Chapter 988

Though winter was cold, the county government office was lively.

In the government office courtyard, a large pot boiled with steaming horse meat; nearly half the county had come, smiling and waiting for the new emperor’s ascension, the general amnesty, and the chance to drink soup and eat meat.

In the main hall of the government office, Wei Youcai beamed with radiant health, as if he had grown a year younger, and, surrounded by his two brothers and eight farmers, entered the hall and approached the throne.

Wei Youcai adjusted his modified dragon robe and monk’s cassock, rolled up his sleeves, and only then felt comfortable; he walked to the throne and slowly sat down.

Once seated, Wei Youcai shifted this way and that, feeling the entire seat with his buttocks, then mused, “This chair isn’t hot or cold, nor does it dig into me… Is it unclaimed?”

Bald Liu Liu said, “The realm is a field for contenders—virtue… that is, wealth and fortune shall claim it! Brother, today you’re destined to ascend the throne—what should we name our kingdom? Fugui’er?”

Old Eight spat, “Is that a kingdom name? It’s not even a reign title! Six Brother, stop thinking—something that doesn’t exist can’t be thought into existence! Don’t waste words—Brother’s already seated, hurry and pay homage! Don’t you remember how the book says it? I taught you last night.”

“I remember!”

So the two knelt and bowed, chanting, “Your Majesty, ten thousand years…”

Wei Youcai leapt instantly from the dragon throne, dodging aside—a nimble fat man.

Old Six and Old Eight were confused, not understanding what had happened.

Wei Youcai glanced at the throne and sighed, “My buttocks don’t suit this chair—it pricked me. The old rattan chair is still the most comfortable. Fine, I’ve sat on the dragon throne—grant the amnesty, eat meat!”

At the word “meat,” every farmer in the city cheered wildly.

Farmers aren’t fools—they played along with you all this time just for a bowl of meat soup.

There was plenty of horse meat now, so the soup was rich and savory, with visible bits of meat floating in it. After swallowing a steaming bowl, many farmers who had known hunger since childhood burst into tears; and Wei Youcai grew a year younger again.

Old Eight still felt unsatisfied, saying, “Brother, you really won’t sit?”

“No.”

“Then fine—I’ll chop it up for firewood! If Brother won’t sit, no one else will!”

“It’s fine—just leave it there. Whoever wants to sit, let them sit.”

…

Outside Baocheng County, a large rebel force surrounded the city completely; another elite rebel contingent of tens of thousands circled to the rear, cutting off any imperial reinforcements.

Lu Jiande was wrapped head to toe in thick sable furs, his face pale; he stared at the open city gate, hesitated a moment, then stepped forward into the city.

The townspeople were jubilant, faces flushed, sweeping streets and repairing houses. The air reeked of leftover meat aroma; every household’s pots and bowls still held traces of fragrance.

Some townsfolk glanced at Lu Jiande, others kept working, and some spat thick phlegm directly onto the ground.

One of Lu Jiande’s generals could not contain his rage—he stepped forward and slashed the spitter in two! Hot blood splattered the ground and coated the face of the Law-Phase general. Around him, a dozen more townspeople each spat a mouthful of phlegm.

The Law-Phase bandit roared in fury and slashed seven or eight more. Each victim watched him in silence, eyes filled only with hatred, not fear. When he reached the tenth, his hand suddenly went limp; he turned and cried, “Brother…”

He did not know that his own face was now whiter than Lu Jiande’s.

Lu Jiande finally spoke: “Don’t touch anything here yet. We’ll deal with it later.”

Moments later, he entered the government office and saw the main hall, now arranged as a court, and the throne painted yellow—the so-called dragon chair. The court was even more shabby than a theater set, the floor slick with grease and soup stains.

The hall had no lamps, making it unnaturally dark and cold; only the dragon throne emitted a faint glow.

Lu Jiande stared again—the throne had no glow now, just an ordinary official chair. The carving of two dragon heads on the armrests had ruined the fine wood.

Lu Jiande approached the throne. For no clear reason, he suddenly felt the urge to sit. In the startled gazes of his generals, he sat down and shifted slightly.

The chair was warm—as if someone had just risen from it.