Chapter Nineteen: This Is the Law of the Land!

Just a mere half-seal, yet the power it holds surpasses every magical artifact I have encountered in all my lives—past and present! With the seal in hand, Wang Zhenling sensed his own strength swelling, more than doubling in an instant.

He was a patrol officer of Guangyang Township and, naturally, he was headed there to take up his post. It was unthinkable for him to assume office alone; as his sponsor, County Magistrate Chen would, of course, lend him a hand. Without hesitation, the county dispatched a carriage and several guards to escort Wang Zhenling to his new position, making a show of their support.

Wang Zhenling would never refuse such goodwill. It was like a man of wealth buying a prized steed’s bones—an ostentatious display to the world: “See? Those who join me are now so impressive.” In this case, Wang Zhenling was the steed’s bones and had no say in the matter.

Yet the arrangement was greatly to his benefit. After all, a patrol officer was only the third-ranking official in the township—preceded by the Sacrificer and the Three Elders. There was every chance that a new official could suffer a harsh reception from his superiors. Everywhere, newcomers are bound to be bullied.

But with such a grand procession, not only would ordinary folk be awed, but the Sacrificer and Three Elders would also be clearly warned: “This man is under Magistrate Chen’s protection—think twice before you cross him!”

Truthfully, though, such trouble was unlikely for Wang Zhenling. He hailed from the township itself, a scion of the Wang clan of Danling. Though he possessed little fame or influence of his own, the Wang name was shield enough—few would dare recklessly provoke him.

In his previous life, Wang Zhenling had been widely read and recalled stories from his world’s history: newly appointed officials, fresh from their scholarly triumphs, would often be mercilessly bullied by local clerks and yamen runners. After ten years of hard study, they had no experience governing, no grasp of official affairs, and so were easily deceived and sidelined by their subordinates. Only after several terms of office, having gained experience and mastered the art of managing underlings, could they hope to reclaim their authority. Some, of course, would remain powerless and bullied for their entire careers.

Wang Zhenling thought, if he were truly born of humble stock—his first stint as an official—he would surely be at a loss, not knowing what to do. It was like a university graduate on their first internship, needing time to find their footing.

But Wang Zhenling was born into the Wang clan of Danling. The family naturally made arrangements for him, sending along a clansman with experience as a minor official to handle routine matters and advise him on dealing with superiors and subordinates. Two more robust and capable clansmen were sent as guards. Such were the privileges of a noble family’s scion entering officialdom!

Consider someone like Magistrate Chen, born to a truly illustrious household: even as a county magistrate, he could command a retinue of a hundred men—experts in governance, martial prowess, shrewd management, or personal service—every role amply filled.

Wang Zhenling’s own entourage was far more modest, but sufficient for his needs.

Guangyang Township itself lay not far from Guangyang City—barely a dozen or so miles outside the city walls. If it were further, that grand market would never have been named for Guangyang.

Within the county offices, Wang Zhenling felt little difference. But as soon as he left and entered the borders of Guangyang Township, he sensed a change. Commoners, seeing the carriages approach, bowed and yielded the road with deference. Yet the moment he crossed into township territory, Wang Zhenling distinctly felt a vast external power settle upon him.

What is this?

An ordinary official might not notice more than a vague sensation. But Wang Zhenling could clearly see it: clad in official robes, seal in hand, the instant he crossed into the township, a force seemed to enshroud him.

“This is the Law of the King,” said Wang Hu, the clansman sent to assist him, with a gentle smile. “The king sets down laws to guide the people; where the king’s law is present, order prevails throughout the land. What you feel now is the power of that law.”

“So this is the king’s law?” Wang Zhenling was shaken. As one born into such a prominent family, with generations of officials and clerks, he had heard of such things. Yet to experience it firsthand was still startling.

With his spiritual vision awakened, Wang Zhenling could see with his own eyes: everywhere in Guangyang Township, a mist of pale greyish-white clouds billowed and swirled.

Wang Zhenling understood at once: these grey-white clouds were the collective fortune of the township’s people. The clouds were not drifting aimlessly; instead, they were orderly, as if bound within a net, preventing their dispersal.

Wang Hu’s explanation was only half right, Wang Zhenling thought—he had heard it secondhand, never seen it himself. The net-like invisible force was the king’s law; the white mist was the gathered fortune. Combined, they formed royal authority—the boundless power now infusing him.

Of course, Wang Hu had never cultivated or awakened spiritual sight, so he could not perceive these truths. And it was only because Wang Zhenling now held official rank, the seal of office in his hand, that he could see the authority of law. Cultivators outside the system who tried to sense such forces would likely face immediate retaliation.

Subtly, Wang Zhenling realized that as long as he remained within Guangyang Township, his power would be multiplied many times over. If that mysterious, black-clad envoy from the Heavenly Dao were to appear before him now, Wang Zhenling would need neither poison nor cunning—he could slay his foe outright.

However, this power was much like the territorial domain of a local deity: invincible within its bounds, able to defy even the gods, but once outside, it would dissipate and all strength would vanish. Should Wang Zhenling step beyond the borders of Guangyang, he would find himself ordinary once more.

By now, they had arrived at the township pavilion. From a distance, they saw a crowd waiting by the official road—Sacrificer, Three Elders, clerks, guards, and more. Some even cradled brooms in their arms—this was a traditional gesture of welcome. The comet, known as the “broom star,” gave rise to the custom: holding a broom signified sweeping the way clean, sprinkling water on the road and laying down fresh earth to welcome the new arrival.

Whether the welcome was truly for the assistant or for Wang Zhenling himself was hard to say. It was much like the officials in his previous life: when the organization department sent someone to escort a new official to their post, the local staff would always turn out to greet them.

Even if there was no superior present, the fact that Magistrate Chen’s carriage had arrived meant that everyone had to show respect for his sake.