The rain was still falling.
It washed over the newly forced-open, pitch-black entrance.
Thousands of Qin soldiers stood frozen like puppets whose souls had been pulled out.
They stared at the passage.
Then at the child standing in front of it—clean, untouched, as if he were here on an outing.
Clack.
A soft sound.
Fusu released his grip.
The pickaxe he had worn down to a broken edge fell into the mud, rippling the water.
His hands were still trembling.
But he no longer looked at the tool.
He slowly turned around and faced the dazed soldiers behind him.
A beast-like roar erupted from his throat.
“What are you standing there for?!”
The shout tore through the rain curtain.
“Go in!”
“Rescue them!”
A nearby captain jolted as if struck by lightning.
Snapped back to reality.
“Yes, Your Highness!”
He was the first to react, grabbing a torch and scrambling toward the black tunnel.
“Move! All of you, damn it—move!”
“Save them!”
The crowd came alive.
Thousands of soldiers surged toward the newly opened passage like they had been given souls again.
Ying Ziye stood on high ground, expressionless.
He took another candied haw from Qinglong’s hand.
Crunch.
Bit into it.
Sweet.
Inside the tunnel—chaos.
“Here! There’s still someone alive!”
“Quick! Move this rock!”
Soon.
The first survivor was carried out by two soldiers.
Covered in blood and mud, barely breathing.
As he was dragged into daylight, the blinding light made him unable to open his eyes.
He saw the rain.
He saw the sky.
He saw a beautifully dressed child standing nearby, eating candied haw.
He thought he had died.
And reached some celestial realm.
Saw a divine child.
“God… god…”
He whispered the words, then tilted his head and passed out completely.
“Next!”
The rescue continued frantically.
One after another, barely living people were pulled from underground.
Most of them broke into tears the moment they saw daylight.
Tears of absolute collapse and release.
Wang Li was among the last group to be found.
He was leaning under a giant rock, still protecting several unconscious guards beside him.
The grandson of the Marquis of Tongwu now lay in shattered armor, face covered in grime, lips cracked like scorched earth.
Only his eyes still burned with a beast-like light.
“General!”
Several soldiers recognized him and rushed over.
Wang Li was lifted out in a hurry.
Placed on the muddy ground, he gasped wildly, gulping in air mixed with earth and blood.
Then he saw Fusu.
Standing in the rain like a black iron tower.
Wang Li struggled to get up.
He wanted to salute.
A black iron boot stepped down on his shoulder.
Hard.
His movement stopped.
He looked up.
Fusu was staring down at him.
There was no relief on that face.
No joy.
Nothing at all.
A water flask was thrown beside Wang Li’s mouth.
“Drink.”
Fusu’s voice was colder than the winter rain.
“Stay alive.”
“You’re still useful.”
Wang Li stopped struggling.
He grabbed the flask and drank desperately.
All the survivors—over three hundred of them—were gathered in an open area.
They huddled together like rats just pulled from water, trembling uncontrollably.
Some were crying.
Some were laughing.
Most just stared blankly at Fusu covered in mud… and Ying Ziye spotless in the distance.
They couldn’t tell anymore.
Which one of them—
was the god who pulled them out of hell.
Suddenly.
An old man with white hair crawled out from the crowd.
The old man was a Qin convict.
He knelt in the muddy water and, facing Fusu’s direction, began banging his head frantically on the ground.
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
His forehead struck broken stones, blood mixing with mud and rain as it flowed down.
Yet he seemed to feel no pain at all.
“Your Highness!”
He wailed loudly, his voice sharp and piercing.
“You are our reborn parents!”
“You saved the lives of us lowly slaves!”
“We will work like oxen and horses for you! We…”
His cries ignited the crowd.
All the survivors fell to their knees as well.
Crying and kowtowing filled the entire area.
They were expressing gratitude—
and also hope.
Hope that after surviving this disaster, they might receive even a one-in-ten-thousand chance of pardon.
Fusu stood there unmoving.
Letting the rain wash over his iron armor.
He waited.
Until the crying gradually quieted down.
Until everyone looked at him with a mixture of awe and expectation.
Then he moved.
Step by step, he walked toward the kneeling survivors.
Mud splattered under his boots with wet squelching sounds.
He stopped.
His gaze slowly swept across every upturned face full of longing.
Then he spoke.
His voice was hoarse, but clear enough to pierce everyone’s ears.
“You.”
Everyone held their breath.
“Have wasted five days of my time.”
A sharp intake of breath echoed through the crowd.
The old man who had led the kowtowing froze in place.
Fusu continued.
“And…”
He paused slightly.
“Ten thousand jin of silver output.”
Dead silence.
Absolute, total silence.
Even the sound of rain seemed to vanish.
On every face, the joy and hope of surviving a disaster instantly froze—
then shattered inch by inch.
They didn’t understand.
What was the Young Master saying?
Fusu looked at their stunned, blank expressions.
His lips seemed to twitch slightly.
“Now.”
“I grant you a reward.”
Reward?
Those two words were like a beam of light suddenly shining into the abyss.
A faint, confused hope rekindled in their eyes.
Could it be… they had misunderstood?
Fusu raised his arm and pointed toward the nearby prepared camp.
There, piles of dried rations were stacked like a mountain.
And barrels upon barrels of clean water.
“Eat your fill.”
“Drink your fill.”
He gave a cold command.
The crowd froze for half a second—
then erupted in thunderous cheers.
“Thank you, Your Highness!”
“Your Highness is merciful!”
They thought this was the reward.
Fusu did not lower his arm.
He added one more sentence.
“Sleep for a day.”
The cheers grew even louder.
At the bottom of despair, hope bloomed again.
They supported each other and rushed toward the food.
But amid this chaotic celebration—
Fusu’s arm slowly shifted.
From pointing at the camp—
to pointing at another nearby, intact, pitch-black mountain.
At some point, new flags had already been planted there.
His voice was not loud.
But it carried a bone-chilling coldness that instantly suppressed all noise.
“Starting tomorrow.”
The crowd rushing toward the food slowed.
“Mining Zone Two—start work.”
Everyone froze.
They turned back in disbelief to look at Fusu.
His gaze was as if he were looking at livestock.
“To make up for the losses.”
His words were enunciated one by one.
“For the next month.”
“All output will be doubled!”
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