Sha Wujing stood frozen in place, utterly motionless.
His ears were still ringing.
The city lord's words pressed down on him one by one, like stones piled upon his chest. Each stone added more weight, until at last he could no longer breathe.
Thirteen thousand lives.
An iron law passed down through generations. A curse.
Sha Wujing knew the city lord had not lied.
He looked into the city lord's eyes-wearied, yet clearheaded.
Suddenly, he understood everything.
He had been wrong. Terribly wrong.
Every word the city lord had said made sense.
In this city, even if what he said was true, it made no difference.
Rather than fall to their deaths from a cliff, rather than climb to the mountaintop to suffer hunger and cold, defy their ancestral teachings, and touch the curse...
They would rather lie in their own beds and quietly wait for the flood to come.
He wanted to save them, but he had no way to do it. They did not need him to save them.
Sha Wujing's mouth hung open. His throat felt dry and tight, as though he had swallowed a handful of yellow sand.
For a dazed moment, he was back in that river.
He wanted to argue.
But the words reached his lips, only to be swallowed again.
It was no use.
With this clumsy tongue alone, nothing he said would help.
The city lord was right, and the people were not wrong either. He was the one who was wrong.
He had thought he had a way.
But he did not.
The city lord would not believe him, much less the people.
Who would listen to an outsider's baseless ravings?
Had everything gone back to the way it was?
Sha Wujing lowered his head and looked at his hands.
He