In front of the Celestial Official’s Mansion, the spacious square and streets were packed with people. Looking out, there was no room to move, only a sea of blackheads swaying in motion.

People wore wrapped headcloths, carried hard dry rations in their bosoms, and carried shovels, baskets, and other tools on their backs.

They had come to Tiancheng from various regions and villages, whispering and exchanging news:

“Will they give out pork every day for digging canals?”

“I heard that in neighboring Hongfu County, they only eat pork during New Year. Only for marriage proposals and taking brides would they spare two legs of wind-dried ham.”

Nowadays, if one were to describe a place as abundant and prosperous, the most extravagant dream imaginable would be “eating pork every day.”

Those with good information continued:

“That ham, though it looks rock-hard when sliced paper-thin, with lean mixed with fat, it’s oily in the mouth, salty and fragrant. One bite makes you crave it all day. Also, when a couple gets married and hosts a feast, the dishes aren’t boiled in water, but fried in lard. The oil’s fragrance doesn’t disperse all night.”

The sound of swallowing saliva rose in succession.

“What must food fried in lard taste like?”

“Don’t know, we’ve never had it, just heard about it.”

Someone grumbled: “Mother of mine, the Hongfu people are so fortunate, how much virtue must they have accumulated in their previous lives!”

Before the saliva-swallowing sounds had subsided, this statement was challenged:

“I’m from Huayan Village on the border. Listen to me. Hongfu isn’t having an easy time this year either. Both banks of the Black River suffered flooding, and many people drowned. Fields were destroyed, houses collapsed, and piglets that hadn’t grown yet all drowned alive.”

“Dead people floated in the river, and by the time they were fished out, they were bloated. The living still had to pay taxes without reduction.”

The voices of envy and jealousy immediately lowered, turning into sympathy and lamentation:

“Heavens, why is each year more bitter than the last.”

“The dry die of drought, the wet die of floods!”

Those who have suffered find it easier to empathize with others’ suffering.

“Stop mourning, everyone. Once we dig the canals, the new celestial official will cast a spell to divert the water. In the future, Hongfu won’t flood, and we won’t suffer drought.”

“Right, Qianqu now has Celestial Official Song! The announcement says every village can have a canal, so our village won’t have to travel ten li to fetch water anymore.”

Mountain paths were rugged and difficult to traverse. Water carts were heavy, and half the water would spill on the way. With the slightest fatigue, carts would overturn, people would be injured, and not even half the water would remain.

Ordinary villagers held reverence and fear toward Tiancheng and the celestial official, not daring to shout. So despite the dense crowd, it wasn’t noisy.

Zhou Xiaoyun had just exited the mansion gate when she was immediately struck by the scene. No wonder they hadn’t heard any commotion inside the mansion—they had thought no one would come.

“Which township and village are you from? Did you come voluntarily to build canals?” she asked the person at the front of the line.

The farmer nervously rubbed his hands and asked in return: “Will they give out pork for canal work?”

Someone nearby scolded in a low voice: “How dare you speak to the immortal master like that! Even if they don’t, we’re all willing to come!”

Ji Xing attempted to dissuade some people, pointing to the sky: “Summer has arrived, and the sun gets stronger each day. The work is both hot and tiring. The elderly and children should go home first.”

No one in the queue moved.

Those men in their fifties and sixties, though appearing weathered and old, still worked in the fields daily and didn’t consider themselves elderly.

Those fifteen or sixteen-year-old youths, though still looking immature, had already started families and didn’t consider themselves children.

Everyone believed they were “strong laborers” in their prime working years.

Xu Kanshan and Qiu Dacheng had no choice but to announce a three-tiered standard based on height, weight, and age.

After one round of screening, those who left secretly regretted it. The remaining two thousand people all gathered, unwilling to leave, racking their brains to recommend themselves:

“Choose me, immortal master, my legs are good, I can run fast.”

“Immortal master, I’m sturdy and can carry four baskets of soil on one shoulder.”

Ji Xing consulted with the four from the chicken delivery team: “Why don’t we divide into small teams and work in shifts?”

