But strangely enough, Zhang Lin did not know either. His face was blank. "Jingyuan City is tightly controlled by cultivators. Better to ask people for help than pray to a god. I've lived here since I was born, and I've never heard of any water rites."
"Not even among ordinary people?"
"I don't think so." Zhang Lin thought for a moment, his tone turning uncertain. "Perhaps there are small ceremonies, but definitely nothing on a large scale. Jingyuan City doesn't even have a Water God Temple. How could there be—"
Bian Chunchou slapped his thigh, realization written all over his face. "I knew it! Ever since I came to Jingyuan City, I've felt something was missing! Temples! Are the people here really that stingy with their faith?"
Other cities were different. Baigu City went without saying: before they arrived, incense offerings at the Wei Household Immortal Shrine had been thriving. Even Langyuan City had all sorts of small temples. Come a festival, ordinary people would dress in their best clothes and visit them to burn incense and fulfill their vows.
That was how things normally worked.
Yet Jingyuan City had suffered such severe flooding for years, and not one person had prayed to a god or Buddha. It made no sense. After all... neither the City Lord's Office nor the aristocratic clans had done enough to make the people kneel and kowtow to them in devout worship.
Something was wrong. Very wrong.
"You've never left Jingyuan City, have you?"
Zhang Lin nodded. "That's right. How did you know, Martial Uncle?"
How did I know? Isn't it obvious? If Zhang Lin had ever left, he would know what the world outside looked like. Who wasn't superstitious? Even cultivators could be deeply superstitious. Just look at a certain sect master of the