Frost still clung to the thatched eaves of Jintian when Hong Xiuquan stepped into the pale light of dawn. The sky was bruised indigo, and the hills beyond the village were streaked with mist. A chill wind sifted through the sugarcane stalks, carrying the distant clamor of ox carts and the occasional crow of a rooster.
He paused at the edge of the clearing, counting faces. Yesterday’s proclamation had drawn a crowd—nearly fifty souls—but this morning only a few remained, huddled in ragged coats and woolen caps against the cold. He unclasped his sleeves, letting the robe fall back enough to gather warmth from his movement.
His first words yesterday had won three pledges. He needed seven to fulfill the first mandate. Four more. Not an impossible number, yet every villager here knew the risks: harboring a rebel meant death by beheading or slow torture in the county seat. But fear was the world’s oldest lever, and he intended to pull it.
He strode forward, hands tucked deep in his sleeves. Old Zhao, the woodcutter, stared at him warily. Mei the weaver fidgeted, her spindle still in hand. Xin, the boy from the neighboring hut, tucked his chin into his jacket. Hong inhaled deeply, tasting smoke and last night’s rice wine on the frosty air, and began again—not with thundering threats, but with facts.
“You know the taxes here,” he said softly, voice carrying across the silent rows of huts. “Last season, the magistrate took two sacks of rice from every family—even the sick and the widows. How is that Heaven’s justice?”
A low murmur rippled through the onlookers. One woman’s whispered tone carried just far enough: “They say he calls himself the younger brother of the Lord. A bold claim, if true.”
Old Zhao’s eyes flicked away. Mei’s hand tightened on her shuttle. The rumor had been drifting since his fevered proclamation—tales that he spoke of celestial visions, of a divine sibling bond that would save them all. Now, in the cold light, it felt more uncanny than comforting.
Fourth Aunt Li, whose husband had died in a bandit raid the year before, stepped forward. “What can you do?” she asked, voice low, eyes fierce. “I have nothing more to give than my son’s life.”
He fixed her with a steady gaze. “Nothing? I saw your fields. Empty, yes. But the granary of Liu Yang lies half-full. Tomorrow, we take what’s owed—grain to feed your boy through spring. Serve under the Heavenly Code, and those sacks vanish from your debts.”
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She held his glance. Behind her, two laborers exchanged uneasy looks. At last her shoulders sagged. “Very well. I pledge myself and my son.”
That was four. He felt the first pulse of warmth in his chest—Heavenly Energy, unspoken but real, stirring like coals beneath ash. Three to go.
He moved on, drawing on every scrap of gathered knowledge. When a trader from Canton balked, he quoted the missionary pamphlets he had once skimmed in Li Chen’s past: “Christ came not for the powerful but for the poor of spirit.” The reference jarred them—these folk knew of foreign preachers who’d taught equality in distant ports—and two more villagers signed their names in blood on a scrap of red paper: five and six.
Only one remained. A grizzled fisherman, lean from hunger, arms crossed over patched trousers. He spat into the frost. “Faith won’t fill my net,” he growled.
Hong’s jaw tightened. He recalled the system’s silent prompt, the promise of “Divine Persuasion,” but there was another way to prove himself. He waded into the shallow stream that snaked past the village, hands skimming the cold water until he caught the fish—bream and carp—enough to feed half the hamlet. They wriggled in his grip, tails flicking like living prayer.
He turned, holding the trembling fish aloft. “See the bounty Heaven provides? I command these waters now. Who else can draw life from the cold and death from the deep?”
The fisherman’s eyes went wide. The crowd murmured as Hong handed him a fat carp. “One soul earns another,” Hong said. “I give, and you join.”
The man closed his eyes, knuckles whitening on the netting. “I stand with you,” he murmured.
Seven pledges rounded out the dawn. The villagers clustered close, the four women and three men whose futures were now bound to his. Hong felt the hum intensify, a warmth flooding from his chest to his limbs.
He paused, head bowed. In the hush, he heard it again:
Mandate Complete—7 Followers Gained.
+30 Heavenly Energy
Skill Unlocked: Divine Persuasion
The moment the system sealed, a ripple of authority passed through him. He raised his head, face hard and resolute.
“Today we feed the starving,” he declared. “Tonight, we light the fires of Jintian.”
Behind him, the villagers exchanged glances—some hopeful, some terrified—but all shared a spark in their eyes. As they scattered to prepare for the grain share, Hong allowed himself a wry smile. Under the same frost-bitten sky where whispered rumors of his divine kinship once floated, he’d forged loyalty with fish and fear alike.
He turned toward the clay walls of the Liu family granary, already tasting the next victory. His first mandate was fulfilled—and the legend of the Younger Brother of Christ would soon prove itself, one terrified soul at a time.
