In earlier years, when Feng Shuitu had no children, they had originally discussed adopting the grandson of his Great-Uncle’s family. After all, after much calculation, among the boys of both families, only that child was suitable.
But in recent years, the Little Uncle’s family had also been adding new members. The youngest son of his eldest son and the third son of his second son were both quite fitting. Naturally, they no longer wanted to hand such a good opportunity over to their Great-Uncle’s family, and in terms of blood relations, their own branch was closer.
Thus, the two families ended up quarreling fiercely over the matter.
The most ridiculous part was that behind the scenes, they maintained their cooperative relationship while also not holding back from badmouthing each other’s children in front of Feng Shuitu.
“Then Feng Shuitu definitely shouldn’t adopt children from those families!”
“Isn’t that the truth? Feng Shuitu gritted his teeth and insisted he could still father his own children, refusing to adopt anyone, dragging out the decision until the candidates grew too old.”
It wasn’t until Feng Baoyu was born—though he was even frailer than his older sisters—that Feng Shuitu finally had an heir. After that, no one could openly bring up adoption again.
After Feng Baoyu’s birth, the rear courtyard of the Feng household remained unsettled. Some even came up with the idea of surrogacy, but not until Feng Shuitu dealt with the most vocal concubines and tightened security in the rear courtyard did things finally calm down.
“The concubines he dealt with—were they gifts from Feng Shuitu’s Great-Uncle and Little Uncle? And by surrogacy, do you mean exactly what I think?”
In this ancient era, there was a peculiar custom where elders liked to send women to their juniors’ chambers, claiming it was for the sake of spreading the family line. Yue Fuguang believed it was just an excuse for men to enjoy themselves and take more concubines.
As for surrogacy, wasn’t that just laying one’s own egg in another’s nest?
When Feng Shuitu heard about the surrogacy plan, he broke out in a cold sweat. If they had succeeded a couple of years earlier, he would have been finished.
“Right, so after Feng Shuitu blocked every single one of those paths, they had no choice but to think of another way.”
“So now that they’re making a move, do they want Feng Shuitu dead?”
“Uh… not entirely. The Little Uncle’s goal tonight is to send Feng Shuitu a ‘romantic encounter.’ A month later, they’ll claim the woman is pregnant, and that’s when Feng Shuitu will meet his end.”
Feng Shuitu cursed inwardly. He could guarantee there was no way that woman would actually be carrying his child—he knew his own capabilities too well. But it didn’t matter whether it was true or not. Once he was dead and Baoyu also passed away, even a pillow could pass as that woman’s ‘child’ and become his rightful heir!
How ruthless!
“So next up is Feng Baoyu, right?”
“Right. After Feng Shuitu’s death, Feng Baoyu survived several assassination attempts. It wasn’t until he voluntarily gave up his claim to split the estate with his ‘brother’ Feng Baoshan that the people targeting him finally backed off.”
Thus, although Feng Baoyu died just a few years after the Da Yan dynasty fell—barely sixteen years of age—his life still outlasted the Da Yan dynasty.
When the system mentioned that Feng Baoyu had outlived the Da Yan, it struck a nerve for several people instantly. Some worried whether they’d be silenced by the emperor for overhearing such sensitive and dangerous information; others were simply unnerved by the event itself.
The Da Yan dynasty would fall?
That shouldn’t be possible! Setting aside how the new high-yield crops had boosted the nation’s strength, even this sweeping drought across five kingdoms had spared only Da Yan. How could it collapse even under such circumstances?!
If Da Yan could still fall after having the Divine Maiden, then it could only mean the incompetence of its rulers, ministers, and people.
“And that Feng Baoshan—was he really Feng Shuitu’s son?”
“Of course not. He was the illegitimate son of Feng Shuitian, the eldest son of the Little Uncle’s household. And even that identity was just what the Little Uncle’s family assumed.
In reality, that illegitimate son wasn’t even Feng Shuitian’s biological child. They schemed tirelessly, believing they had seized Feng Shuitu’s fortune, not knowing they were merely paving the way for someone else.”
“So wouldn’t the Little Uncle’s family be furious when they find out the truth?”
“Naturally. In fact, it was later Feng Baoyu who revealed this news to them. He had known all along that they were responsible for his father’s death.”
After finishing that piece of gossip, Yue Fuguang felt her belly full. Though the story held nothing particularly novel, she had no idea why the system triggered a mission like this—to keep Feng Shuitu and his children alive.
Looking at the reward—only three hundred points—Yue Fuguang wondered how long it had been since she last took on such a low-scoring task.
At that moment, while visiting the Seven Swords Manor, Yue Fuguang had no idea that news of her riding the flying-horse-drawn celestial chariot to dispense rain from the heavens was spreading at a terrifying speed.
“Hey, Old Sun, did you hear? The Divine Maiden has arrived in Xin Province, riding a chariot pulled by a celestial horse to dispense rain from the sky!”
A gray-clad old man, while tending to his seedlings in the field, was chatting with his neighbor across the ridge.
The man called Old Sun, who looked to be in his forties, straightened up, took a breath, and replied, “Brother Zhang, I have heard about it!”
Not just him—almost everyone in the village had heard about the Divine Maiden riding the flying-horse chariot and making it rain from the sky.
He looked up at the sky—bright sunshine, not a single cloud.
If only the Divine Maiden were flying overhead, he would surely see her.
Old Sun bent down again to continue weeding, saying, “I also heard that the rain the Divine Maiden brought this time is different from last time!”
He paused, furrowed his brow as if trying to recall, then went on, “Those learned lads call it ‘sweet dew’—true sweet dew.”
He gestured animatedly while telling Old Man Zhang what he had heard from the scholars at the teahouse: “Those scholars said this sweet dew makes the crops in the fields grow strong and fast, and that it’s sure to be a bountiful harvest this year.
Even people who drink it will grow stronger—they say it can cure those gravely ill! And something else… oh, they said it can ‘bring the dead back to life and regenerate flesh from bones!’”
If Yue Fuguang overheard Old Sun’s words, she’d certainly say the old man was exaggerating. At most, the rain had some mild health-boosting properties—nothing to boast about reviving the dead!
Rumors, all rumors!
She wasn’t that wealthy!
“Brother Sun, is what you’re saying true?” Old Man Zhang suddenly stood up, too quickly, making his vision go dark.
He didn’t care about that. He hurried over, stepping past the low ridge that separated their fields, and came to Old Sun’s plot.
Carefully treading through the slightly wilted crops, he rubbed his hands together and asked, “Brother Sun, is this information reliable?”
All he had heard in town was how magnificent the flying-horse chariot looked—how it gleamed and shone, how fast the horses galloped, and how faint golden bell sounds could be heard.
He hadn’t even finished showing off this tale to Old Sun yet before hearing such good news.
Old Sun hadn’t expected Old Man Zhang to get so worked up over his words, but upon thinking of his situation at home, it made sense.
So Old Sun stood up as well, thought seriously for a moment, and replied, “I only heard those scholars talking at the teahouse. They were going on about how good the sweet dew water was, so I remembered it—but I don’t know if it’s true or just talk.”
He too worried that he might have heard the information wrong or that the scholars had spread false rumors, raising Old Man Zhang’s hopes for nothing.