Rain Seeking Grand Ceremony

"Respectfully submitted to the Heavenly Golden Gate, the Supreme, the Self-Existent, the Wondrous, the All-True Jade Emperor, before His Imperial Presence."

Daoist Yellow Dragon finished the final line and cast the memorial into the cauldron.

Flames leaped up, and ash scattered on the wind.

The drums stopped abruptly. Silence fell all around.

The sky above remained cloudless for ten thousand li, the sun blazing.

The common folk exchanged glances; some began to mutter under their breath.

On the altar, Daoist Yellow Dragon's expression did not change. He burned another talisman and recited aloud once more.

"Lord of Thunder, Mother of Lightning, Earl of Wind, Master of Rain."

"Swiftly receive this command. Do not dare to disobey."

The sun grew even more merciless.

Beside Feng Xiu, Lin Che's face turned grim. "Wen Zheng, at this rate..."

It wasn't that he thought the rain-prayer itself was a problem—failure was always part of their plan.

But no matter how ideal their private scheming seemed, putting it into practice revealed a different truth.

The sea of common folk looked up with eager hope, public sentiment festering to the point of ignition.

Facing the suppressed disappointment of thousands.

One misstep, and the consequences would be unthinkable!

"Don't rush. Wait a little longer." Feng Xiu raised a hand to cut him off.

His gaze swept the crowd, landing on the well-dressed faces—spies from the major grain merchants, yamen clerks whispering among themselves, some even wearing smiles.

The corner of Feng Xiu's mouth curled up slightly.

This was exactly the effect he wanted.

The rain-prayer fails, the people grow resentful, and the River Law Bureau must step forward to give an explanation.

As for Daoist Yellow Dragon—he glanced up at the old Daoist still chanting on the altar.

He could only say: he did his best.

"Earl of Wind, Master of Rain, swiftly receive the command!"

Daoist Yellow Dragon finished the final talisman, raised both hands high, and sighed up to the sky. His voice rang out like a long cry, his breath sustained.

Still nothing. The crowd erupted into chaos.

Some started cursing. Others turned and walked away.

Fan Ling and Lin Che frowned deeply, exchanging a glance. They both saw the solemn gravity in each other's eyes.

Now it all depended on whether Feng Xiu was prepared.

Feng Xiu took a deep breath, about to speak. "Call it off—"

Boom!

A dull thunderclap came from the horizon.

Everyone froze.

Feng Xiu looked up toward the western sky.

There, a mass of dark clouds had gathered, he knew not when.

Small, but black and gleaming.

Another boom.

This one was closer, louder!

The dark clouds seemed startled awake by the thunder, churning and swelling wildly. In the blink of an eye, they had already covered half the sky.

The wind rose.

At first just a breeze, then in an instant a gale. The five-colored banners on the altar snapped and flapped.

The common folk's robes were lifted; some staggered backward, losing their footing.

Splash!

A single raindrop landed on Feng Xiu's face.

"Truly... an old immortal?!"

He was stunned, his eyes wide as saucers.

A second drop. A third!

Splash, splash, splash!

A torrential downpour, pouring from the heavens.

Between heaven and earth stretched a curtain of water.

"It's raining!"

"It's really raining!"

"A divine immortal, the old immortal has answered our prayers!"

The common people were stirred with emotion.

Some knelt on the ground, kowtowing frantically toward the altar; others tilted their faces back, letting the rain pour into their mouths and noses; still others embraced, crying and laughing at once.

Feng Xiu stood in the rain, motionless.

Rainwater streamed down his cheeks, soaking his robes, but he was oblivious, his gaze fixed solely on the figure atop the altar.

Daoist Yellow Dragon stood in the rain, still wearing that black hat, face tilted to the sky with a mournful expression, eyes half-closed as if reciting a prayer.

The rain washed over his ritual robe, drenched his white beard, and made him seem to merge with heaven and earth.

Feng Xiu's throat went dry; he stood frozen.

This old Daoist really had the goods!

Just then, Fan Ling rushed over, grabbing his arm, face brimming with wild joy. "Wen Zheng, it's raining, it's really raining! Where did you find this divine immortal?"

Lin Che also walked over, soaked through but laughing heartily. "Now let's see who dares to talk nonsense!"

Feng Xiu said nothing.

His mind was a tangled mess.

It was raining.

What about the plan? The pressure play, the cornering of the court, the probing of the forces behind them?

All washed away?

Feng Xiu forced himself to calm down, his gaze sweeping over the well-dressed faces in the crowd.

Those spies from the various clans stood in the rain, all looking utterly bewildered, letting the water pour over their heads.

No!

On the surface, this rain had disrupted his plan, but by the same token, it had done the same to them.

The rain poured down.

By the time Feng Xiu returned to the city, all of Green Rock City had become a watery realm.

Water in the streets pooled past the ankles; the people ran through the rain cheering, beating drums and gongs.

A carriage rolled through the streets, and the cheers outside the window rose in waves.

"The old immortal!"

"Daoist Yellow Dragon, reincarnation of the true dragon!"

"The immortal brought by Young Master Feng."

Feng Xiu sat in the carriage, drenched through, but he didn't bother to change, instead reaching up to rub his temples.

"Damn it."

Folk wonders—truly hidden dragons and crouching tigers. The Daoist martial artists really did possess heaven-defying means.

Though this wasn't enough to shatter his worldview, it was still shocking.

In his memory, rain-praying, drought-breaking rituals—aside from those three in Chechi Kingdom—

The only other example was General Zhang Zongchang, who slapped the Dragon King across the face with his cannon.

The carriage stopped at the entrance of the Feng Mansion. As soon as Feng Xiu stepped down, he saw Uncle Zheng approaching with an umbrella, barely suppressing a grin of joy.

