Chapter Fifty-Nine: The Celestial Registry of the City God

At this moment, the deadline for submitting poems to the Locust Literary Gathering had arrived. Many people murmured in confusion, “Has Chu Talent not come? There’s no poem from him? Such a crucial affair as eradicating the locusts, and he doesn’t even show up?”

“Perhaps he didn’t dare to come! He’s nothing but an abandoned pawn—most likely bought that poem at a high price from someone else,” another scoffed.

Hearing this, Song Peng’s gaze was full of ridicule. How cowardly Chu Talent must be, too afraid of making a fool of himself to appear.

Amidst the rising tide of skepticism, Dou Xu’s voice rang out from the crowd, clear and resolute: “Young Master Chu is no coward! His poetic talent and bearing win hearts. The famed hero Yan Yunfei, who is an old friend of Prince Chu, was so moved by Young Master Chu’s ‘Bamboo and Stone’ that he personally went to the prince’s mansion and severed the steward’s hand! Tonight, perhaps Young Master Chu is already confronting the locust disaster himself! You accuse him baselessly—what right have you to slander another?”

Dou Xu’s face was flushed with earnestness, and his words fell with the weight of jewels, ringing through the air.

Song Peng’s expression chilled; he strode to Dou Xu and said, “We are here to exterminate the locusts, to defend Yan Prefecture, yet Chu Talent doesn’t even dare to come, and still someone speaks for him! He’s rumored to be a charming rake, ruining many women’s lives, and now that he’s bought a poem, people rush to flatter him?”

The crowd fell silent.

Dou Xu could not help but shout, “Who would sell such a masterpiece?”

Song Peng retorted sharply, “Who knows what tricks he used! But if he could buy one poem, he’ll never buy a second! ‘Battered by a thousand blows, yet still so firm, undaunted by winds from any direction’—such bold, heroic verse, how could a spoiled scion produce it?”

“You—” Dou Xu’s face turned crimson with anger, words stuck in his throat.

In the distance, Wen Ji’s gaze grew faintly disappointed.

At this moment, Song Peng, glancing smugly at Wen Ji, curled his lips into a wicked smile and bowed to the elders at the banquet table. “Honorable elders, the locust plague is said to arrive tomorrow. We pledge our sincere hearts and all our strength to repel them, fighting to the death if need be!”

“Well spoken!” Many scholars nodded in agreement, and the elders at the feast inclined their heads. They placed all the gathered poems into a furnace, letting them burn fiercely.

This furnace was a treasure, nearly cursed in nature, known as the “Dust and Smoke Cauldron”—a relic left behind after a saint exploded a cursed artifact in battle against the demon clans centuries ago. Though only a remnant, it could transform the literary aura of many poems into a mighty force of attack.

However, the Dust and Smoke Cauldron could only be used twice a year.

Now, as the scholars’ poems burned, their literary auras converged, and among them, Song Peng’s untitled poem produced the strongest talent energy, making him the undisputed winner of the gathering.

Envious gazes gathered upon him.

Tonight, Song Peng enjoyed fame and won the beauty’s favor, stirring admiration and jealousy.

Yet just as this thought formed, the scene before them stunned everyone.

The Dust and Smoke Cauldron, brimming with hundreds of threads of literary aura, surged southward. Suddenly, a blood-red eye appeared in the heavens, opening for a moment—a blazing fire seemed to erupt at the horizon, swallowing all the literary aura in one gulp.

The cauldron itself, as if struck by a mighty blow, cracked open and collapsed into ruin.

“That’s a cursed artifact! Is it bronze grade?” someone cried out in shock.

Hearing this, many legs trembled—they scrambled to leave, but the crowd’s panic made escape impossible, pushing dozens into the water.

On the painted boats, people desperately wished they were already ashore to flee even faster.

No one had expected such overwhelming power—the combined literary aura of hundreds was casually dissolved, and the Dust and Smoke Cauldron, revered as a divine object, was reduced to nothing. Who would dare to pit themselves against such force?

In the chaos, Song Peng was the first to run.

The crowd clamored and panicked, but the blood-red eye opened only briefly before fading, and the distant sky gradually returned to calm.

Now, the people stared at each other in terror, no longer concerned with the literary gathering, eager only to escape.

Wen Ji’s heart grew cold. The blood-red eye was terrifying, but what disappointed her most was the cowardice of those present. They boasted of risking life and limb for the people of Yan Prefecture, but at the first sign of true danger, they fled faster than anyone.

Shaking her head, Wen Ji thought: these people may escape for now, but if the locusts invade and no one can resist, Yan Prefecture will become a wasteland—where could they possibly run?

Moreover, the locust demon had only used the cursed artifact’s power once; with three uses possible by tomorrow, would Yan Prefecture truly escape catastrophe?

The saddest thing was that the many scholars of Yan Prefecture were so weak, their courage utterly gone.

Her eyes brimmed with despair.

Suddenly, she found herself longing for the words, “Battered by a thousand blows, yet still so firm, undaunted by winds from any direction.” Perhaps there was still a sliver of hope?

********************

Meanwhile, Chu Talent’s soul, newly departed from his body, was drawn into the palace he had visited the previous day. The palace remained grand, but now seemed infused with an air of solemnity and menace.

A thread of anxiety tugged at his heart—had his substitution for the original Chu Talent been discovered?

Inside, the gods he saw yesterday awaited him, their faces clouded with worry.

An official stepped forward and announced loudly, “Reporting to the celestial gods: Young Master Chu has been summoned.”

The God of Martial Justice nodded. “Very well. Please, Young Master Chu, be seated.”

Another official quickly fetched a chair. Chu Talent bowed and sat, slightly puzzled by their unusual courtesy.

The God of Martial Justice spoke gravely: “Young Master Chu, barely half a cup of tea ago, the Locust Literary Gathering failed.”

Chu Talent was startled. In recent years, every such gathering in Yan Prefecture had been swift and decisive, resolving calamities without a single failure. He rose and asked respectfully, “May I ask, Lord Martial Justice, what was the cause this time?”

The god replied, “The locust demon descended with overwhelming force, unleashing a cursed artifact that devoured all the literary aura and shattered the Dust and Smoke Cauldron. Now, the people of Yan Prefecture are in turmoil.”

Chu Talent’s heart raced. He had not expected the locust calamity to be so powerful—no wonder Second Mistress and Yan Yunfei had rushed to help; he wondered whether they had acted yet.

The God of Martial Justice continued, “If no one intervenes, tomorrow will bring bloody disaster to Yan Prefecture, with countless casualties. Even the City God may fall! I ask you: will you, in this moment of crisis, accept the position of City God, defend the people, and keep the incense burning?”

His gaze was intense, and the surrounding gods shook their heads gently. Who would dare shoulder such a burden now? Even the Locust Literary Gathering, with its amassed literary aura, was easily destroyed—how could a newly appointed City God resist? Was this not merely a futile gesture?

Yet, contrary to their expectations, Chu Talent did not hesitate. He answered in a steady voice, “I am willing!”