Chapter 48: Morality Put To The Test
The Way of Heaven takes from the surplus and adds to the deficit. And the great tribulation of heaven and earth is precisely the social stratum with the most surplus encountering backlash.
Wu Fei felt that this social stratum should be the increasingly extravagant noble clans. If he did not suppress them in advance while strengthening himself, then at the most intense moment of confrontation, he would experience the unhappiness created by the remnant nobles of the previous dynasty in every nook and cranny.
Wu Fei arrived at the prison for political prisoners and began inspecting the new batch of imprisoned scholars.
These “surplus of heaven” only know the sufferings of the common people from seeing farmers’ sweat dripping into the soil under the grain during outings, and for border military affairs, it is limited to so-called clanging weapons and galloping horses poetry.
The southern border lacks scholars, but it lacks scholars who can endure hardship and settle down peacefully. But some guys always want to live a life served by others; to Wu Fei, this is stubborn and ignorant.
On the other side of the railing, Li Zhongxin was just such a stubborn and ignorant person. He was born in Zhu Prefecture, as the legitimate eldest son of the family, never short of money from childhood, and his favorite thing was writing poetry with like-minded friends. However, his comfortable life was shattered with the Common Union Rebellion. Speaking of this “Common Union,” he had only spoken some principles on the restaurant balcony, after all, his family elders often described that if there really was a Common Union, his capable clansmen brothers could find a way out.
However, in the end, his family offended the powers that be and suddenly fell into ruin, and the books he had collected became evidence of guilt; now exiled to Lingnan, he suffered abuse from the rude soldiers.
In the Yongji Pass prison, he was brought to a certain room, with a plate of chicken leg rice placed in front of him. At the same time, he smelled the aroma of wine. He looked up wanting to ask the prison guard what this was exactly, and the prison guard said: “This is punishment for the sour poetry you wrote.”
…Perspective from the other side…
In the office, Wu Fei reviewed these literati’s satirical poems; some rebuked Lingnan for being “upside down,” oh, the meaning of this poetry is that they think the Wu Family as military strategists only needs to fight wars, and governance should be left to scholars. And more, rebuking the Wu Family Army for showing off their military might, just like the jackals, tiger leopards of the savage southern lands.
These words, how to put it, are filled with a mystical flavor of “everyone is drunk but I alone am sober.”
Wu Fei carefully reviewed every line of poetry and prose, and only after confirming that these prisoners were unwilling to take on any practical work during labor in the southern border did he mark them with red ink one by one. And he especially reviewed the comments from others in the opinion column about these scholars’ original work posts.
If someone was willing to vouch for them and issue a work certificate, they could be exempt from “drunken service.” But after this process, not a single person was willing to do so.
Wu Fei: Then it’s no wonder, I’m a pragmatist, and most people are pragmatists too; since you have no practicality, and what you write makes most pragmatists uncomfortable, you can only realize value in the direction I stipulate.
Wu Fei waved his hand, ordering extra meals for the prison cells.
The prisoners over there, holding back tears, ate this good meal, then were taken to the large bunk bed, with a gourd placed in front of them; as the wine cap on the gourd was opened, a dizzying fragrance wafted out, as if all troubles were eliminated.
The first literatus whined and didn’t want to drink, but after being forced to drink, he collapsed in three steps.
This was more effective than any knockout drug, but that literatus who thought he would die did not know that after collapsing, he would have a great dream! This great dream would last from one month to several years.
Li Zhongxin watched others drink the wine, originally thinking he would heroically go to his death, but after seeing the prison guards send the successively drunk people to straw beds, he paused: “Are we to die without a burial place?”
The prison guard said: “What are you thinking? Drink up quickly! This is drunken service, most suitable for you literati who are useless but full of complaints in your chests! Sleep in the dream and reflect well!”
Li Zhongxin didn’t understand what drunken service was exactly, but still raised his cup to toast with the other literary friends in the cell, gulp it down, and sighed: “Very well, a dream is fine too.”
In the dream, he found himself turned into a sword immortal cultivator, floating freely in the clouds and mist.
…Outside the prison cell…
Wu Fei looked at all the literati who had entered drunken service and said to the prison guards: “Take good care of them all. No mistakes allowed.”
In front of these literati, an incense burner was placed, with wisps of smoke drifting from the incense burner; it was expected to burn out after three shichen, and on the incense burners now, little paper figures were dancing and moving about.
The prisoners who drank the Yellow Millet Dream had a page of runes unfold on their foreheads. On the talisman paper, faint threads were being outlined.
The power drawn on these spiritual talismans was “dream power.” This was stimulated by the effect of the Yellow Millet Dream.
The prison guards quickly nodded: “General, rest assured, we will take good care of everyone.”
The incense and fire burned slowly, while the snoring went from steady to rapid, then to tumultuous, rising and falling one after another, as if everyone in this room was struggling for life against heaven; in contrast, the little figures in the incense burners at each bedside became increasingly lively.
The fine brew that Li Zhongxin and the others drank for “drunken service” was called “Yellow Millet Dream”; as the name implies, drinking it leads to a great dream.
