Chapter 323: The Divine Envoy

This was a classic case of psychological manipulation.

Among all these barbarians, many harbored doubts—indeed, a considerable number—but no one dared step forward.

Because within a group, any action contradicting the collective consensus invites pressure. Wang Yang first led everyone in respectfully seeing off Pan Wang, thereby making this group pressure tangible and leveraging Pan Wang's authority to establish his own prestige. Though they knelt before Pan Wang, they were indirectly endorsing Wang Yang's words and status.

Then Wang Yang associated "believe in me" with an easy, passive, low-risk "inaction" (i. e., staying still), and "doubt me" with a difficult, active, high-risk "action" (i. e., stepping forward). In a high-pressure, uncertain environment, inaction is people's instinctive way to avoid risk—no weighing, no courage needed; simply remain as you are, and avoid the unknown consequences of stepping forward.

The fewer who stepped forward, the more the doubters believed themselves to be the minority; the more they believed themselves to be the minority, the fewer dared to step forward.

In psychology, this is called "pluralistic ignorance"—the inability to perceive the true thoughts of the majority, leading one to assume others' understanding of the situation differs from one's own.

The junior shaman now felt exactly this way. He had expected everyone to rise and challenge, then he would deliver the final verdict. Yet not a single person spoke! Could none of them have noticed this so-called "Divine Envoy" had a fatal flaw?!

Bao Yue, seeing no one question, began to set the rhythm.

She turned to Wang Yang, straightened her posture with a slight bow, and swept her sleeves in a graceful arc. Her slender hands overlapped like lotus petals holding dew; her pale wrists hung low, like willow branches brushing dust.

Then, palms downward, she slowly bent her waist and bowed her head.

Her shoulders bowed like an autumn goose gliding past; her body curved like a spring stream meandering. Her forehead touched the blue altar, yet no sound rose; her sleeves wrapped hidden fragrance, while her shadow sank first.

In solemnity, there was soft charm; in humility, there was nobility. As if she were the most humble servant before the Divine Envoy, yet to others, she remained an unattainable, untouchable presence.

The barbarian tribes had never seen such a woman; many stared, transfixed.

And for such a woman to bow humbly before Wang Yang, sweet and submissive, only magnified Wang Yang's aura as heaven-chosen, awe-inspiring and inviolable.

Wang Yang silently added five more points to Xiao Bao Yue—85 total.

Bao Yue's reverent voice rang out upon the altar:

"Slave Yue humbly summons the Divine Envoy—"

"Wait—"

The junior shaman raised his arm and interrupted, but had barely spoken three words when Xiao Bao Yue's expression turned icy, her beautiful eyes hardening into frost, her entire demeanor shifting from soft charm to sharp authority as she cried out:

"Do you dare profane the Divine?!"

When Bao Yue assumed this stance, her aura was formidable (this is detailed in Wang Yang's book, "Taming the Imperial Dragon: From Beginner to Master"). Combined with her sudden, lightning-fast transformation and sharp cry, the junior shaman was stunned, momentarily cowed.

Wang Yang, who had been waiting for an opportunity to dispel doubt, now smiled warmly:

"Slave Yue, do not obstruct those seeking the true Dao of Pan Wang.

As long as one is a true believer of Pan Wang, not a hypocrite with ulterior motives—

Those who are confused shall find clarity;

Those who are lost shall find guidance.

Let this misguided soul speak!

Let his honest confusion be answered.

Pan Wang's virtue and grace are as vast as the Milky Way—he never refuses a sincere seeker among his people."

Xiao Bao Yue:...

To these barbarians, still in the early "ignorant stage" of superstition, these words were utterly shocking! Though their primitive faith was filled with awe, they had never experienced such a grand, boundless realm! The barbarians trembled all over, awestruck by Wang Yang's breadth of spirit, his dignity, his diction, his speech—far surpassing even the Grand Shaman!

The junior shaman grew more uneasy as he listened. He truly dared not believe Wang Yang. After all, how could Pan Wang descend upon a Han?

But if he wasn't genuine, where did these phrases come from? "Above, the gods reign; only I am supreme. Below, the tribes flourish; only Yidu receives grace"—even the rhyme was perfect...

And phrases like "Those who are confused shall find clarity; those who are lost shall find guidance"—these didn't sound like something one could fabricate on the spot... If they were fabricated, then this man and woman had been pretending from the start—but how could they be so perfectly synchronized? Unless they had conspired in advance or rehearsed—yet weren't they just randomly captured? How could they have prepared to impersonate Divine Envoys?

