Chapter 355

In late autumn, leaves withered and cold winds blew steadily.

Countless refugees arrived empty-handed and left empty-handed, followed by more refugees queuing and stumbling in a frantic rush.

From afar, the street adjacent to Wulü Trading House was packed to capacity, utterly blocked, like a temple fair, with incessant noise.

As the grain shovels continuously scraped against the plump millet grains, producing a rustling sound, sack after sack of relief grain was dispatched, then carried by these refugees—treated as tools—onto the cultivators’ carts, hauled away in endless convoys.

As if prearranged, this scene appeared in every corner of Qingyun Six States, growing more intense by the day.

The price sign once hung before the trading house was now ignored; some had even been torn down by the crush of refugees.

This stood in stark contrast to the earlier scene where exorbitant prices had left everyone dizzy and cultivators hesitant to buy, evoking sighs of regret.

After all, with refugees flooding into the city, what had once been a sale had become a helpless spectacle of open plunder.

The grain was mine alone—his arrogance of “buy it or not” lay shattered on the ground, trampled underfoot by the noble houses.

“I never expected things to turn out this way. Seeing this, I can’t help but feel a flicker of pity.”

“Pity? Why don’t you think about the prices he set? He got what he deserved!”

“My brother Fang speaks truly—he brought this upon himself. After all, we immortal sects and noble families care about our dignity. Had he not demanded so outrageously, and simply paid in silver, what harm could it have done? He lost the chicken and the grain too.”

On the terrace of the Zui Xian Pavilion’s second floor, Fang Jincheng and other cultivators looked down from above at the packed main road, applauding the sudden reversal.

The sons and daughters of several families from Zhongzhou eagerly echoed their approval.

They hadn’t anticipated the noble houses would act so swiftly and effectively.

In just a few days, they seemed to have already witnessed Wulü Trading House overrun, grain gushing out freely, and Ji You helplessly flailing.

At roughly the same time, before the Chong Prince’s mansion, a group of pro-immortal officials watched the scene in silent gaze.

They had foreseen this outcome and were not surprised.

After all, before the Si Xian Supervision took the stage, they had been the ones serving the immortals, and knew just how far the immortal sects would go.

Ji You clearly wasn’t qualified to bleed the noble houses.

Imagine if Wulü Trading House belonged to a direct disciple of a holy sect—under the weight of an immortal sect’s authority, who would dare use such tactics?

Too bad that even though his talent was astonishing, even though he crushed countless peers and overshadowed even direct disciples, his birth remained insufficient.

That’s why, despite his combat strength reaching the boundless realm, the thousand-year noble houses still saw him as fit only for adoption-in-marriage.

In this world, an individual’s strength could never be true strength.

“Father, how long do you think this will last?”

“Until the noble houses are satisfied,” replied Prince Chong, stroking his beard lightly.

“What level of satisfaction counts?”

“That’s up to them. If they never feel satisfied, they’ll keep draining until the Fengzhou granaries are completely empty.”

“Aren’t the immortal sects afraid the people who sustain them will truly starve to death this winter?”

Prince Chong lifted his left hand, adorned with a ring, and waved it gently: “After emptying Fengzhou, the noble houses will naturally offer relief to the refugees—and gain a reputation as saviors, won’t they?”

As the leader of the pro-immortal faction and the Emperor of Great Xia’s own uncle, Prince Chong had long cultivated a crystal-clear understanding of the current situation.

The immortal sects would never allow the people who had sustained them for generations to die en masse; after emptying Fengzhou, they would inevitably let a trickle of surplus grain slip through their fingers to save them.

But the prerequisite was that Ji You must be utterly powerless, drained clean.

Whether his stored grain or his arrogance toward the noble houses over the years, all must be stripped away.

“I hope he learns his lesson this time and curbs his arrogance.”

Zhao Yunyue gazed calmly toward the west, gazing at Wulü Trading House, its threshold worn flat by trampling feet.

Years ago, when she saw Ji You cut through Chuhe and enter the inner courtyard, she had sent word hoping to arrange a marriage—but he refused. That arrogance had always been her hatred.

Ever since, she had longed to see him crushed, so she sought out Liu Junchi of the Rongdao Realm and even went to observe the pre-selection for the Heavenly Book Academy.

But Ji You kept escaping disaster, turning her wish into frustration, blocking her Dao heart and halting her cultivation.

Now, at this moment, she finally saw his arrogance being ground to dust.

“...”

“Master Kuang, the grain reserves of all trading houses are running critically low.”

In the western granary of Fengzhou Prefecture, hearing the steward’s report, Kuangcheng looked up at the sky.

Since Frost’s Descent, the weather had been grim—cloudy every day, with distant thunder rumbling continuously, as if snow and wind were already brewing.

It resembled the conditions before last year’s snow disaster, stirring deep unease.