In Wu Fei’s bamboo tally, it was recorded thus: Dreams have everything. For ordinary people, dosage should not exceed two liang at a time. Drinking too much may lead to cycles of life and death in the dream.
Therefore, in Da Yao, there are often legends of immortals brewing a cup of wine to let dejected scholars enter dreams for life enlightenment. In reality, it is using dark methods to collect soul power.
If victims encounter someone inviting them to drink, and just before drunkenly collapsing on the table, they notice everyday food emitting smoke nearby, such as a pot of steaming yellow millet rice, then it’s most likely someone stealing dream power. After waking, they should grab him and not let him leave.
Because dream thieves can hide the existence of “Spirit Burning Incense” through these everyday mists and smokes; drinkers of Yellow Millet Dream can experience the ups and downs of life’s fortunes and misfortunes in the dream. And this plot can be guided by this “Spirit Burning Incense.”
For the dreamers, this life experience comes at a cost: a wisp of soul power will precipitate out with the smoke, and at this moment, that soul power is absorbed by those paper figures.
And these paper figures tainted with soul power are exactly what Wu Fei wants to collect.
These soul papers carrying soul power are a wonderful method for preparing spiritual talismans. This method was given by San Gu, after all, she is a Yin Yao mage, very familiar with ghostly paper arts.
……
Wu Fei wants to use these soul papers on cannons.
As a military strategist, while reading the battle report sent from Wu Hengyu in Yunmeng Marsh, Wu Fei discovered a problem: the Wu Family Army’s cannons are no good now! Not precise enough! Projectiles are often dodged. For this, Wu Fei asked his several mages under him if they could make projectiles like flying swords, taking heads from a thousand li away.
Ang Ri and Jia Mude both hesitated to speak—not that they had no way, but their ways were too costly.
Jia Mude explained: “Directly make cannonballs into one-time spiritual artifacts.” After preparing blueprints for Wu Fei, Wu Fei took one look and thought “very nice, but forget it,” this was damn a missile, covered in dense circuits and mechanical control wings.
Ang Ri shrugged; for what Wu Fei wanted, he had something similar, a spirit seed that could actively seek targets, but it required the target’s scent to fly there. Moreover, this spirit seed needed spiritual soil to cultivate, and yield could not be high.
Only this method from San Gu is the best. But! It also requires sufficient resources.
First! Soul power surplus is very rare. Often only one in ten people has it, and most with soul power surplus are capable people; only a very few are troubled by soul power surplus, and these are often the frustrated scholars.
Right now, the talisman paper produced from these scholars’ Yellow Millet Dream can meet the needs of twenty or thirty cannons. One person can drink six times in a lifetime.
…After one stick of incense…
In the prison cell, Wu Fei watched these “frustrated ones” in his own system become increasingly unrestrained in their dream realms. Everyone is drunk but you alone sober! He continued flipping through these secrets.
Yellow Millet Dream this wine, one liang costs twenty taels of silver! Its recipe origin is mysterious, said to be a imitation of “Son of Heaven’s Intoxication” brought out by grave robbers from an emperor’s tomb. And these emperors’ posthumous titles mostly carry “Tyrant” or “Spirit,” one can imagine what role this thing played in dynastic decline.
People often sigh that monarchs indulge in wine and women; women, everyone understands, but “wine,” the rice brew farmers drink is unimaginable for what monarchs drink.
“Son of Heaven’s Intoxication” this recipe is often offered to monarchs when they feel the under heaven is at peace. The side effect of such recipes is to make the “three souls and seven po” overflow from the seven orifices.
Before Da Yao, demon foxes bewitched monarchs; what did they want? They couldn’t bear heirs, nor live idly free like in mountains and forests—seeking sex? No, just to absorb that wisp of Son of Heaven’s Aura! Hence, holding wine cups to serve in the monarch’s embrace.
One sip of Son of Heaven’s Intoxication lets the drinker, in peaceful prosperity, experience the achievement of effortlessly overturning chaotic times’ heroes.
…Wu Fei is no monarch, but he felt dubious about San Gu offering this recipe this time…
Two days later, Wu Fei came to the drill ground again; since it was the catapult aiming at himself, the projectiles were changed to wooden projectiles.
The counterweight trebuchet on the Yongji Pass city battlement began assembling. Then, with the seven-zhang lever swinging open, the wooden projectile flew out, then slowly drifted in the sky like a paper airplane, gradually reaching beyond visual range.
As the counterweight trebuchet five hundred paces away flung the projectile, Wu Fei watched the black dot falling toward him, suddenly feeling a wave of wine aroma hit his face, then dizziness, associating it with his previous life’s sci-fi movie “The Matrix.” Though this world’s art style differs, both create a beautiful illusion to immerse people. If not dodged, it would surely hit.
Before the projectile was about to smash into him, Wu Fei forced himself to chew the pre-placed bitter gall pill in his mouth; the bitterness exploded like dynamite in his oral cavity. Then he stepped left to dodge the projectile.
The best sobering agent for Yellow Millet Dream this wine is a bitter gall.