Zhou Xiaoyun nodded: “Rotate work and rest without delaying the project schedule.”

Xu Kanshan announced in a loud voice: “No more screening. From now on, everyone will work according to the scheduled period. Work for half a month, rest for three days, which is just right to go home and check on your family, bringing the distributed grain and meat to your households.”

Everyone hurriedly agreed, but inwardly puzzled.

What exactly was this “rest period”? Why could they even go home?

…

Sixty years ago, there was no clear boundary between Hongfu and Qianqu, and there was even a small market at the border between the two counties.

Residents exchanged grain and cloth, salt and livestock there. There was no such thing as “Qianqu refugees.” Girls from Qianqu married into Hongfu, and men from Qianqu brought back brides from Hongfu.

Later, when Qianqu suffered a great disaster, Hongfu’s Military Director sent people to build walls at the border and dispatched guards to suppress riots.

The bodies of refugees were hung high on the city walls by the guards, left for vultures and eagles to feed on.

It was a nightmare. The weather was cold and gloomy, blood flowed like rivers, and in the gray sky, vultures screeched and circled.

Now no one dared to cross illegally anymore.

This sixty-li stretch of the earthen wall had become a steel beast blocking the disaster victims of Qianqu.

In front of the wall was barren wasteland; behind it was vitality beyond reach.

Liu Hongshan now stood atop the wall.

He stood with his hands behind his back, his posture straight. The summer breeze blew against his face, stirring his whitening beard and magnificent robe.

The sunlight was clean and gentle, warming his whole body comfortably.

Outside the wall, Qianqu’s thousand li of barren land stretched with swirling dust. Inside the wall, Hongfu was lush with greenery, with water glistening everywhere.

Liu Hongshan sighed: “A day in the mountains is a thousand years in the world. In an immortal’s single thought, the mortal realm sees seas turn to mulberry fields.”

“Wonderful poetry!” Hongfu’s Military Director was repeatedly praised. “You’re truly the Literary Star descended to earth!”

“Continue with two more lines,” Liu Hongshan glanced at him faintly.

The Military Director scratched his head and ears, finally saying: “Qianqu is no longer Qianqu, Hongfu is blessed because of you.”

“Not bad!” Liu Hongshan smiled with satisfaction.

Seeing his good mood, the Director of Ceremonies seized the opportunity to speak:

“Iron San Niu from River West Village has offered a ‘water management map.’ He claims to have observed river water volumes for thirty years, traveled both banks and drawn this map. He wishes to assist you in rebuilding embankments and regulating waterways…”

Liu Hongshan’s smile faded: “Hasn’t disaster relief grain been distributed? Is it not enough to eat?”

“Yes, yes, it’s enough, but next year—”

Liu Hongshan interrupted again: “Has the flood disaster affected this year’s temple offerings?”

“This, this hasn’t been affected,” the Director of Ceremonies said quietly.

“Then why should I look at anything?!”

The Director of Ceremonies broke into a cold sweat, mumbling compliance: “I’ll send the person away immediately.”

From a distance came sounds of struggle and cries for help, quickly turning into screams of pain. The sound grew fainter and fainter until it could no longer be heard.

Liu Hongshan frowned impatiently.

Mortals with their low cultivation did not understand principles—

The jade wheel of the moon waxes and wanes monthly, rivers flood yearly, these are the cycles of the heavenly way, natural laws. Humans should follow heaven’s timing; how could they possibly control it?

He prided himself on being a good celestial official, providing relief during disasters. But regulating waterways took time and effort.

Compared to devastating floods, cultivation was certainly more important.

Unlike Zhao Ren who desperately wanted to leave the swamp-like Qianqu County, Hongfu County was rich and abundant, and Liu Hongshan was quite satisfied. Although the spiritual energy in the mortal realm was not as dense as in the mountains.

But within Huawei Sect, Golden Core cultivators were as common as clouds, and even the daughter of True Person Xuyun was about to break through to the Golden Core stage.

He thought somewhat sourly that Chen Hongzhu was just a spoiled young girl. He didn’t know how many resources the sect had piled onto her. If the same resources were given to him, he would have formed his Yuan Ying long ago.