Wei Rui stood beside him, her eyes filled with worry as she gazed at her beloved.

In her view, Wulü Trading House had truly sunk into a quagmire—unable to stop, yet continuing only brought greater suffering.

Thinking of this, Wei Rui reached out and gently took his hand.

“Continue distributing grain.”

“Yes.”

Beneath the dim, overcast sky, endless carts continued hauling grain beyond the borders, the dust they kicked up resembling a mighty earth dragon striving to rise and soar.

All cultivators across the land watched with keen interest: the grain carts from Fengzhou pouring into the city, sack after sack unloaded, refugees claiming them at the front gate, then carrying them to the noble houses’ carts.

It had become the most enjoyable spectacle since the human calamity began.

Of course, many were also calculating exactly how much grain Fengzhou still held.

Winter Solstice arrived swiftly, yet Wulü Trading House’s grain distribution had just reached its peak; Fengzhou’s carts had made multiple rounds to replenish distant regions, yet the noble houses showed no sign of stopping.

But as temperatures plummeted and winter’s chill deepened, the common folk who had signed labor contracts with Fengzhou but received not a single grain of rice became true refugees, returning swiftly to the city with famished families.

Without food, they could not survive the winter; their only hope was to beg in the city.

For days on end, the streets of every city were filled with refugees huddled on the curbs, trembling, clutching earthen bowls in their hands.

“Isn’t this all Ji You’s fault?”

“Exactly. Had he not raised prices so outrageously, how would our noble houses have resorted to such measures? They might have received relief grain long ago.”

“Angering all the noble houses? What good can come of that?”

“It’s his own stubbornness—yet the entire populace suffers for it. I wonder what Ji You is thinking now.”

“He’s probably panicked, but has no solution.”

Amid the city’s chatter, more and more refugees came begging, heightening the cultivators’ anticipation for what came next.

In less than half a day, Wulü Trading House, which had been continuously distributing relief grain, finally took action.

In the back courtyard of the trading house, servants carried out long tables, and cooks from city taverns arrived with pots and basins, beginning to boil porridge in the cold wind.

The aroma of food quickly spread across the city, drawing countless refugees.

The cooked porridge was ladled, spoon after spoon, into their earthen bowls.

Seeing this, cultivators in teahouses and taverns exchanged glances.

Since the Qingyun noble houses began exploiting refugees to demand grain, many cultivators had feared Ji You didn’t yet realize the magnitude of his defeat, unable to truly feel fear and lower his head.

Now, seeing Wulü Trading House begin distributing porridge, they confirmed he understood.

For if he didn’t know the relief grain was being seized by the noble houses, why would he order porridge distributed from Fengzhou, thousands of miles away?

But he truly had no solution—only to take one step at a time.

Within the Heavenly Book Academy’s inner courtyard, the Purple Bamboo Meditation Grove.

Because the Wulü Trading House affair had spread like wildfire, few had any heart for cultivation; large numbers of disciples were focused on the matter, discussing it at length.

In their view, Ji You’s ability to stir the world’s winds and clouds by himself was something countless others could never achieve.

Yet they also clearly understood that this situation now brimmed with lethal intent.

“Sister Xiang, how much grain does Fengzhou actually have?”

“I… I don’t know.”

In the inner courtyard, Xiang Fu, from Fengzhou, sat quietly at a tea table, her cup untouched, when Wang Gaocen asked her.

But she truly didn’t know the grain production figures—especially since the Qingyun disaster, Fengzhou had no official records; only Ji You knew the truth.

Yet the issue was, the amount of stored grain had nothing to do with this.

Because the noble houses took Wulü’s grain without paying a single coin—they took as much as they wanted.

Wang Gaocen turned his gaze to others: “Do you think Ji You might stop distributing relief grain entirely and switch to porridge? I think that could work.”

“You’re not wrong—this method isn’t bad. Once it’s in their stomachs, how can anyone take it back?”

“We mustn’t tell Ji You this idea—lest he truly turns the tide.”

Gu Ze Tao chuckled softly: “You can think of this method—do you think Ji You can’t?”

Wang Gaocen leaned on the table: “They say those involved are blind, while outsiders see clearly. If he could think of it, why would he knowingly let the noble houses, like the heron behind the cicada, take so much relief grain?”

As the two spoke, a group of Elders walked up the mountain.

They too gazed calmly downward, watching the refugees wandering through the city in silence.

Seeing them, the disciples of the Purple Bamboo Meditation Grove immediately rose and bowed.

“What were you discussing just now?”

“We were saying that if Wulü Trading House switched from distributing relief grain to only serving porridge, it might escape its current predicament,” Wang Gaocen replied.

His grandfather, Elder Wang, frowned: “You’re thinking too simply.”

“Is it not possible…?”