Chapter 594: Master Zou's Anger

Chapter 594: Elder Zou's Wrath

It was a farmstead bearing the ancient style of the pre‑Ming era, its gray‑brick walls draped in climbing vines that swayed with the gentle breeze, sending ripples of green across the courtyard.

Yet a closer look reveals that the patches of sunset drifting over the distant hills lack subtlety, resembling a child’s careless splashes of color daubed across the sky.

Farther still, the sky grows hazy, the rolling mountains reduced to mere gray strokes, as if an unfinished world of millet dreams.

In the courtyard stands a low table at its center, laden with common farm produce—melons, fruits, vegetables—while three backed bamboo chairs sit around it.

Among the three seated figures, male and female, appearances differ starkly; an elder of advanced age sits slumped, unable to straighten his back, head bowed, eyes half‑closed, as if already drifting into sleep.

A young woman in her early twenties wears a vivid garment patterned with black, red, white, and yellow—like the four distinct seasons.

Most conspicuous is a middle‑aged man in a sweat‑soaked shirt, his corpulent bulk spilling over the chair beneath him, the flesh obscuring the seat as though he were sitting directly on the ground.

His mouth never rests; he grips two plump, emerald cucumbers in each hand, biting into them one after another with sweet relish.

“I still can’t figure it out.”

The woman in the bright clothes speaks first, her hands folded on her lap, strange lines tattooed on the backs of her hands.

At a glance it looks as if another, more delicate pair of hands overlays hers, layer upon layer, giving the uncanny sensation of four pairs of hands.

“How could Zheng Chu have died at their hands?”

“Zheng Chu was mine; he was slaughtered, and I’m not surprised. Witch‑Altar, what don’t you understand?”

The fat man snatches an orange from the low table, peel and all, gulps it down with a roll of his throat, then chuckles on.

“Zheng Chu believed in ‘human power,’ seeking to cultivate a perfect vessel capable of holding twelve sequences. Sequences aren’t inert; his approach was flawed from the start, and before the fruit could ripen, counterfeit met genuine—no wonder he didn’t survive.”

“Then perhaps I’ve been meddling?”

The woman lets out a cold snort: “Even if Zheng Chu wasn’t their match, how could he not even manage to flee?”

“You haven’t considered whose son Zhang Siyuan is—his father re‑engineered his genes, granting him uncanny talent in the art of numbers; ordinary tricks can’t slip past his gaze. Moreover, Zheng Chu is foolish, willingly inviting others into his farm—surely that’s suicide.”

The fat man talks while still shoving food into his mouth.

Between the movements of his thick lips, bits and juices spray continually, making the woman frown.

“Survival of the fittest, elimination of the weak—this is the greatest law of our agrarian order. Zheng Chu’s defeat merely shows he was an inferior seed; let him die.”

The woman protests: “Feiwei, with that attitude, aren’t you afraid of chilling the hearts of your subordinates?”

At her words, the fat man’s eating pauses, his expression odd as he eyes the flushed woman, then sudden realization dawns.

“Ah, you’re ‘Spring’—no wonder you’re so fussy.”

No sooner had the words left his lips than a bone‑chilling cold swept over the courtyard.

“Zheng Chu himself may not matter, but the city of causality he oversaw is vital! Now that he’s dead, what of our farms in the Canglan region? Without his supply of flesh‑and‑soil fields, the others will soon wither.”

The woman known as Witch‑Altar speaks coldly: “Now that the Earth Lord is absent from the capital, this matter falls entirely on you, ‘Seed‑Cause’ Feiwei.”

“Exactly—when discussing serious affairs we must adopt the ‘Winter’ persona; only then is it clean and decisive.”

Feiwei bursts into laughter, reaches for the low table, but grasps only air.

Indeed, everything on the table had already been devoured by him.

The fat man, lips still wet with desire, licks them, a spark flashing in his eyes; he snaps his fingers, and a string of grape‑sized eyeballs appears in his bosom, each plump and round.

He grabs a handful, stuffs them into his mouth, and the chewing emits an eerie creaking.

“Rest easy; since the Earth Lord has entrusted his authority to me, I shall surely bear the responsibility. I have already chosen a new candidate for this task, and I will not delay your ‘Four Seasons’ farm.”

“Then that’s settled!”

Witch‑Altar glares with disgust, her tone scornful: “You know it’s all an illusion, Feiwei—how can you still eat with such relish?”