The junior shaman weighed both sides and decided the deception was more likely. After all, Han people could have brilliant geniuses—he just hadn't encountered any. But Pan Wang could never be so confused as to mistake barbarian for Han.

He steeled himself, stepped onto the altar, but, having heard Wang Yang's words, did not directly accuse him as an impostor as originally planned. Instead, he said:

"I wish to ask a few questions."

His tone was still polite, but he deliberately omitted any title.

Wang Yang didn't mind and smiled:

"I permit you to ask."

For some reason, the junior shaman felt a slight unease, but his mind was fixed on his prepared questions, so he pressed on quickly:

"Are you Han?"

"Yes."

"Pan Wang hates the Han. Why would he descend upon a Han?"

"Pan Wang does not hate the Han. Pan Wang is the supreme heavenly deity; all things beneath are but ants. Do you hate ants?"

The junior shaman thought for a moment:

"I do not hate ants, but I despise mosquitoes and flies. To Pan Wang, the Han are mosquitoes and flies."

"You despise mosquitoes and flies. When you encounter them, what do you do?"

"I shoo them away—or crush them."

"Indeed. If Pan Wang truly despised the Han, why not shoo or crush them?"

The junior shaman was stunned.

Xiao Bao Yue bit back a smile.

The barbarians fell into thoughtful silence.

"There are so many mosquitoes and flies in the world—I only crush those that land on me," the junior shaman retorted.

Wang Yang glanced at him with contempt:

"How can you compare yourself to Pan Wang? Pan Wang is the supreme heavenly deity—one thought topples ten thousand mountains; one thought reverses a hundred rivers.

The sun and moon revolve in Pan Wang's palm; the stars brighten or fade at his will.

If Pan Wang despised mosquitoes and flies, in the blink of an eye, all would vanish from the earth;

If he hated the Han, with a snap of his fingers, all Han would turn to dust.

How could he allow the Han to flourish, spread, and occupy the vast, beautiful lands?"

The barbarians' hearts pounded like drums; their bodies burned with awe!

They knew Pan Wang was powerful—but never this powerful!

The Grand Shaman said Pan Wang was "omnipotent," but never explained how. This one? The sun and moon turn in his palm; the stars brighten or fade at his will! The words were electrifying!

The junior shaman's mind grew muddled. He wanted to say Pan Wang might not be this powerful—but dared not. Yet he also thought: Maybe Pan Wang truly is this powerful...

The junior shaman decided to deploy his ultimate rebuttal:

"If Pan Wang does not hate the Han, why does he demand they be sacrificed?"

Wang Yang walked slowly toward the junior shaman, asking as he came:

"How do you know Pan Wang demands Han sacrifices?"

The junior shaman, watching Wang Yang approach, felt a flicker of fear—but still mustered courage:

"It was revealed to our first Grand Shaman, Sheng Man Badan, in a dream. Pan Wang said: 'Burn Han as sacrifice. Offer it, and blessings shall follow; neglect it, and calamities shall descend.' Badan was virtuous and never lied. We have a saying: 'Words like Badan'—to describe truthfulness. Are you saying the holy man Badan lied?"

All barbarians turned to Wang Yang; many looked doubtful. Bao Yue's heart sank.

She knew the Yidu barbarians sacrificed Han to their gods, but never knew why. This was the first time she heard the reason: the shamans claimed it was a divine dream-message, and the barbarians accepted it as Pan Wang's own decree. This Badan clearly was a revered ancestor—perhaps equivalent to the Han sages. Especially since he was famed for honesty. Wang Yang, newly posing as Divine Envoy, had yet to win hearts. If he openly declared Badan a liar, he might undermine his own authority. But if he accepted Badan's words, his entire argument collapsed. What should he do...?

As Xiao Bao Yue struggled for a response, she saw Wang Yang stop before the fire basin at the altar's edge, sleeves folded, gazing at the junior shaman, his eyes calm as a deep pool, reflecting the flames within:

"Badan did not lie."

Many barbarians exhaled in relief; the junior shaman beamed:

"Then you admit—"

"But he misheard."

"Huh?"

"Pan Wang's original words were: 'Burn the wicked as sacrifice.' 'Wicked' means evil, corrupt people. Badan mistook it for 'Han'—he misinterpreted the divine message."

