The Curtain Gradually Rises

Feng Xiu fell silent.

The matter of the Golden Ear Wheat involved too high a tier within the city; no one believed there wasn't tacit approval from the government behind it, though it hadn't been pinned on any specific individual.

Feng Ao's tone softened a little.

"Still, you did well this time. Teaming up with the Fan and Lin families to apply pressure and force their hand—at least now they know we're not pushovers."

"But the three of us alone aren't enough."

Feng Ao looked at him and spoke slowly again. "Find some time to see Fan Ling and Lin Che. Tell them the Grand Sacrifice goes on as planned. On my end, I'll go talk to a few other grain merchants."

"If the government wants us to bow our heads, they'll have to ask if we agree first."

Feng Xiu watched his father's eyes, sharp and predatory like a tiger's, and suddenly felt he had underestimated the old man.

"Yes." Feng Xiu stood and bowed respectfully. "I understand."

"Go on, then."

Feng Xiu pushed open the door and left.

Stepping out of the main hall, the sky was already near dusk.

Feng Xiu stood under the eaves, his mind racing.

Feng Ao's stance was tougher than he had expected—forming a larger alliance of grain merchants to create a stronger interest bloc.

Going head-to-head with the prefectural office like this meant they were gearing up for a real fight.

"Uncle Zheng, prepare the carriage." Feng Xiu strode out. "To the Fan residence."

"Now?" Uncle Zheng was taken aback. "It's almost dark."

"That's exactly why we go at dark." Feng Xiu didn't slow his pace. "Tomorrow is the Grand Sacrifice. Some things need to be settled tonight."

Uncle Zheng acknowledged and hurried off to ready the carriage.

Half an incense stick later, the carriage stopped at the Fan residence's gate.

Fan Ling had just finished dinner. When he heard Feng Xiu had arrived, he came out to greet him personally.

Without any formalities, the two went straight to the study. Lin Che arrived shortly after, still twirling his bamboo folding fan, though his expression was graver than it had been during the day.

"Brother Wen Zheng, what's the rush? Something happened?" Lin Che asked as he sat down.

Feng Xiu got straight to the point. "Daoist Yellow Dragon has arrived."

Both men's eyes lit up.

"When did he get here? Where is he now?" Fan Ling pressed.

"Early this morning. He's at the courtyard east of the city, familiarizing himself with the procedures." Feng Xiu looked at them. "I came to keep you both in the loop. Tomorrow's Grand Sacrifice goes on as planned, but there are a few things we need to discuss."

Lin Che closed his fan and tapped it lightly against his palm. "Let's hear it."

Feng Xiu briefly recounted his conversation with Feng Ao that day, omitting the part about Feng Ao planning to ally with other grain merchants.

Finally, he looked at the two of them and spoke slowly.

"Tomorrow's Grand Sacrifice—on the surface, I'm the one presiding. But in truth, the three of us are bearing it together. You both need to keep that in mind."

Fan Ling raised an eyebrow. "Do you even need to say that? We've studied together since we were kids. You think we'd let you take the fall alone?"

Lin Che said nothing, just nodded, though a layer of calculation flickered in his eyes.

Feng Xiu noticed but didn't call it out. He continued.

"I'll have word spread that Daoist Yellow Dragon has arrived. By tomorrow morning, the whole city will know. When the time comes, it won't just be common folk showing up—there'll be spies from every family, even people from the government."

He paused, his gaze sweeping across their faces.

"We need to be ready. No matter how the rain prayer turns out, this show has to go on."

Fan Ling slapped his thigh. "Don't worry. The manpower and supplies from my Fan family will be in place by dawn. The three sacrificial offerings, the drums and gongs, the full ceremonial procession—all at the highest standard."

Lin Che nodded too. "My Scripture Troupe is ready. Twenty Taoists, full regalia. They'll be waiting at White Willow Village before daybreak."

Feng Xiu nodded, then shifted the topic.

"There's one more thing I need to mention in advance."

Both men looked at him.

"The Feng Clan might make some moves soon—not just about the grain shops." Feng Xiu's tone was calm, as if stating something ordinary.

"When that time comes, I hope you two will remember the bond we share, sitting here tonight."

The study fell silent for a moment.

Fan Ling was taken aback, then burst into laughter, clapping Feng Xiu on the shoulder. "Wen Zheng, that's too formal. Our three families are bound together. You think someone's going to stab us in the back?"

Lin Che still said nothing, just gently shook his fan, his gaze lingering on Feng Xiu's face for a moment before he slowly nodded.

Feng Xiu smiled and said no more.

Some words, once spoken, were enough.

The three of them discussed a few more details for the next day, settling on a time and place to meet.

Feng Xiu rose to take his leave, Fan Ling saw him to the door, and Lin Che followed along as well.

Just before getting into the carriage, Feng Xiu turned back to look at Lin Che.

"Wenyuan, that folding fan of yours—better not bring it tomorrow."

Lin Che was taken aback. "Why not?"

"Tomorrow's grand festival will have many people and prying eyes." Feng Xiu looked at him, his tone calm. "If you stand there waving that fan, people might think you're here to watch the show."

Lin Wenyuan and Feng Wenzheng—both had their courtesy names bestowed by Master Jingzhai, and their bond was close.

Feng Xiu was willing to offer him some pointers on the finer details.

"After all, we're the ones putting on the show, not watching it."

Lin Che's expression shifted slightly, then he folded his fan and clasped his fists solemnly. "Many thanks for the correction, Brother Wenzheng."

Feng Xiu nodded and climbed into the carriage.