Wu Fei quickly dodged the first projectile, then though he very much wanted to vomit, he firmly kept his mouth shut.
After it ended, Wu Fei handed the decision-making power for “Yellow Millet Dream” to the cannon team, meaning how much quantity the cannon team needs, that much Yellow Millet Dream is produced, and Wu Fei set a special rule: dreaming after drinking Yellow Millet Dream counts under the “blood reward” system.
For these prisoners, one cup of Yellow Millet Dream substitutes for three years of hard prison rice. And for those elderly and infirm slaves unable to do heavy labor, if they drink five cups of Yellow Millet Dream, it can help one person escape slave status.
It’s not that Wu Fei is kind-hearted, but to warn later generations: drinking is not like ordinary coolie work; gaining reward so easily is equivalent to women selling their bodies.
…After the first batch of Yellow Millet Dream yielded harvest…
Wu Fei specially circled San Gu’s room to confirm San Gu hadn’t hidden any soul paper.
San Gu said: “My lord, has someone accused me to you?”
Wu Fei: “This, um, indeed.”
Wu Fei awkwardly responded: “I heard there is something called ‘paper puppet technique.’ Powerful paper puppets can be carried like scatter beans to create soldiers, shaken out when needed to assassinate a monarch.”
Hearing Wu Fei’s words, San Gu smiled faintly: “If you don’t allow it, I won’t do it.”
Wu Fei, gazed at by these golden blue eyes, felt a bit embarrassed.
…Wu Fei: I’m too petty…
After leaving San Gu’s laboratory, Xuan Chong opened the system and asked: “System, is my approach right or wrong?”
System: “When doing homework, don’t ask randomly; should I pass you answers during exams too?”
Xuan Chong: “I’m just a bit uneasy.”
System: “If uneasy, find the cause of the unease.”
Xuan Chong: “I think the people I’m handling now are not wrong; not engaging in labor production, always using Winning Studies to pollute the information environment, they deserve the iron fist. But will my method of handling those who disagree with my political views suppress certain historical forces of development and progress in the future?”
Xuan Chong clearly understood that when his actions walk in places unseen by light, even with the correct posture, he would worry about accidentally falling into a ditch. And now, to achieve the goal faster, he hadn’t walked in the light.
After a long time, the system countered: “Do you think, in a fair exam, you are stronger than historical progressives?”
Xuan Chong: “Of course not. Stronger than me are like the heroes crossing the river.”
System: “Then what makes you think you can suppress progressive forces? Just because your current position gives you confidence?” (Just short of directly saying Xuan Chong is arrogant.)
Xuan Chong opened his mouth, unable to speak for a long time. Then, muttering softly: “I have no ability, but with your help, it’s not certain.”
System (probably pursing lips): “You don’t do homework, don’t take exams, see if I care about you!”
Xuan Chong understood: oh, progress itself has strong vitality; his petty non-legitimate tricks can’t suppress true progressives.
…Birds of a feather flock together…
Xuan Chong’s tolerance for yin system magic soon attracted the thousand-gold effect for recruiting talent. A month later, a self-proclaimed Mohist School disciple, mechanical puppet master named Gongshu Wang, came to visit, offering Wu Fei a wooden luan.
At first hearing this is airplane-making talent, somehow, when Wu Fei saw the wooden luan he offered, he felt it creepy.
Two days later, after Gongshu Wang successfully circled the drill ground airspace once riding the wooden luan, Xuan Chong immediately saw through it; while everyone was fooled, Wu Fei ordered this Mohist disciple to circle it more than twenty times. Gongshu Wang obviously looked uncomfortable, but under Wu Fei’s gaze full of killing intent, he still complied!
Sure enough, even though he secretly swapped to flapping wings of new material trying to hold on, it still broke directly after three hundred flaps.
This guy relied on parachute gliding to save his life.
Wu Fei shook his head at this: “See, such intense flight movement, the key materials’ lifespan can’t hold up.”
His “physical test instrument” trained his five senses, very sensitive to mechanical movements and sounds. When the wooden luan flapped its wings with a click, Wu Fei heard the wings’ lifespan was overly consumed.
Yet this Mohist disciple felt no shame; after landing, he said this wooden luan could be reinforced and gave Wu Fei a jade slip.
Wu Fei inputted killing intent to read the jade slip, understood the “refining” dharma gate, and fell silent.
Gongshu Wang casually mentioned: “Refining such materials is very simple for you; the slave market has plenty.”
Wu Fei to Gongshu Wang: “Mister, do you think this is too against Heavenly Harmony?”
Gongshu Wang: “General, observing your aura, you shouldn’t have such confusion?”
Wu Fei laughed heartily, pocketed the jade slip, and also kept this Mohist renegade.
Of course under strict watch, otherwise his reputation would be ruined; as for letting him go? If he ran to another camp, he might step on a big pile he left someday and regret it.
Two days later, Wu Fei probed from the Central Plains and got this guy’s background: solidly a deviant rebel. To cultivate the forbidden text “Missing One Gate,” he robbed graves everywhere, just to use coffins as materials to make strange artifacts.