At that very moment, the string of ‘grapes’ resting on the fat man’s belly twitches; tiny black dots speckle the surface like eyes staring fixedly at the woman.

These are no grapes at all—clearly they are eyeballs.

“Illusion is only temporary; sooner or later it will become real. Otherwise, why would we ally with the Eastern Imperial Palace?”

Feiwei declares with conviction: “If I don’t spend time now imagining, when the truth finally arrives I’ll still have to waste time testing—wouldn’t that interrupt my meals?”

“The new ‘Millet Dream’ hasn’t even been built, and the turning of false into true—who knows how long we must wait?”

Witch‑Altar erupts in sudden fury: “I’ve never approved of cooperating with the Eastern Imperial Palace; those Yin‑Yang sequence folks are mostly charlatans! If mere fantasy could make reality, why do we need ‘Heaven’s Timing,’ ‘Four Seasons,’ and ‘Seed‑Cause’? Without fields, what would grow would be genuine?”

“‘Summer,’ your temper is still as explosive as ever.”

Feiwei continues munching the string of eyeballs, drawling lazily: “Without them, our state wouldn’t have taken root in the capital so smoothly, so we owe them face. Besides, whether they speak truth or lies, we’ll never lose out—why fuss over it?”

“We have poured countless efforts and resources into Lin Jieba; if she cannot ascend to the second sequence, the consequence isn’t merely a loss—it would be total ruin.”

The woman sneers: “If we can’t take her fruit, how are we to deal with Zhang Fengyue?”

Feiwei hears this and can’t help but burst into a hollow laugh.

“Going up against Zhang Fengyue? Witch‑Altar, you’re not about to strap twelve fake courage‑seeds onto yourself like those counterfeit agrarian orders in the imperial heartland, are you? Where does this idea even come from?”

“As long as Lin Jieba successfully transforms, we’ll obtain a fruit that elevates one to the second sequence; then we’ll all be on equal footing—why fear Zhang Fengyue?”

“Which persona are you speaking from now? How naïve! Do you really think no second‑sequence cultivator has ever fallen into his grasp over all these years?”

The fat man sighs: “Then let me ask you—have you considered that we showed not a trace of clue before, yet Zhang Fengyue suddenly reaches into the capital, and by sheer coincidence targets the Sangyan Temple?”

“How could it not be coincidence? After the world split into martial factions we entered the capital—could Zhang Fengyue have laid traps, subtle hints, decades ago that persist to now? That would be utterly absurd.”

The ‘Four Seasons’ Witch‑Altar sneers: “Feiwei, are you growing timid the more genes you consume? Zhang Fengyue is merely a second‑sequence, not even first—why do you fear him so?”

Feiwei frowns, voice dripping with disdain: “It’s not fear—it’s reverence! Your vision is narrow; even if I explained, you wouldn’t grasp it. Just tend your own little plot.”

“You!”

Witch‑Altar’s eyes narrow, she is about to flare.

Just then, the old man who had been dozing off beside them the whole time suddenly speaks.

“It was I whom he schemed against.”

Seeing the old man speak, both Feiwei and Witch‑Altar snap their mouths shut, sit upright, and focus their attention on him.

His many subtle gestures reveal his lofty standing within the state.

“Heaven’s Timing” Yin Ji, chief of the state.

Unlike Witch‑Altar’s shocked expression, Feiwei seems to have anticipated this; he sighs deeply, “Old sir, this isn’t your fault.”

Feiwei consoles: “Given Zhang Fengyue’s influence and standing in the Confucian order, the resources he commands and the manpower he can mobilize far surpass yours. Yet you have managed to keep our foothold in the capital for all these years—you are not inferior to him.”

The old man lifts his head, his creased face breaking into a tranquil smile.

“Little fatty, don’t try to soften my heart. Win or lose, there’s no such thing as ‘not losing.’ Sprouting is merely the process; whether we can bear fruit smoothly is what matters—otherwise it’s all empty talk.”

The old man turns his head to gaze at the lip‑biting Witch‑Altar and says softly: “Girl, what the fatty said is right—no matter which persona you wear now, you must learn reverence. Heaven creates all things; our agrarian order merely imitates heaven’s craft, but some people and events lie beyond even heaven’s foresight, let alone ours.”

“I’ve remembered, sir.”

Witch‑Altar lowers her gaze, her lids drooping, and replies obediently.

Watching the two solemn figures before him, Yin Ji cannot help but laugh aloud.

