The northwest was vast and sparsely populated. It was mountainous and arid, and there truly weren’t many settlements.
Unlike in the middle plains where there was a village very mile and a single water source could support a few hundred households, the northwest only had a handful of cities and a smattering of small villages scattered in the mountains. The mountain roads weren’t easily traversable. Sometimes all a village consisted of was three or five families squeezed onto a narrow strip of level ground.
It was difficult to enter and exit, but the people there were bold and fearless. They were old hands at murder and troublemaking.
Every man, woman, elder, and child, whether they were a basket-weaver or farmer, when it came time to rebel, would put down their professions and take up metal weapons — kitchen knives, woodcutting axes, iron pans and spoons all counted — and fight a battle or two. Sometimes they were defeated by imperial forces, yet the imperial court wasn’t able to do anything about them. On the contrary, they’d politely try to reason with them and send them off with some food and coins.
The local officials and troops all knew that the people here all lived in far-flung places, were uncivilized, lived like animals, and thanks to the years of drought, were howling with hunger. Of course they’d start raising hell. If they were managed well, they were fine citizens, but if they weren’t, well — these five-family villages, with generations of marriage alliances with other villages, who knew who they were relatives with, who their third aunt or second granduncle was?
If one of them really died, the rest of them would riot and wouldn’t rest until they were dead. The moment one wave was quelled, another would arise — that was the bloody lesson learned from repeated skirmishes between the court and the local people.
That was exactly what “those who don’t fear death by a thousand cuts can drag the emperor off his horse” meant. Between the choices of starving to death or fighting to death, the valiant people of the northwest chose the latter. And so “the barefooted, unafraid of those wearing shoes,” forced the court to open its coffers. Afflicted by hunger and cold, they often played the part of debt-collecting ghouls.
The court’s six ministries and nine ministers all put their heads together to try to deal with them. Thus, the Minister of Rites submitted a memorial decked with classic quotes, suggesting that the problem was caused by the disintegration of rites and manners. To amend that situation, the court must establish schools and academies in the area to transmit the sages’ teachings and restore education and propriety.
The new Puqing Emperor, also quite the bookworm, thought it made a lot of sense, so he declared that he would open academies all across the northwest and build shrines to the sages.
In the emperor’s eyes, learning literature and martial arts were glorious, honorable things. Shouldn’t his people want to uphold society, repel invaders, and pay their dues to the country?
Apparently, the people of the northwest didn’t agree.
They thought: fucking hell, we haven’t even got any food to eat. We’re all starving so bad we’re floating belly up, who’s got time to fucking read.
Left with no other choice, the Minister of Rites submitted another memorial, adding a new law stating that any family who sent a son to school would be able to collect a few more handfuls of grain every day — one side hands people over, one side hands food over.
For a while, the public schools really were implemented, because at that time, Yan Zhen had proposed that the court mobilize wealthy merchants from all over the country, and confer noble titles to them based on the amount of grain they brought to the northwest. It put out the fire burning on their eyebrows and stabilized the northwest, giving them the breathing space to transfer troops to Huaizhou and Dongyue to attack Gu Huaiyang.
“Whoever had milk was mother.” Really, as long as they had food and drink, they were rather docile.
We’re sorry for MTLers or people who like using reading mode, but our translations keep getting stolen by aggregators so we’re going to bring back the copy protection. If you need to MTL please retype the gibberish parts.
However, someone had suddenly taken control of the market. Everything was unaffected, save for the fact that the biggest grain merchants began to raise prices all at once — that was understandable, after all, merchants sought profit above all else. As long as someone took the lead, it wasn’t hard to get them to agree. After all, the court would give them titles as long as they got what they wanted, but at the same time, if the emperor wanted to rule with benevolence, well then it was only natural that one pay money for food, it didn’t matter too much if they made a few extra silver right?
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Shi Wuduan, in disguise, led a group of people north through the Huanghu Ridge and settled down in Longju.
