At those words, everyone at the South Market Street Entrance looked at the Golden Alms Bowl.
Ashen Qi still churned at the bottom.
Several faint, truncated voices came from within.
"Rice has gotten expensive."
"There's still no word from the Northern Border."
"My child cries from hunger at night."
But as the Golden Light pressed down, those voices were kneaded into one indistinct murmur.
"The South Market is full of resentment."
The old firewood seller's hands paused.
The commoners gathered around him froze as well.
That echo clearly contained their words.
Yet none of them had ever said, "The South Market is full of resentment."
The old man stared at the bottom of the bowl, his voice hoarse.
"I said my firewood wouldn't fetch a decent price, and the rice at home was nearly gone."
"I never said Chaoge harbored resentment."
A woman selling rice squeezed half a step forward too.
"I said there'd been no word from my husband at the Northern Border."
"How did you crush my words into resentment too?"
The Yellow-Robed Daoist drew the Golden Alms Bowl half an inch closer to his chest.
"All living beings suffer. Deep suffering becomes resentment."
"This humble Daoist merely gathers it in for you."
The old man spat on the ground.
"Bullshit."
At that word, everyone at the South Market Street Entrance fell silent for a moment.
The old man's eyes reddened, but his hands pressed down even harder.
"Our lives are hard, so we hope the Grand Preceptor will do something. We hope Chaoge will give us an answer."
"Not for you to take our words and use them to harm Chaoge!"
The Yellow-Robed Daoist's gaze turned utterly cold.
Golden Light flashed at his fingertips as he moved to blast the old man's hands away.
But at that