in amazement for a while, then explained the reason for his visit to Si Qi: “The imperial grain collection team is coming again.”

“What does my lord intend to do?” Si Qi asked lazily.

“Mister Si should understand what we mean.” The Prefect’s expression was gentle, but his tone extremely firm.

Last year, although the people of Liang Province had grain, they had no silver. The court assumed they couldn’t survive, so they tried to squeeze out the last bit of sweat and blood by raising salt prices sky-high.

Salt was essential for survival, but salt, iron, and tea were all strictly controlled by the court, with private production and sale forbidden. Commoners couldn’t afford salt and didn’t know where to get it, so resentment toward the court grew, leaving the Prefect and others extremely anxious.

In desperation, they turned to Si Qi, hoping he might know of a way other than selling grain to buy salt. What he calmly said then shocked them.

Si Qi said he had a method to produce salt, and that the salt he made would surpass the court’s in both purity and taste.

This was essentially asking the officials whether they would remain loyal to the court and continue to endure humiliation, or stand with Si Qi for the sake of the people, even if it meant rebellion.

At that time, the Prefect and others merely paused in silence, then asked for details of salt production—thus tying themselves completely to Si Qi’s cause.

Now, asking Si Qi’s opinion again was not because they didn’t know how to handle the court’s inevitable heavier taxes this year, but rather to ask: “Should we revolt now, or wait until later?”

Their eagerness for rebellion was even greater than Si Yi’s.

Si Qi said, “Everyone has only just recovered from famine, let’s wait a little longer.”

The Prefect understood and nodded: “Mister cares for the people as if they were his own children. Naturally, this must be done gradually.”

Is that really what “caring for the people as children” means? Si Qi found it amusing: “You flatter me. I have no interest in building a career.”

The Prefect, seeing that Si Qi wasn’t taking the bait, sighed with regret, “Your knowledge is vast, sir, but you care too little for fame and fortune.”

Si Qi shook his head, “I only wish for everyone to live well. If my lord has ideas, you may discuss them with my disciple.”

Si Yi was actually very skilled in these matters. The Prefect and others had long noticed this and never underestimated him.

But Si Yi’s own attitude was clear—he placed more faith in his master. And everyone agreed that Si Qi was the one most worthy of trust.

Unfortunately, Si Qi himself had no interest in politics.

So they could only settle for choosing Si Yi as leader.

Over the past two years, the Prefect had slowly gleaned hints from Si Qi’s words, learning Si Yi’s true identity.

Choosing Si Yi as head was indeed proper and legitimate.

Resigned, the Prefect turned his gaze to the mirror standing nearby. The longer he looked, the more marvelous it seemed. “Mister’s wisdom truly commands admiration.”

The steward added with a smile, “Mister said that in the future, mirrors will be like ceramic jars, affordable for every household.”

The Prefect was startled, “This item can be so cheap?”

“Cheap indeed. For an ordinary household of three working members, with a month of frugal living, they could afford a full-length mirror. And a small hand mirror would cost only two days’ wages.” The steward quickly did the math in his head.

The Prefect circled around the full-length mirror with interest. Suddenly, inspiration struck, and he said excitedly, “Why don’t we present this full-length mirror to the emperor, so he will exempt us from this year’s increased grain tax?”

Everyone present: “…………”

Did you hear what the steward just said—that mirrors could be affordable for every household?

The Prefect, however, was self-assured: “Has His Majesty ever seen such a treasure? Just a bit of grain—compared to grain, he will surely prefer this!”

The steward, quick-witted, offered an idea: “Then after we offer the treasure, we can still sell it at the market.”

Everyone was speechless: What kind of ‘treasure’ can you still buy at the marketplace?

But then again…

Everyone nodded in agreement, smiling broadly: “That’s a great idea!”

“Of course it’s a treasure!”

“His Majesty surely hasn’t seen it before!”

They were more than happy to play such a mischievous trick.