Every day, he’d send people to infiltrate the markets in Longju, Erku, Biyang, etc. Some of the merchants trapped here were their people to begin with, some of them were business partners, and the rest were being held captive by the court. Shi Wuduan ordered people to make a few sales and purchases, but in reality, he was selling to and buying from himself.
Everything proceeded subtly and furtively. Sometimes he’d personally go and do business. Sometimes, he’d pull a few tricks, exchanging grain and silver through proxies.
The market was set up twice a month on the first and fifteenth. Every time it came around, there’d be seemingly ordinary commoners idly strolling through. After many successful experiments and painstakingly precise calculations, Shi Wuduan could model how many people came and went, how much they bought, the price fluctuations of grain, etc.. Money-grubbing Xia Duanfang would collate the data first before handing it off to Shi Wuduan, who’d then make overall adjustments.
Making those calculations was arduous and time-consuming, but luckily, the market only occurred two times a month, giving time for Shi Wuduan to push his plans into motion.
The amount of people buying and selling grain ballooned overnight. The nearly stagnant rice market started getting lively again, yet for some reason, the number of places where one could buy grain began to decrease, and the price was slowly raised higher and higher by an invisible hand.
During that time, Shi Wuduan holed up in the inn, hardly ever setting foot outside.
During the day, he took care of and looked after the rabbit as if it was his old mother and not just an animal. Aside from discussing official business, he didn’t speak much.
Lanre felt like, if Shi Wuduan had ten thoughts, he’d only voice one. If he spoke only ten sentences a day, eleven of them were spoken outside; he’d already used them all up before he got back. After he returned, he pretty much ignored everyone, whether they were a servant or a friend. The moment he was in his own courtyard, he wouldn’t make a peep for the whole rest of the day.
Yet somehow, she – perhaps he found her more tolerable than the rest – would always have the chance to say a bit of small talk every time they met.
For this reason, Si-niang had already formed some misconceptions, and teased her many times. Still, Lanre knew her place. She was a woman, women were often more sensitive, so she always felt that… when Lord Sixth looked at her, he was gazing far off into the difference. He spoke to her, yet seemed to be speaking to someone else.
The thought was merely a flicker in her mind. Lanre knew her place; she didn’t dare think more of it, and of course she didn’t dare ask.
When Lord Sixth returned, she found that he almost seemed to be avoiding her. Every time she entered his room, delivering something, he wouldn’t even look at her, much less speak to her. Every time he spoke, it was only to say something along the lines of, “If that’s all, you should leave then.”
She couldn’t help feeling somewhat hurt.
Shi Wuduan’s rabbit got worse each day; it was half in the grave already. At first, he’d keep it company all day. Later, he’d carry it in his arms all day. Only when he bathed did he set it aside, not wanting to get it wet. During the day, he and Xia Duanfang would talk about work, methodically playing a tangled game of chess, using those merchants as their pieces. Only in the silence of the dark night would he find it difficult to bear.
He’d tried using his astrolabe to plot his fate before, but he’d failed.
Old people said that: everyone lived with blinders over their eyes, only able to see left and right, but not forwards or back. No matter how powerful or skilled one was, they’d never be able to decipher their own karma or mortality. But even though he wasn’t able to calculate it, Shi Wuduan couldn’t help thinking that perhaps he… brought misfortune to those around him.
Everyone who’d been kind to him or close to him had all left one by one. Either they’d become wholly unrecognizable, or they’d be taken away by death.
He’d once worried secretly for his brothers, whom he’d spent nearly a decade with. He used to love taking his third brother’s little daughter out to play. She’d grown into a charming little young lady already, yet he hadn’t seen her in a long time. Outside of work-related matters, he didn’t even seek out his eldest brother anymore.
Now, it seemed he couldn’t even keep a rabbit by his side.
He and this rabbit had such karma tying them together. It’d followed him ever since it’d met him on Jiulu Mountain. They’d endured hardships and trials together, had been separated, then reunited by fate so many years later. Was such a strong predestined bond really coming to an end?
It seemed… it would soon die.