The curtain fell, the sound of hooves rose, and gradually faded into the night.

The next day, the sky was barely light.

Feng Xiu had just finished washing up after getting out of bed, preparing to head to White Willow Village to preside over the Sweet Dew Grand Festival.

But he unexpectedly ran straight into Zhou Gang and the others—Zhou Gang, Han Che, and a dozen or so sturdy men were coming from the direction of the rear courtyard dormitory.

The whole group wore close-fitting short martial attire; some had belt buckles for securing weapons, and a large blade was slung across their backs.

Feng Xiu smiled and greeted them. "Uncle Zhou, how was it? Did you get a good look at the courtyard?"

"Excellent. Six hundred taels isn't too steep, and the place is spacious." Zhou Gang laughed heartily, his voice booming.

"I'm glad you're satisfied. Did you sign the deed?"

"No rush. I'll deal with your business first, then come back to sign with them—it won't be too late." Zhou Gang waved his hand dismissively.

He had heard Zhou Gang talk about walking all over Green Rock City recently, so he naturally knew the market for a good courtyard.

A new escort agency headquarters, six hundred taels, and still in the inner city—honestly, the price was suspiciously cheap.

No need to say it; the brokerage must have done it out of respect for Feng Xiu. That favor had to be acknowledged.

Since Feng Xiu had spoken, he had to make sure this matter was handled flawlessly.

"With me on the job, you can rest easy." Zhou Gang patted his chest in assurance, then prepared to lead his men away.

"Then I'll be waiting for Uncle Zhou's good news."

A smile tugged at the corner of Feng Xiu's mouth as he clasped his hands toward the group.

But just a few steps later, he ran into Uncle Zheng coming from the opposite direction.

Uncle Zheng paused, then immediately understood and quickly stepped aside.

After Zhou Gang left, Uncle Zheng approached and bowed to report, "Eldest Young Master, shall we set off now?"

Feng Xiu nodded. "Let's go."

With that, the two got into the carriage.

Half an hour later.

At the entrance of White Willow Village, a sea of people.

Feng Xiu stood beside an inconspicuous carriage in the distance.

At the center of the village entrance, an altar three zhang high had already been erected—green bamboo for the frame, yellow curtains for the drapes, and five-colored banners hanging on all sides, flapping noisily in the morning breeze.

At the very center of the altar sat a large rosewood table, on which the three sacrificial offerings were neatly arranged.

A whole pig's head, a sheep's head, and an ox's head, each holding a vermillion fruit in its mouth.

On either side of the table stood a row of bronze tripods, from which sandalwood smoke curled upward in wisps of blue.

On the open ground flanking the altar, twenty Daoist priests had already taken their positions, dressed in red and yellow ritual robes, holding copper bells, wooden fish, cymbals, and hand chimes.

At their head, Daoist Yellow Dragon sat with white hair and beard, his expression solemn, eyes closed as he sat upright on a cushion, silent.

Feng Xiu's gaze lingered on him for a moment, then moved away.

The common folk gathered around the altar in a dense, dark mass—at least several thousand people.

Some held incense and candles, others carried offerings, but most came empty-handed, their eyes full of hope.

Closest to him, an old farmer knelt on the ground, a small dish of coarse grain before him, muttering under his breath.

Among the crowd were also many well-dressed faces—wealthy city dwellers, merchants, stewards and spies from various great families.

And even a few men in plain clothes who were clearly sharp-eyed government runners from the prefectural office.

Feng Xiu withdrew his gaze and sighed inwardly.

These commoners truly longed for rain.

A pity~

Fan Ling had walked up beside him at some point, lowering his voice. "More people came than expected. I glanced around—at least seven or eight families are all here."

Feng Xiu nodded but said nothing.

Lin Che also approached. Today, as expected, he carried no folding fan, his hands tucked into his sleeves, his expression far more composed than the night before.

"The Scripture Troupe is ready. We're just waiting for the auspicious hour."

Feng Xiu looked up at the sky.

Clear for ten thousand li, the blazing sun like fire.

"Begin." Feng Xiu stepped forward and gave the order.

After speaking, he retreated back into the crowd.

At the third ke of the hour of Chen, the auspicious moment arrived.

Drums suddenly rose.

Twenty Daoists struck their ritual instruments at once—bronze bells ringing clear, wooden fish tapping steady, cymbals clashing sharp—all sounds weaving together, carrying a solemn and dignified air.

Daoist Yellow Dragon slowly rose and stepped onto the altar.

Today he had changed into a deep purple ritual robe, embroidered with sun, moon, and stars, cloud patterns and cranes, a five-colored silk sash at his waist, and cloud-treading shoes on his feet.

Paired with his white hair and long beard, he truly bore an immortal, otherworldly bearing—except for that black hat on his head.

He walked to the rosewood altar table, lit three sticks of incense, and inserted them into the censer.

Then he took out a yellow paper petition written in cinnabar, unrolled it, and read aloud in a resonant voice.

"Humbly invoking the bright heavens and shining sun and moon—now the people of Qingyan suffer under great drought, fields cracked, seedlings withered. We reverently offer the three sacrificial meats, sweet wine, incense, candles, and paper money."

"Above, we pray to the Azure Sky; below, we appeal to the Earth. We humbly hope the Golden Gate will exert its might, that wind and clouds may convene, and sweet rain fall widespread."

"Rescue the myriad people from dire straits, relieve the suffering of all living beings."

Daoist Yellow Dragon's voice was aged, but every word was clear, carried far by the wind.

The commoners held their breath, looking up at the old man on the altar, their eyes full of reverence.