Ch. 1
Chapter 1: History…Is Ill!?
Jiangnan Province, Pan’an County.
The blazing sun hung high, scorching the old street paved with black stones, preserved for the sake of maintaining ancient architecture.
Jiang Yan, who had just stepped off the ride-share, stood one point eight meters tall, his hair somewhat disheveled from the journey as it should have been, but his almost perfect features lent him an extra air of elegance.
His appearance was notably handsome and masculine, combined with a clean, refreshing outfit of black T‑shirt and trousers, causing many passersby to glance his way—curious whether some big star was visiting Pan’an County.
After all, this place was only a few dozen kilometers from the famous film city in Jiangnan Province, and celebrities often dropped by to relax.
Local residents were used to it,
but most stars looked very different on TV than in real life; although many offline still had decent looks, few could compare to Jiang Yan.
“Sir, may I occupy a moment of your time? I’d like to introduce you to the anchor of history, the compass of the world, our humanity’s great savior…”
Jiang Yan skillfully retrieved his suitcase and backpack from the ride-share’s trunk and was just about to continue on his way, but was stopped by a graceful woman.
Her long black hair fell to her waist, and she wore a Qüjü-style garment from the Pre‑Qin period, made from dark ramie on the outside with red silk lining, the hem layered like heavy clouds.
She wore a Lingshan crown adorned with dark bird feathers; seven jade‑silkworm clasps along her front were arranged according to the Big Dipper’s orientation; around her waist was a leather belt inlaid with turquoise Kui‑niu pattern, from which hung twelve strands of vermilion‑dyed hemp, appearing like rice ears being blown, symbolizing harvest.
If you ask why he could describe it so clearly,
it was because he had recently been watching many videos of women dressed in Hanfu with ancient palaces in the background—vivid lighting and visuals that stirred his blood, making him feel like a heavenly‑mandated emperor, admiring three thousand beauties.
After all, there had never been so many beautiful women performing before you.
Watching so much got him interested, and he actively researched Han and Pre‑Qin attire to expand his knowledge, for future commentary online.
However… seeing the woman before him, he was awestruck.
One must know that although the robe was loose, it could not conceal her maturity and revealed her strong will like layered mountains that could easily mesmerize any onlooker.
But given all the dangerous incidents in recent years, Jiang Yan quickly averted his gaze, lest someone post it online.
He bit his tongue and held his silence for now.
She had a beautiful physique, in part because she wore a beige Rice‑God‑of‑Wealth mask, an adorable smile carved on it, with eyes that had been painted in to match—and beneath the mask, her gilded irises similarly gleamed as she looked at Jiang Yan smilingly.
Judging from her build and aura, she was undeniably top-tier gorgeous.
And judging from the quality of her clothing, it wasn’t cheap mass‑produced—it must be a custom high‑end design.
“Colored contact lenses?”
A flicker of thought passed through Jiang Yan’s mind, but he didn’t dwell on it and instead asked curiously:
“Savior? Are you promoting some god, or are you that Cthulhu‑overturned‑by‑a‑ship fellow?”
The former needed no further explanation; the latter came from a foreign sci‑fi novel—also known as the Cthulhu Mythos—which depicted many indescribable gods, among them the evil god Cthulhu.
But that great evil god had apparently been overturned by a ship upon arriving on Earth. Although the novel was written over a hundred years ago, making it a product of its time, it nonetheless spawned a popular internet meme.
“Great Cthulhu messed up again!”
Speaking of the indescribable, as a folk‑custom and monster enthusiast, Jiang Yan knew that the images of gods and immortals in his own mythology were the products of social development and long‑term evolution; tracing them back to their origins…
they were far more bizarre than anything foreign.
But reframing the thought, wasn’t that also a kind of beauty?
Just that mortals couldn’t comprehend it.
Jiang Yan thought, while also scanning the surroundings—treating the woman as perhaps a content‑creating influencer; maybe a cameraman somewhere was secretly filming.
If he asked seriously, she might say something about some “two‑dimensional scripture” before uploading his startled reaction online.
He didn’t mind—so long as there was payment!
“Of course not.”
The woman smiled and explained, “I am the Rice‑God‑of‑Wealth, presiding over rice and meat, the state and its grain and oil, bringing luck, abundance, riches, anchoring the years.”
As she spoke, her delicate jade hand extended into the air, saying:
“Sir, I see that you are innately highly spiritual—an excellent candidate to serve as the principal worshipper of the Rice God of Wealth. Join us, bless the nation, let the people no longer suffer hunger.”
“Rice‑God‑of‑Wealth?”
Jiang Yan had heard of the Five‑Way Wealth God, the Evil Wealth God, Buddhist Vaisravana, etc. He had even stayed in Pan’an County as a child, but he had never heard of a local deity by that name.
Besides, the elixir that stopped hunger was not a so‑called god or immortal—but the old man who had developed improved rice.
Gods and immortals had never stooped to lift mortals.
Jiang Yan scanned around again but couldn’t find any possible cameraman. The woman’s demeanor suggested she was serious.
Could it be… evil…?
His brow furrowed, but faced with such a sincere invitation from a great beauty, he couldn’t suppress a burst of temptation and earnestly asked:
“Then… does joining the cult come with eggs?”
As a citizen of the Tianxia Alliance, whatever god it was, the sign of a good one was whether it gave eggs.
Even if it was an evil cult, he’d still milk it—then report them to get the reward later.
