Chapter 50: A Stern Rebuke

Until setting out this morning, Han Cheng had still been hesitating over whether he truly should come. After all, he was not the head of the family, nor even the designated heir. Faced with such a monumental matter, though he firmly believed the Han clan stood to gain more than lose, the lingering doubt in his heart refused to dissipate.

What he feared was the one-in-ten-thousand chance of unforeseen disaster. Even if they had no real intention of rebellion, the court would never lightly annihilate a deeply rooted local noble family solely for worshiping deities—a practice anyone could partake in. As for the words spoken at the ancestral hall, any discerning person knew they were just excuses for outsiders, meant only to secure an opportunity for their branch.

However, if the matter were ultimately disproved, the Han clan would undoubtedly suffer. The most immediate consequence would likely be the emperor himself using this as a pretext to target Han Cheng’s father, who served as Deputy Minister of the Secretariat. At best, a stern reprimand; at worst... But after witnessing the astonishing divine phenomena with his own eyes, Han Cheng finally understood what he had been missing.

Throughout history, countless emperors had anxiously sought immortals and divine guidance, only to squander vast resources and end up empty-handed, becoming a laughingstock. Yet now, the very opportunity that countless sovereigns had sought in vain even unto death was laid before them. And he... Han Cheng barely knew how to explain this to his father.

Perhaps the only fortunate thing was that he was not alone in error—it was the entire Han clan’s mistake. But it was all for naught. This was not merely about blessings or divine fate. It was something far greater—

The old village chief, having lived seventy or eighty years, clearly discerned the countless desires suddenly flashing in Han Cheng’s eyes. After a brief hesitation, he bowed his head and offered the precious roof tile he had been entrusted with, holding it out with both hands.

“Noble sir, please.”

Han Cheng’s gaze fixed unwaveringly on the approaching tile. In that moment, nothing else remained in his eyes but this sacred treasure, this immortal relic, suffused with a warm yellow aura swirling like mist—captivating and profound.

There might still be some foolish souls in the clan who blamed them for acting rashly, arguing that even if it were true, no one should so boldly worship deities at such a critical juncture, risking the wrath of the world. But how could those fools know that once blessed by a true god, once in possession of this relic, even if the court dared to send troops against their noble clan, he could take this divine treasure to the local tribes and seek their counsel one by one?

Fate was at hand, the miraculous was before their eyes!

What great noble family or fierce general could resist following the heavenly mandate? The emperor? If he were truly destined, why would the southwest suffer three years of drought? If he were truly invincible, why had the rebellion led by a mere commoner, hiding behind tales of spirits and ghosts, not been quelled long ago?

It was only his fear that the matter might be false. Until dawn, when he saw the ancestral tablets, he finally reacted: such a divine opportunity, no matter how small the chance of falsehood—even if odds were fifty-fifty... no! Even if the odds were nine losses to one win, they must still fight with all their might!

For the dog emperor entrenched in the capital, who fancied himself a youthful hero but was cruel in heart and scornful of the scholar-gentry, wielding the butcher’s knife recklessly—he had long placed the executioner’s blade at the necks of the noble clans! Though not yet fallen, the dull blade’s pain never ceased.

Noticing the nobleman’s expression grow increasingly grim, the old village chief trembled uncontrollably.

“Noble sir, please, please take this away!”

The surrounding villagers fell silent, their breaths barely audible. Clutching the treasured tile like their very lives, they staggered backward step by step toward the ruined shrine.

For years, they had long been accustomed to bowing and yielding before the noble families.

“All right, all right, the Han clan will not forget what you have done today!”

Han Cheng, eyes devoid of anything but joy, reached eagerly toward the tile.

At that moment, a voice suddenly came from behind him.

Not loud, not harsh.

Yet it struck like the chilling waters of the underworld, sending a shiver through his entire body, trembling uncontrollably.

“If you truly accept this, your Han clan will be utterly doomed. If you seek your own death, I have no interest in stopping you,” the voice deepened suddenly, like thunder rolling over the hearts of the Han clan, “But do not let this sin drag down all living beings!”

Thud!

Han Cheng jolted awake, cold sweat instantly soaking through his deep purple official robe, his entire form collapsing to the ground in obeisance.

The onlooking commoners watched clearly: this dignified Deputy Commander of Qingzhou was so shaken by a few words that sweat drenched his purple robe, clinging tightly to his back!

The people did not understand, neither did the Han clan.

Only Han Cheng himself, wiping the cold sweat from his brow and steadying his mind, hurriedly turned to the one who had issued the stern rebuke, bowing respectfully.

“Han Cheng thanks Daoist Du Yuan for your timely admonition!”

What had come over him? Though he felt the matter might truly succeed, how could such a rebellious thought suddenly arise? Moreover, it was all his wishful thinking—he had no idea what the shrine itself thought!

“You can’t just watch as you drag the people down with you, can you?”

Han Cheng lowered his head in panic.

Du Yuan could not guess what these noble families were truly thinking. But just now, he clearly saw several strands of scarlet qi inexplicably entwining Han Cheng’s body.

It resembled what he had seen in Qing County that day, yet something felt off.

From that scarlet aura, Du Yuan faintly heard the roar of battle.

Before Du Yuan could ponder further, the shrine’s voice returned to his ears.

“You need not worry. Since I promised you, I will not allow this cataclysmic calamity to disturb this mortal’s soul and bring war upon the land.”

At the end, Du Yuan heard a low chuckle.

“And besides, he cannot wield it—that is what you are delivering to them on my behalf. Others cannot grasp it, cannot use it. Should anyone dare, then the Han family deserves to be replaced.”

Cataclysmic calamity? Calamity wave? War returning to its place?

What were these things?

Du Yuan understood every word spoken, but together, he could not quite grasp their meaning.

Yet he dared not ask, for he had led the other party astray, and now they spoke as if he already knew too much...

So many mysteries flooded Du Yuan’s mind.

To avoid revealing his ignorance, he simply smiled and asked instead, “What of Han Tang?”

Han Cheng paused, then his face darkened with guilt.

He did not answer, only bowed his head and said, “By now, that poor Tang, whom I have caused so much pain, should have arrived.”

No sooner had he spoken—

“Is that... the Daoist’s voice? Am I... at the shrine?!”

A hesitant yet urgent voice came from the back of the Han clan’s crowd.

Du Yuan turned toward the sound. The Han clan members blocking the way bowed their heads and silently parted to create a path.

Several maidservants half-supported a figure as she stepped forward slowly.

It was the Han noblewoman Han Tang, whom they had seen only yesterday.

But now, though her eyes were not closed, they were vacant and sightless. One hand groped blindly in the air, and only by the maidservants’ guidance did she stagger forward.

At a glance, everyone was shocked—this noblewoman had wept herself blind.