Once, Shi Wuduan had thought the rabbit was stupid, especially after it’d eaten the flower that’d bloomed from Bai Li’s blood and became a gluttonous layabout that slept all day and wouldn’t even twitch if he poked it. Now, though, he found that it was quite sentient.
After the rabbit, who used to be large as a dog, became thin and craggy, it’s mind seemed to have cleared. When Shi Wuduan carried it in his arms, it’d stay there, obediently still. When he fed it medicine, no matter how unwilling it was, as long as he gently patted its back, it’d compliantly nibble on it.
When it stared at Shi Wuduan with its beady eyes and its permanently… surprised-looking expression, he couldn’t help but think it was trying to convey something; but he wasn’t able to understand.
And Bai Li.
Xia Duanfang had brought news that large numbers of shadow demons were fleeing east — east of the Min River was Dongyue; east of Dongyue, wasn’t that the ocean?
He couldn’t be going there to take a bath. Bai Li had come out, his wounds already healed – those things couldn’t hurt him one bit. It shouldn’t be a problem for him to suppress them again, it was just…
Why was it that he, as the Demon Lord, hadn’t sought out Zou Yanlai?
The price of grain in the northwest had already crept up significantly. Shi Wuduan made a hand signal towards Xia Duanfang. He understood instantly, then turned and left — it would be the first again tomorrow. Some knew that there was a wealthy merchant planning on gratuitously buying up all the grain they could… as for what they planned to do with it, it was self-evident.
If it were just rumors, then whatever. But Zhang Zhixian was panicking. He personally went to patrol, giving credibility to a rumor that had only seemed half true.
The culprit behind his headache sat quietly for a while after Xia Duanfang left. He suddenly took a strand of hair out from his pouch.
The hair was Bai Li’s. Back in the Inferno Realm, when he’d been insensate in Shi Wuduan’s arms, he’d taken the chance to pluck it.
He hesitated, set up his astrolabe, and held Bai Li’s hair above it. The astrolabe glowed eerily as several strands of starsilk wound themselves around the strand of hair coiled on his finger.
The stars within began to move in arcane patterns. Shi Wuduan held his rabbit in one arm as he sat there, making all the calculations by heart.
He remembered many years ago, that Bai Li had two life-stars. One had already appeared, then the other…
Just then, the rabbit that’d just been snuggled quietly in his arms abruptly struggled free and crashed headfirst into the astrolabe. Its front paws and neck were instantly caught within the greedy starsilk threads that’d once eaten a vicious ghost.
“Presumptuous!” Shi Wuduan yelled.
The starsilk that touched his hand as he brushed them off the rabbit withered and fell.
The rabbit shuddered, as if in fright, as it huddled on the astrolabe and stared at Shi Wuduan.
Suddenly, Shi Wuduan recalled a long long time ago, that his shifu had once said to him: heaven’s secrets must not be exposed; fate is not a child’s game. Once one knows too much, their lifespan will be shortened.
His heart throbbed as he wondered, could it be that the reason all those people had disappeared one by one, and even… it was soon to leave, was because he’d been too arrogant and cocksure, and had known too much?
Shi Wuduan’s normally expressionless face softened. He picked the rabbit up off the astrolabe, swept the randomly spinning little stars away with the flick of his sleeve, and said quietly, “Nevermind then.”
The rabbit’s body was cozy and warm. His fingertips could almost touch its organs and bones, and feel the steady beat of its little heart. The Cuibing bird flew down from the rafters and nudged his face. Shi Wuduan thought, aside from them, what else did he even have?
He’d never feared the heavens or earth, never believed in gods or deities. He was even less afraid of being punished by karmic judgement, but in that moment of weakness, he conceded just once.
so he declared that (they??) would open academies
Missing pronoun, maybe??😅
fixed now, thanks for telling me
Thank you for this chapter..
Arrggh. The rabbit. What will happen to it??😭😭😭
Not the wabbitt!!!
Thank you for the chapter!
Thank you so much 👏❤️💐🙏
💙💙💙
RABBIT PLS DONT DIE I LOVE U SO MUCH AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
I’m so worried about the bunny 😟
I’m finding it funny just how invested we all are in this rabbit