In his family, the ancestors presided over resource allocation, with direct lineage and talented descendants enjoying priority. He had no advantage there either.

Only in Hongfu County could he solely absorb the fortunes of an entire county, have the final say, and not face the oppression and constraints of higher-level cultivators.

Liu Hongshan planned to return to the sect as a Yuan Ying cultivator after his breakthrough, leaving Hongfu County behind.

A Yuan Ying cultivator could rightfully occupy a peak alone; only then would he truly feel accomplished.

“There’s an immortal ship approaching from the other side. It must be Celestial Official Song’s team!” the Military Director exclaimed.

Under the azure sky, the Seven Mysteries Treasure Ship approached rapidly, transforming from a tiny black dot into an enormous vessel.

Its altitude continuously decreased, the fierce winds stirring up dust, creating an overwhelming sense of pressure.

Liu Hongshan said coldly: “Director of Ceremonies, send the ceremonial team to receive them.”

He thought, if I hadn’t been in seclusion the day before yesterday, encountering a bottleneck difficult to break through, with nothing better to do, this Elder would not have had the leisure to stand here waiting for someone.

High-level cultivators from prestigious backgrounds mostly relied on their status and rarely dealt with young low-level cultivators of common birth.

But Song Qian Ji was different. Not to mention the treasures left by the sage, he had a full two hundred thousand spirit stones.

News had just spread from Purple Cloud Observatory that the second batch of jade slips had sold out again.

The chess manual “Three Tribulations of Star-Plucking” was already well-known to all. Formation masters and chess enthusiasts were still willing to buy a copy of the Purple Cloud Observatory jade slip for collection.

This might be the last game ever recorded from the Chess Ghost, likely to become an unparalleled rarity.

Song Qian Ji was about to earn more money, perhaps several hundred thousand more.

So young, what would he do with so much money? There was nowhere to spend it all, Liu Hongshan thought disdainfully.

The treasure ship landed steadily, and three people walked down from the bow. The ceremonial team was still playing music, the joyous and high-spirited sounds reaching the clouds, but the treasure ship had already been put away.

Liu Hongshan was somewhat surprised. Song Qian Ji was said to have thousands of followers, yet this time he had brought only two people.

Perfect! He seemed to see three bleating fat lambs, shaking their soft wool as they approached him.

The Qianqu noble clans had just written letters and sent gifts begging for his help, and now Song Qian Ji had delivered himself to his doorstep.

Liu Hongshan unconsciously ground his back teeth, as if sharpening a knife.

The three people followed the ceremonial officials and the honor guard up to the top of the wall, two in front and one behind.

In front was a white-robed youth with a high ponytail, spirited like an unsheathed sword. Beside him was a brocade-clothed youth wearing a purple-gold crown, with an imposing air and exuding wealth.

Liu Hongshan’s gaze shifted between the two.

Finally, with a smile on his face, he went forward and grasped Meng He Ze’s hand, shaking it vigorously for the two hundred thousand spirit stones:

“Brother Song. I’ve long admired your name; truly, seeing is believing. You and I are now neighbors, both cultivators. We should visit each other often and discuss the Dao together!”

After Song Qian Ji had narrowly escaped becoming the disciple of the Calligraphy Sage and Chess Ghost, his seniority had immediately risen, with even Xuyun addressing him as martial brother.

“Greetings, Daoist Friend Liu,” another voice sounded from behind.

Song Qian Ji smiled.

“Not me,” Meng He Ze pulled away his hand, shaking off goosebumps.

He couldn’t help but cast a suspicious glance at Song Qian Ji.

Could it be that Senior Brother Song always hid behind them to avoid being grabbed by these people?

Liu Hongshan was somewhat embarrassed, but having seen much of the world, his expression remained unchanged as he turned toward Song Qian Ji.

Though he knew Song Qian Ji had come to divert water and dig canals, he pretended not to know:

“Brother Song, have you come to discuss the Dao with your senior brother?”

Song Qian Ji revealed a sincere smile: “Indeed.”