“Enough, you two needn’t wear that woebegone look of a field trampled by others. We haven’t yet been out‑calculated by Zhang Fengyue; we still have a chance to win.”

Fei Yi glanced sideways at the shaman who was about to speak, cutting him off and asked, "Elder, what should we do now?"

"Don't rush; others haven't arrived yet. We won't be the one to stick our necks out."

Yin Ji shifted his tone, "Yet Prince Zhang Shiyuan has somehow allied himself with that lone martial order—truly most unusual."

Fei Yi furrowed his brow, worry etched on his face: "Could it be that Zhang Fengyue has already sensed what we intend—"

"Unlikely. If that were the case, Li Jun wouldn't have the leisure to pluck the mulberry-smoke incense at the shrine of the borderlands."

The old man chuckled: "And even if he truly knew, he'd likely not stop us. What he most desires to see is us, the order-followers, tearing each other apart—after all, in his eyes we are nothing but expendable vermin."

"If the elder says so, then there's surely no problem."

Fei Yi said: "But this is of great importance; should we still send someone to probe? It would put our minds at ease and keep the safer for the Earth Lord."

"I have already arranged for the Five Desires' geomancer to make contact with his retinue. Once the geomancer gains control over them, we will learn exactly what Zhang Shiyuan intends."

Fei Yi's massive frame sat rigidly upon the tiny chair, a self‑deprecating grimace twisting his lips.

"Your foresight is thorough, elder; I spoke out of turn."

"We have toiled for years upon this barren soil, and now the harvest is finally within reach—no amount of caution can be excessive."

The old man waved a hand: "Dismissed. For the coming days you two must be careful; reap what you can quickly, and let the rest slip into hibernation."

"Don't cling to these trifles; losing them matters little. If we can endure this winter unscathed, come next spring we will no longer need to use those barbarians as fertilizer."

"Understood."

‘Seed‑Cause’ Fei Yi and ‘Four Seasons’ Wuji spoke in unison.

"Why have I become a dog? How could I possibly be a dog?"

In the village, a lame black dog covered in scars wandered aimlessly, its tail limp and dragging behind, emitting occasional low whines.

"On what grounds?"

Zou Jiujiu seethed with resentment, lifting both forepaws and jumping in place, slamming them hard against the ground.

Woof!

Yet the more unwilling he felt, the foggier his mind grew.

After a few hops, he realized he had even forgotten why he was unwilling.

"Little Sword, you keep growing sturdier—I adore you."

A cloying, nauseating voice drifted down from above.

Zou Jiujiu glanced up and saw a vine in a pot swaying to and fro, its lascivious blossoms twisting obscenely.

The woman bent over, revealing a cleft of desire, while the sword‑lance orchid thrust its head forward, trying to slip into the depths.

The scene was sensual yet utterly bizarre.

This lewd orchid was named Changjun.

Zou Jiujiu recognized it at once, though he could recall nothing but its name.

"Ah, what filthy rag has crawled here? Get lost at once!"

The woman noticed Zou Jiujiu watching from below, her brows knitting into a frown as she leaned forward and hurled abuse.

The coveted chasm she had long dreamed of presented itself before her, and Changjun eagerly thrust his head into it, writhing with excitement.

Snap.

Upon his body burst forth clusters of white flowers.

"Ah, my little Sword, you have finally blossomed—you far outshine that dog."

"Why must you belittle me?"

Zou Jiujiu, dragging his leg as he walked away, heard the delighted cry and turned back toward the sound.

On the balcony, the woman clung tightly to the sword‑lance orchid.

But Zou Jiujiu saw clearly that the orchid had nearly been uprooted, its tender green stems withering and curling.

Changjun is dying.

"But what does that have to do with me?"

"If you think you're stronger, then go die."

Woof!

Zou Jiujiu let out a gleeful, malicious laugh, turned his head, and continued toward the village outskirts.

Beyond the village lay patchwork fields; one plot glowed crimson like blood, slick with oil, starkly conspicuous.

He is Chen Qisheng; he is Zou Jiujiu.

Zou Jiujiu sat upon the field's ridge, gazing up at the peculiar, crimson sapling.

Chen Qisheng stood in the field, eyes downcast upon the wretched black pup.

"Our relationship is fine."

"But why it is fine, I cannot recall."

The same thought arose simultaneously in both of their hearts.

"How could you have been turned into a tree?"

