Chapter Forty-Five: The Rainfall

At this moment, as the townsfolk reeled from their fright, the grey mist of agitation faded considerably, its hue growing lighter. After all, common people are more often fearful and reluctant to cause trouble; generally, acts as grave as killing officials and rebelling are beyond their courage. Still, there are always fools who, when pressed, do not know how to respond, and by acting with stubborn harshness in such moments, only succeed in stoking the flames of unrest.

Thus, having cowed the crowd, Wang Zhenling did not wait for the shaman to speak again or incite further, but raised his voice. "As the ancients said, licentious sacrifices bring no blessings! Such depraved worship of false gods only brings harm, deceiving people out of their money—how could it possibly save anyone? You claim this Blackwater Shrine God can bring rain, but I ask you, after all these rites, has it ever rained?"

His words left the townsfolk exchanging uneasy glances. It was not that Wang Zhenling's reasoning was flawless, but rather that he was willing to reason with them at all—a relief after their earlier terror, which had nearly driven them to madness and rebellion. Now, recalling how close they had come to catastrophe, fear gripped their hearts once more. Even if the imperial court did not send troops to wipe them out, the mere sight of the dozens of county constables by Wang Zhenling's side—though unarmored—was enough to strike dread. They were unarmed save for farm tools; how could they hope to fight? Should Wang Zhenling, as the deputy magistrate, give the order, blood would flow at once.

Though Wang Zhenling’s tone remained stern and lofty, in truth his stance had softened. The townsfolk, though not entirely understanding, sensed this change and breathed sighs of relief. A few respected elders stepped forth, pleading, "Sir Deputy, do not destroy it! The Blackwater Shrine God has always been efficacious. In every drought, we rely on him to bring rain and survive..."

But before they could finish, Wang Zhenling cut them off. "Nonsense, you give credit where it is not due! This is but a trick to deceive the ignorant! Let us make a wager—if in three days the Blackwater Shrine God brings rain, I will spare him, and even recommend this shrine to the prefecture as a public temple. But if no rain falls in Dafan Township within three days, it will prove that this false god has deceived you all. When that time comes, do not blame me for destroying this Blackwater cult!"

His words brought a cheer from the people: "Lord Wang is wise! Lord Wang is wise!"

Having temporarily pacified the townsfolk, Wang Zhenling turned his gaze upon the shaman and the knife-wielding man blocking his path, murderous intent flashing in his eyes. These two had nearly ruined everything, nearly inciting a rebellion. Such men could not be allowed to remain.

Especially the shaman, who, unafraid of death, continued to shout and try to stir the crowd. Yet, with the people’s fury now spent, his incitements fell flat. As Wang Zhenling prepared to deal with the middle-aged man himself and order the shaman’s execution, the knife-wielding man, realizing the danger, fled without a word, abandoning the shaman.

Wang Zhenling sneered—at least that man knew when to retreat. With a swift motion, he hurled his long blade, which pierced the shaman’s abdomen, pinning him to the ground.

"A traitor who dares incite the people to rebellion—his crime is unpardonable. Guards, take his head!"

At his command, one of the constables stepped forward and, while the shaman still clung to life, severed his head, raising it aloft dripping with blood. The townsfolk recoiled in horror. Wang Zhenling, however, soothed them with kind words, assuring them that they were not ringleaders and that the authorities would not pursue the matter further.

Meanwhile, deep within the Blackwater Pool at the heart of the shrine—an opulent place little inferior to the City God's own temple—the Blackwater Shrine God paced like a caged beast, roaring in rage. Upon seeing the shaman who had conducted his rites slain and beheaded, his fury knew no bounds.

"Wang Zhenling, you dare! I will kill him..." he bellowed. Yet, for all his wrath, there was nothing he could do to Wang Zhenling now. If he could have, he would have manifested some miracle to win back the people’s trust and drive Wang Zhenling away. But as a mere spirit, he dared not reveal himself in daylight.

Of course, he was not without protective artifacts to shield him from the sun’s burning force. But Wang Zhenling was a deputy magistrate with a half-empowered official seal; should he wield it against the shrine god, the consequences would be dire. Thus, the Blackwater Shrine God dared not appear before him.

In truth, had Wang Zhenling been a full magistrate, there would have been no need for all these words—the matter would have been settled already.

"Be calm, Lord Shrine God. The urgent matter is to bring rain. If you can, Wang Zhenling will be defeated and forced to slink away. Besides, you are on good terms with the City God. Report this matter to him and let the City God deal with Wang Zhenling," advised a scholar's ghost.

This ghost had once been a Confucian scholar, but died unexpectedly. If the Shrine God had not taken him in, his soul would have been scattered long ago. Now, he remained at the shrine, serving as a strategist.

His words restored the Shrine God’s spirits. "I cannot summon a great storm, but I possess enough divine essence to gather the night’s moisture and bring a small rain. Tomorrow, let us see how Wang Zhenling can keep his head high!"

Even so, the Shrine God felt a pang of pain. He was not a true deity with a divine mandate to command the elements, but could only use his own power to draw up water vapor. Even conjuring a small rain would exhaust him greatly. But with his pride at stake, he could not afford to think of the cost.

As night deepened, the Blackwater Pool began to churn and bubble as if boiling. Soon, a pillar of water rose, poised to leap skyward. But just then, Wang Zhenling appeared at the pool’s edge, official seal in hand. He shone its light upon the water and shouted, "Wicked spirit, do you seek to harm people?"

The Blackwater Shrine God, relying on the incense power and the land’s energy he had accumulated, had barely managed to gather thousands of pounds of vapor, ready to ascend and bring rain. But the moment the official seal’s light struck him, it was as if he’d taken a blow to the head—he reeled, dizzy and disoriented.