“…”
The woman was silent for a moment, then let out a light laugh, reaching into her robe. Jiang Yan backed away warily and raised his hands in innocence—only for something to be thrown toward him.
“What’s this?”
He caught it instinctively and found it was a fist‑sized plush doll dressed as the Rice God of Wealth—entirely beige—holding a jade Ruyi shaped like a rice ear in its left hand, and a piece of what looked like pork belly in its right hand.
But its face was not human—it was…
a mouse?
Plump and wide, with slender whiskers, smiling with compassion, as if pitying humans—but dressed in that outfit, the combination struck a jarring chord.
Mice did not love rice—they only stole human‑stored grain.
“This texture…”
Jiang Yan gently rubbed it. It actually felt like touching rice, yet smooth like skin, and even had some elasticity when pinched.
“It’s not plastic, nor clay—the feel is somewhat like rice. What on earth is this material? If you guys make grain and figurines like this for preaching, it would definitely go viral online.”
Jiang Yan, in kindness, advised her to reform—but when he looked up, the woman had already vanished—only pedestrians remained, and a few girls jokingly nudged each other, seemingly trying to strike up conversation.
“No entanglement—that seems like Southern‑style pyramid selling.”
Jiang Yan muttered, tucked the doll into his pocket, and thought he’d ask Uncle Xu across the street about what kind of cult the Rice God of Wealth was.
Uncle Xu was with the public security bureau.
As for why he didn’t follow her to destroy an evil‑god cult alone?
He was just an ordinary person—those things were better left to professionals. Heroics weren’t wise.
If something went wrong, only his family would mourn.
Jiang Yan wasn’t a bad person, but he didn’t want to be a good one either.
He would do only what he was capable of.
Unless this so‑called Rice‑God cult truly had some extraordinary system—it might attract him.
But… how could that be?
“This small town is, after all, old.”
He looked at the quaint old street and buildings, politely declined several girls’ banter, and strolled pushing his suitcase.
He gazed at moss‑covered steps, cracked bluestone slabs, graffiti‑splashed walls, and old wooden signposts… seeming to search for traces of his own past visits.
This was his mother’s maiden home; he had stayed here for a while as a child.
He returned this time due to long‑term exhaustion from work—his medical exam revealed early‑stage liver cancer. Though he had received timely treatment and improved, he refused his boss’s offer of a raise at the Hangzhou company and decisively quit the 9‑9‑6 single‑day‑off job at age twenty‑six, unwilling to endure constant boss messaging.
As a Jiangnan local, his family wasn’t rich, but they weren’t starving. So he simply returned home to recuperate for a while.
Once he recovered, he’d consider the future.
After all, when the body falls ill, he understood why ancient royalty would obsessively pursue immortality.
The passing of life brings endless despair.
When old, wouldn’t one truly become like the snake demon in “Journey to the West,” greedily thirsting for youthful blood?
Even he, a folk‑custom and cultivation enthusiast, was beginning to delve into traditional culture—not seeking immortality, but pursuing health.
“A life struck like chiseled stone meeting fire—how long in this world can one endure.”
Jiang Yan whispered.
Unbeknownst to him, behind him, the woman who had just vanished now appeared at the end of the street, watching Jiang Yan’s departing back, softly murmuring:
“The ritual was just to begin, yet one emitting such strong fragrance of spiritual rice and meat intruded. Interesting—is it that we pursue Him, or is He pursuing us?”
“But it doesn’t matter, it just lets this world…”
“Feel the glory of our Lord!”
As her voice fell, the world darkened; shadows rolled like waves and swallowed her form, surging into boundless darkness.
Whoosh, whoosh!
“Where’s that water sound coming from?”
Jiang Yan, walking along the street, suddenly heard the sound of water waves. He turned toward the sound—and the sight stunned him.
“What is this!?”
For he saw a long river of rust‑red color, as if flowing from infinite void, vast and boundless, with countless tributaries covering the entire world.
Humanity… no, even civilizations in His presence were like grains of millet in the vast sea, ants under the bright sun—infinitesimally small.
His existence already exceeded the limits of human imagination.
A single splash mirrored countless brilliant civilizations; thousands of heroic figures flashed past, splendid and resplendent.
Yet before Jiang Yan could be moved, the majestic river shifted—its sacred presence dissipated, replaced by layers of black, filthy dust, as if the pus‑blood exposed on a corpse, repulsive and filthy.
At that moment,
human order collapsed; civilization was annihilated.
They converged—and at different junctions clogged, gradually forming pustules resembling those on a patient’s body; the deeper into the river, the larger the pustules, and even within some could be faintly seen indescribable, eerie figures, obscuring the sky, distorting space and time.
They merely existed, yet already influenced all things.
Like the legendary gods and immortals.
“Ugh…”
Just a glance threatened to shatter Jiang Yan’s sanity—like a hammer hitting the back of his head, then a red-hot iron rod piercing and shredding his brain; the intense pain nearly tore his mind apart, his body swaying, and he could smell the rotting stench of the world, thick and foul, making his stomach sour and forcing up bile as he involuntarily retched.
Buzz!
Besides that, his ears heard a buzzing sound formed by countless whispers.
No…
It wasn’t buzzing—it sounded more like…
crying!
Then who was crying?
In this ultimate agony, Jiang Yan remained partially conscious and was forcibly made to understand part of a message:
If one were to describe it in human terms, it would be…
The river of history is ill!
…