Dao Equaling the Heavens

Bianjing, the Divine Capital of Daqian.

Recently, this divine capital had not been very peaceful, with frequent occurrences of ghosts and monsters within, and restless princes without.

On the twenty-third day of the first month, at 1 a.m., outside Dragon Bridge, Gu Wen from the Water House at the clear stream was summoned by his employer.

Gu Wen sat inside the carriage while the servant meticulously and gently tapped the horse's rump, making a rhythmic 'pap pap pap' sound. The carriage was stable, and its slight rocking was conducive to drowsiness.

Outside on the roads, there were densely packed disaster victims huddled and shivering on both sides of the road. By March, Bianjing's cold wouldn't kill anyone, but the nights were still harsh.

He asked as usual, "There seem to be a lot of disaster victims recently. I remember just days ago they were talking about a good harvest."

"Sir, a good harvest is useless now. Even if the fields were to produce gold, it wouldn't be enough to pay the taxes."

"That's true. With ten years of arrears taxes followed by ten years of land taxes, this money has been collected for the next ten years without seeing ten years' worth of crops from the land."

Daqian was originally rather peaceful, the Emperor ascended to the throne legitimately, and the harvests were consistently plentiful. But the people were relentlessly pressed by heavy levies and miscellaneous taxes, unbearable to live with. The national policies to change rice cultivation to mulberry and regulations on horses directly led to rampant local disturbances across two districts, with endless dangers from bandits.

Gu Wen wanted to say something else, but a sudden cough stopped him mid-sentence.

This body was weak, often sick, and if it weren't for obtaining a chore in the prince's mansion, he would probably have died early. Fortunately, it was only weak in constitution, without any serious illness.

"Sir, are you alright?"

"Old ailment."

He waved his hand and said nothing more, leaving only the trembling of the starving people in the cold wind and the faint sounds of gaiety in the distance.

Exiting Vermilion Bird Gate and heading straight to Dragon Bridge, more than a hundred steps into the night market.

The crowd was bustling, the vendors numbered in the thousands. Lined on both sides were elegant buildings, all brilliantly lit at sunset.

Water porters pushed single-wheeled water carts through lanes and alleys, shuffling from the back alleys of various taverns, transporting buckets of water to wine houses, teahouses, brothels, houses of prominent officials, or places like the pleasure lanes of Changle Square.

Taverns sold sea cucumbers, shark fins, bear paws, scallops, fish maws, deer tails, deer tongues, bird's nests...

Under the rolled blinds of the brothel, there were Yangzhou skinny horses, teaching institute girls, and corner geishas.

At the gambling tables in Changle Square, dazzling with paper and gold, were dice, cockfights, and quail fights, all spread out for money.

Although it was past midnight and most people had gone to sleep, for Bianjing's profit-eating class, the nightlife was just beginning. They neither woke up early due to labor nor went to rest because of labor the next day; they were born for pleasure.

Their homes, filled with mountains of grain and forests of meat, transformed their "first and second meals" into three, four, or even twelve meals. Some had gold and silver jewels and kept beautiful maidservants, male concubines, and servants at hand, traveled in sedans, dined with maids, lived with concubines, even the manure scooping had designated personnel.

Some had candle and oil lights slashing through the night, some had draped fine mesh to block out the morning sun.

Recently, Bianjing had not been very peaceful, but it had nothing to do with these prominent officials. Prosperity was not specific to a place, but rather the path you walk.

Rushing horses through the bustling market, God knows how many dignitaries, scholars, and noble offspring were disturbed... A drunken man who could not dodge quickly enough was met with a whip from the escort clearing the way in the front, whose scream attracted even more attention.

From the sides, flower pavilions and jade courtyards continuously had eyes cast towards them, peeking at the plain face sitting inside the carriage, everyone entering Dragon Bridge invariably asked which noble's son he could be to hold such grand airs.

And those who had been around Dragon Bridge for a while only dared to answer after the carriage had gone far:

"Marquis Wen of the Ninth Prince's residence, a thousand-year-old from Dragon Bridge."

Gu Wen remained expressionless, the dim yellow light outside the carriage window shining on his face, plain and unremarkable, unlikely to attract anyone's attention in a crowd.

He naturally enjoyed the privileges that power brought; he had long been accustomed to stepping on others, had grown weary of others' reverence, and had long become a man-eating monster.

The morality, civilization, and concepts of the past life could only harm oneself and others.

Feudal rites and teachings were never just a simple concept; it was an inviolable deity. Only when it died could you revile it.

He was just a servant under this great deity, half able to stand under the glitz of lanterns and wine, neither a high official nor royal kin, nor an imperial bureaucrat with real power.

He was the operator of a Water House, a servant of a prince.

Inside and outside of Bianjing, the population exceeded three million; sixty percent relied on the tributaries of the Tao River flowing through Bianjing to make a living, the rest on wells. Yet, immense Bianjing had only two thousand wells, among them 1,600 bitter wells used by ordinary people.

Over three hundred clean water wells were used by the homes of officials and well-to-do families, with monthly water fees.

There were barely a hundred sweet water wells; they were all "water gold mines."

In the city, private individuals who drilled wells with sweet water mostly operated water-selling businesses, employing clerks to fill wooden single-wheeled water carts, pushing them to a buyer's home, pouring water into the tanks, taking the money, and leaving.

Thus, Gu Wen made a living this way, occupying the largest Water House near Dragon Bridge, which half of Dragon Bridge's shops relied on.

Each month, the money that passed through his hands was not less than ten thousand taels of gold, at least eight thousand taels.

People had given him the nickname "Marquis Wen."

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Ninth Prince's residence.

"Marquis Wen, we've arrived at the mansion."

Gu Wen stepped down from the carriage and looking up, saw the high gate, large mansion, stone lions standing tall, surrounded by high walls and topped with green glazed tiles, with beasts perched on the roof ridges—clearly the residence of a royal prince.

He didn't let the household servants and slaves lead the way, but quickly walked into the mansion; the guards stationed every ten steps saw him but as if they didn't see him, no one stopped him.

Gu Wen had been here many times before, but it was the first time he had been summoned to the mansion in the middle of the night, which surprised him greatly. What could possibly require his presence at the prince's mansion so late at night?