The barbarians gasped; the crowd below erupted in chaos.

The junior shaman, shocked and furious: "You're lying—"

Wang Yang stepped forward and swept his sleeve!

As the sleeve brushed the basin's rim, a cloud of powder burst forth—with a thunderous *boom! *—flame and light exploded!

Everyone saw a fireball erupt, hurling the bronze basin clean off the altar!

When dust particles absorb heat from a source, they undergo violent oxidation with oxygen—the very definition of a dust explosion.

Since Wang Yang could not find saltpeter, he mixed flour, charcoal powder, and sulfur powder. Flour served as the combustible medium; charcoal as fuel; sulfur as the igniter. Flour alone would suffice, but the visual and explosive effect were weaker. The three had to be precisely balanced—he tested repeatedly, succeeding in exploding the basin only once in three tries, and even that depended on his throwing technique. This time, it was excellent. Had it failed slightly, the fire would have only surged violently—but even that would have sufficed for Wang Yang. This trick was meant purely as a last-resort scare tactic; he hadn't expected to use it here.

*Clang! *

The bronze basin crashed back onto the altar, smoking in the silence.

The barbarians all reeled, clutching their heads, terrified and disoriented. Bao Yue fell backward, pale as death.

The junior shaman, closest of all, collapsed to his knees, trembling uncontrollably!

Through the smoke, Wang Yang stepped forward, hands clasped behind his back.

The junior shaman, terrified beyond speech, covered his head with his sleeve and scrambled backward in fear: "N-no..."

Wang Yang bent low, his gaze as gentle as melting snowmelt, speaking softly:

"Do not fear.

I see the light in your eyes—that spark belongs only to a true seeker of the Dao.

I know you are a true believer of Pan Wang, not a demon hiding malice.

But guard your tongue, for what I just spoke was Pan Wang's own word.

To hear Pan Wang's divine speech, one must hold reverence.

Know this: the sin of blaspheming the Divine is far greater than mere mishearing."

Xiao Bao Yue, watching Wang Yang's gentle, approachable demeanor, felt a sudden, nameless rage rise within her!

This big fraud has never spoken to me like this before!

Never!!!

——————

Note: ① Chapter 243 of this book, "Climbing the Tower": "Wang Yang handed the big Han a note to pass on to Master Ji: 'Remember, don't use the pre-mixed Cold Food Powder, not Zhang Zhang Zhongjing's formula, not Ge Hong's formula—what you need is the one with the extra ingredient added by He Yan...'"

Cold Food Powder was a popular drug in the Six Dynasties; though named the same, its formulas varied. Neither Zhang Zhang Zhongjing's nor Ge Hong's formulas contained sulfur. He Yan combined the formulas of Purple Stone Powder and Hou's Black Powder, adding sulfur and other substances—this was the sulfur powder in Wang Yang's dust explosion. He did not call it sulfur directly because Wang Yang was unsure of the period's term for sulfur and feared mistaking it, as with saltpeter; referring to Cold Food Powder instead made his intent clearer to the alchemist.

② Chapter 257 of this book, "Lady Lady Lady Lady Lady Lady Xie Ke": "Wang Yang paced around a brazier, muttering as if reciting something, then waved his arms, performing some gestures—huh, what was he doing? A dance? Or—boom! Flames shot into the sky!"

③ In this book, the activation of this anachronistic offensive technological tree ends with dust explosion. Though one could write about making gunpowder, or simpler composite bows, and many similar weapons could be invented, it would be pointless. I wrote this book purely as a pastime, hoping to add some weighty substance alongside the amusement—what I previously called "humanistic concern." Since it is amusement, both the fun and the thought must be balanced; if one dominates, it loses interest. For instance, I originally planned to write six consecutive chapters detailing Wang Yang's first battle in the barbarian lands, but found it dull, so I revised the plan and cut over two thousand words into the draft's trash pile.

In truth, real warfare is rarely this entertaining; much of it, and many details, are tedious. Though I suspect a few readers might enjoy reading every detail, the number would be small, especially for a battle involving fewer than two thousand men. Later, when larger battles, grand battles come, if written in full detail, twenty or thirty chapters might still not suffice—and the interest would dwindle further. So I have decided to focus only on the interesting angles—not just in prose style, but in setup and execution as well. This interest must remain within the bounds of real cold-weapon warfare, with fair competition among all sides; thus, I will not let him use gunpowder to intimidate.