Chen Cheng gave a bitter laugh.
The laugh squeezed out of his throat, painfully dry.
"He certainly has power."
He raised his sleeve and wiped the corners of his eyes.
"That Great King."
"He answers prayers across the land, where temples rise; his mighty spirit shields the people for a thousand miles."
"Each year he showers sweet dew upon our farms; each year auspicious clouds descend upon our village."
Bajie blinked and muttered, "Sweet rain every year, auspicious clouds every year."
"It's the same here, too?"
"Why does the Chechi Kingdom have so many blessings like this? What do you trade for them this time?"
Little White Dragon walked over and gave him a light kick. "Shut up. Once you've eaten your fill, you never stop talking."
Bajie knew his tongue had run ahead of him again, so he shut his mouth.
But at those words, Chen Qing shuddered violently.
He raised his sleeve to cover his face. His shoulders trembled, and he could not speak.
Beside him, Chen Cheng leaned on his cane, veins bulging on the back of his hand.
Suddenly, he lifted a hand and pounded his chest several times, his cane planted against the floor.
His voice trembled. "Good sirs."
"You're right. Where would such blessings come from?"
"He does send sweet rain."
"But we trade little boys and girls for it."
"He does send auspicious clouds."
"But he demands our own flesh and blood to fill his belly."
"Every year we hold the sacrifice; every year we draw lots."
"Whichever household's turn it is must prepare for a funeral."
Just then, a gust of wind rose, and Chen Cheng's lips quivered.
He glanced at the white mourning banner before the hall.
Closing his eyes and gritting his teeth, he said:
"Though his favors are many,