Feng Xiu waved a hand, cutting off Uncle Zheng's impending flattery, and strode straight toward the main hall.

Inside the main hall, Feng Ao stood by the window, listening to the sound of raindrops striking the panes, his back to the door.

Hearing footsteps, he turned around, looking at the soaked Feng Xiu with a complex expression on his face.

There was surprise, astonishment, and a hint of gravity.

"Sit." Feng Ao pointed to a chair.

Feng Xiu sat down. A maidservant had already handed him a dry towel; he took it casually and wiped his face.

Father and son were silent for a moment.

Feng Ao spoke first. "That Daoist Yellow Dragon—where exactly did you find him?"

"Master Black brought him from Yulin Prefecture," Feng Xiu answered truthfully. "An old Daoist from a rundown temple that barely gets any incense."

"You didn't know he had this ability before?"

Feng Xiu shook his head. "No."

If he'd known the old man had this skill, he wouldn't have had to scheme so painstakingly.

Aside from his name sounding like that of a strange and extraordinary person, Daoist Yellow Dragon didn't resemble a true master of the Way in any other aspect.

With such ability, who would end up in a temple without even a single stick of incense?

The rain was still falling outside the window, a steady patter. A thought flickered through Feng Xiu's mind, and he couldn't help asking, "This rain—is it good or bad?"

"What do you think?"

"The good is that spring planting can proceed as normal. The tenants won't cause trouble, and we don't have to worry about a total crop failure. The bad is that our original plan has been thrown into chaos."

Feng Ao nodded, his gaze shifting to the cluster of buildings obscured by the curtain of rain outside the window.

"Originally, we prayed for rain to create pressure and force their hand. If the rain didn't come, popular resentment would boil over, and the prefectural office would have to give us an answer. But now, the rain has come."

"Then there's no reason to push them to open the reservoirs," Feng Xiu said calmly, finishing the thought.

"Right." Feng Ao turned around. "And now, you've become the great benefactor of Green Rock City. The young master of the Feng Clan, caring for the people, inviting an immortal to bring rain, saving everyone's crops in the city."

Feng Xiu gave a wry smile. "That reputation isn't a bad thing, is it?"

"A good reputation is fine, but the bigger it gets, the more eyes are on you. How do you think those who want to get their hands on the Golden Ear Wheat will see you now?"

Feng Xiu understood immediately.

In the eyes of the common folk, he was a good man. But to those trying to snatch meat from the grain merchants' mouths, he was a stumbling block in their path.

"Still, you don't need to worry too much." Feng Ao walked back to his seat and sat down again.

He picked up his teacup and took a sip.

"Spring planting going smoothly at least buys us some breathing room. From here on, do what needs to be done. The matter of uniting the grain merchants proceeds as usual. Keep an eye on the reservoirs. And that Daoist Yellow Dragon..."

He glanced at Feng Xiu. "Treat him well. Whether or not he truly has divine powers, we owe him this favor."

Feng Xiu nodded. "I understand."

They discussed things a while longer, finalizing the next steps.

The heavy rain still hadn't let up.

Feng Xiu stood up, about to take his leave, when he remembered something else.

"Father, I want to visit the family's estates and waive this year's rent."

"Waive the rent?"

"Yes. This rain came because of my prayer. The people have seen it. If I waive the rent now, it'll make the reputation even better."

The reputation of a great benefactor—the bigger, the better. Solidifying that image.

This kind of intangible support would definitely yield unexpected results.

Feng Ao looked at him, a glint of approval in his eyes.

"Fine. Handle it as you see fit."

Feng Xiu bowed and withdrew.

Feng Xiu didn't delay. Taking advantage of the heavy rain, he went to two of the Feng Clan's farms.

White Willow Village. Hundred Dou Village.

At each village, he appeared in person and announced to the gathered tenants that this year's rent was completely waived.

The people didn't believe it at first. Some stood frozen, exchanging glances. Feng Xiu didn't explain; he simply had his men paste the pre-written notices on the village head's courtyard wall.

Black ink on white paper, stamped with the Feng Clan seal.

Even as the rain poured down in sheets, people crowded forward to read, their faces bursting with joy.

They knelt in the mud, kowtowing frantically, a sea of bowed heads.

Some held their children, crying and laughing at once, heedless of the muddy rain. Others rushed forward wanting to shake his hand, then pulled back, afraid of dirtying the young master.

"Master Feng is a living Buddha!"

Feng Xiu stood among the crowd, his household guards holding umbrellas as rainwater streamed off the canopies.

He stopped the guards from blocking anyone.

"Master Feng, thank you~" An old, hoarse voice rang out.

He reached out and grasped an old farmer's rough hand, feeling the trembling arm of the elderly man in tattered, worn clothes, his face etched with wrinkles.

Feng Xiu patted the back of his hand, a smile on his face, but he said little.

It felt strange. Ten days ago, when he first came to White Willow Village, the tenants' eyes were full of resentment and anger.

Now, they shouted, "The Feng Clan's virtue spans generations!"

Reputation—whether it was good or bad—depended on how it was used later.

After making the rounds, it was nearly noon.

Feng Xiu returned to the manor. Before he could even change out of his wet clothes, he entered the main hall and saw Feng Ao sitting there, with Uncle Zheng standing beside him.

But it seemed Uncle Zheng had just arrived as well, his face carrying a hint of gravity, as if he was about to report something.

"Big Young Master, Su Wantang has escaped." Uncle Zheng spoke.

"Escaped?"

Feng Xiu was startled, then understood. It figured—Zhou Gang had just led people out this morning.

And Su Wantang ran away. How could it be such a coincidence?

"Let her go. Let's just let this matter pass."

His immediate priority was dealing with the hidden forces secretly coveting the family's foundation; he had no time to focus on a woman from the Thousand Gates.