"How could you have become a dog?"

The wind stirred the treetops; the black dog scratched its head.

"Aren't you the Lord of the Pastoral Way?"

"Aren't you the Master of the Millet Dream?"

Barks rose from all sides, the tree shadows swaying.

"You mangy cur, thinking to steal my fruit? I'll beat you to death!"

A stone flew and landed before Zou Jiujiu, the spray of mud making him start.

Zhang Chongyuan, his trousers rolled up, came running from afar, his face twisted with malice, a demonic visage.

Whine...

Zou Jiujiu let out a mournful yelp, scrambling away on belly and paws.

"I will kill you—why have you harmed my master, my brothers? I will kill you!"

The deafening roar spurred the fleeing Zou Jiujiu to summon courage and glance back.

Upon the ridge, Zhang Chongyuan hopped, clapping his hands.

Above Chen Qisheng's head, within the fruit shaped like clasped hands, the pulsing heartbeat quickened, as if about to burst.

Chen Qisheng, too, was near death.

This time Zou Jiujiu felt no schadenfreude, only a pang of sorrow.

Besides that, there lingered a deep‑seated envy.

It's wonderful that someone cares for him so deeply.

Zou Sijiu, having circled the village once, returned to the small courtyard, his body tangled with weeds and dust.

The woman named Yuan Mingfei huddled beneath the eaves, knees drawn to her chest, weeping since Zou Sijiu left, and still not ceasing now that he has returned.

Why is she so frightened? What does she fear?

Exhausted, Zou Sijiu could barely think, staggering toward the corner of the courtyard.

The corner lay in disarray, weeds uprooted and soil turned over everywhere, save for a single foxtail grass still growing there.

Zou Sijiu did not pull out that defiant foxtail grass that dared to mock him.

For as he opened his mouth to bite the stem, his heart seized with sharp pangs.

The sudden pain made him bite down hard on his own tongue.

In a fit of rage he tore out every weed in the corner, yet perfectly avoided that single foxtail grass.

A black little dog lay beneath the leaves, droplets of dew continually falling and striking its fur.

"You wretch, get inside!"

The door burst open with a bang, the chain dragging on the ground, emitting a harsh clatter.

Only then did Zou Sijiu see clearly: a chain looped around Yuan Mingfei's neck, its other end disappearing into the darkness within.

"Please, let me go,"

The woman wept and begged, but could not resist the chain's pull, being slowly dragged toward the door.

Within the surging darkness inside, figures in red robes flickered in and out of sight.

Just before Yuan Mingfei was about to be dragged again into that hell‑like darkness, she turned her head desperately and gazed deeply at Zou Sijiu lying in the corner.

Her eyes were full of hope.

Ah, she too is a pitiful soul.

But look, I'm useless as well—I'm merely a dog.

Zou Sijiu thought resentfully.

"You need not be a dog; you can become a person."

A shadow fell, covering Zou Sijiu's body.

He lifted his head in panic and saw the earth's fissure lowering its gaze upon him.

"Why can a single iris become a treasure, a prisoner a bodhisattva, a dummy a herdsman, while you are only fit to be a homeless dog, subject to anyone's abuse?"

"Because all of this is false, merely your illusion. Kill them, let them stay here, and you will truly awaken. Then you need feel no resentment, nor envy anyone, for those who fare better than you must die."

The fissure placed a wooden bucket before Zou Sijiu, an irresistible temptation drawing his entire focus.

"Think it over well—will you be human or remain a dog?"

The shadow vanished, and Zou Sijiu's gaze locked firmly onto the bucket before him.

It was a bucket of swill.

No, it was the elixir that could turn him into a person.

Drink it, and I will no longer be a dog; I can become human.

Whimper..

Zou Sijiu's limbs tensed, his claws digging deep into the earth.

Just as he could barely restrain himself, on the verge of lunging forward.

Smack..

A huge droplet of dew struck his crown.

Zou Sijiu's eyes, nearly drowned by desire, suddenly cleared a little; he lifted his head blankly as a string of droplets pattered down.

Within each droplet seemed to hide a face streaked with tears.

Is this the guardian?!

At this moment, Zou Sijiu finally recalled the name of that foxtail grass.

Is she also about to die?

Suddenly, an uncontrolled flame of malice surged into Zou Sijiu's heart.

A raging fire spread, burning away the veils that obscured memory and the desires that controlled thought.

You bastard, you touched my wife?!