A peasant uprising?
What a distant term.
Ever since Zhang Chen came to this world, he had never once heard the words "peasant uprising."
Why?
The reason was simple: peasants had never possessed Bloodline Power. They were all ordinary people. Facing bloodline clans that wielded Bloodline Power and stood as sacred as gods, they had no power to resist whatsoever.
Zhang Chen looked at the letter in his hand, then casually set it aside without paying it much mind. Although the disappearance of Supernatural Power had dragged the privileged class down from the heavens and infinitely narrowed the distance between them and the common people, the gap between the two sides remained enormous. From weapons and equipment to command ability, the difference was as vast as heaven and earth.
Even in Zhang Chen's previous life, a world entirely devoid of Supernatural Power, throughout the magnificent five thousand years of Chinese civilization, although peasants had rebelled, not a single one had ever succeeded. Every successful rebellion had been guided by great clans.
Peasants had always been nothing more than cannon fodder.
"For peasants to actually have the courage to rebel is rather beyond my expectations. In my eyes, it is something worth celebrating." Zhang Chen shook his head and ignored the matter. He was now a beneficiary of the established order—indeed, the greatest beneficiary in the Northlands. He could not possibly betray his own class.
If he betrayed his own class, not only would his subordinates refuse to accept it, even his wife Zhong Xiang and his son Zhang Xiang would never agree.
"Tell Wang Ye not to carry out a large-scale slaughter. Just disperse those rebellious commoners." After grinding ink and writing a letter, Zhang Chen casually handed it to the guard beside him. "Deliver this letter to Wang Ye."