"There's a famine in the Sixteenth City. Have you heard?"
"Ha, how long has your news been outdated? Lord Zhao Che went there ages ago for relief. He handed out rice and flour door to door. They say the treasury wouldn't release any funds, so Lord Zhao Che paid out of his own pocket—he even sold his treasured sword!"
"Lord Zhao Che is far too kind. He truly has us common folk in his heart."
"Exactly! That outlaw in the Twenty-First City who committed murder—Young Master Zhao Che personally went after him and hunted him down!"
"He has the heart of a bodhisattva and the means of thunder."
"If only Lord Zhao Che could be our emperor..."
"What nonsense are you talking about?! Do you have a death wish?!"
Voices from every direction continuously reached his ears. Jiang Wang silently gathered information, adjusting his understanding of this city.
Zhao Che...
He almost immediately recalled that, when he had first come to the Twenty-Seven Cities, Zhao Che had been that slick, powdered Young Master who had tried to snatch a woman off the street by force.
Three years apart, and his reputation had undergone a heaven-and-earth transformation.
Had a prodigal son turned back and remade himself from the bones up?
Or was this an important stroke in Zhao Cang's grand composition?
This city was giving voice to itself.
The people were quite satisfied with their present lives and full of confidence in the future.
When Yin Guan fled three years ago, he had unleashed the Thousand Absolute Curse. In an instant, nearly a hundred plumes of black smoke born of resentment rose within the city—each one from a household with hatred carved to the bone. Mothers had lost their sons; wives had lost their husbands. They resented injustice and hated unrighteousness.