Chapter 463 | Demonic Beings? Obviously Auspicious Omens!

Jing Hui asked in a low voice, "Is your grandfather... still alive?"

Earth Cicada shook his head. "Dead, he died a long time ago. This little one never even met him. These were all things he told my father before he died, and my father told me."

He shrunk back as he spoke, wishing he could stuff himself into a crack in the rocks.

Jing Hui was silent for a while before asking again, "How... did he die?"

Earth Cicada hesitated, stole a glance at Chen Zhou, then at Jing Hui, and whispered, "He was heavily injured when he escaped. Later, he caught the plague. He held on for a few decades, but in the end, he could not make it."

Jing Hui closed his eyes.

It was a long time before he opened them again and looked at Earth Cicada. "Do you hate this old man?"

Earth Cicada trembled in fear, waving his hands frantically. "I wouldn't dare, I wouldn't dare! This little one wouldn't dare!"

Jing Hui smiled bitterly.

He said he did not dare, not that he did not hate.

He could blame no one; it was all the Nie he had committed himself.

He took a deep breath and asked, "Then, in your Mingchan Clan, are there any other survivors?"

Earth Cicada's body stiffened, and his heart went cold.

It was over, it was finally happening!

He knew it. How could such a great fiend ever let the Mingchan Clan go?

The apologies, the questioning—it was all fake!

In the end, he was going to silence them for good!

Earth Cicada covered his mouth and shook his head violently, tears nearly welling up.

"No, no! Just this little one! All the others are dead!"

He backed away as he spoke, his six legs moving rapidly as he looked for a chance to tunnel into the ground and flee.

But Chen Zhou picked him up again, pried apart the two front limbs covering his mouth, and shoved another pill inside.

A fifth-stage Flesh-Reconstitution Pill. It melted instantly, and blood energy surged.

Earth Cicada was shocked as he chewed. Another one?

Are these things free? Could this be his final meal before execution?

But what kind of final meal was this lavish? If he wanted to kill him, he could just do it. Why give him so many good things?

As Earth Cicada felt the warm torrent within his body, much of his fear was instantly washed away.

Chen Zhou looked at him with a faint smile, holding another pill in his hand. "Are there really no other survivors?"

Earth Cicada agonized for three seconds before he let go of his mouth and spoke loudly.

"The Lord truly possesses divine foresight and eyes as bright as torches!"

"Nothing escapes the Lord. Yes, our Mingchan Clan still has survivors—quite a few of them!"

Jing Hui: "..."

Plague Rat: "..."

Wu Gou could not help but laugh. "You changed your tune quite fast, didn't you?"

Earth Cicada puffed out his chest, sounding perfectly justified. "This little one forgot just now, but I remember now!"

Chen Zhou smiled and asked, "Can you contact them?"

Earth Cicada swallowed, feeling a bit nervous.

He was actually unsure. After all, they had been hiding underground for so long; he did not know if his clansmen were still alive.

He secretly fished out several polished shell fragments from his robes, quickly arranged them on the ground, and began to perform divination.

This was a talent he was born with, a racial supernatural power of the Mingchan Clan that could divine fortune and misfortune.

However, he had never dared to use it over the years because every divination resulted in the lowest possible fortune—great calamity.

He would divine once: great calamity.

Twice: still great calamity.

Three times: direct bloodshed and disaster.

Eventually, he stopped. Nothing good ever happened in this wretched place anyway, and divining only added to his misery.

But today, as Earth Cicada looked at the hexagram, he gasped, his eyes nearly popping out of his head.

The Upper-Upper Qian Hexagram.

A hexagram of pure Yang.

As Heaven’s movement is ever vigorous, so must a gentleman strive for self-improvement.

He rubbed his eyes and looked again.

That was right. It was the Upper-Upper Qian Hexagram.

Great fortune.

Earth Cicada was completely stunned.

How was this possible?

He had lived for eight hundred years and had never seen such a hexagram. In a hellhole like Tianchi Province, how could there be a hexagram of great fortune?

He grit his teeth and divined one more time.

The hexagram did not change.

It was still the Upper-Upper Qian Hexagram.

For a moment, Earth Cicada did not know what to feel. He looked up at Chen Zhou, then at Jing Hui, and finally at the grayish-green clouds in the sky.

The hexagrams would not lie.

Though he did not trust Jing Hui and was half-skeptical of Chen Zhou, the hexagram told him this was an auspicious sign.

Earth Cicada steeled his resolve and shouted, "I can! I can contact all of them! This little one will summon the clan right now!"

With that, he inflated his abdomen, and a crisp cicada chirp rang out. It instantly echoed through the stone forest, spreading in all directions.

In just the time it took to drink half a cup of tea.

Buzz—

From deep underground, a faint response came.

Immediately after, increasingly dense cicada chirps began to break through the soil.

Buzz buzz buzz—

Hundreds and thousands of chirps converged. The sound grew louder and louder, as if a great army that had been dormant for a thousand years had finally heard the bugle call to charge. The vibration caused rubble to fall from the cave ceiling.

Jing Hui recognized this melody: 《Ode of the Three Dukes》.

He had heard it many times a thousand years ago. It was a sacrificial song co-authored by Duke Wen and Duke Martial.

Back then, Jing Hui had three branches under him: the civil, the martial, and the shaman.

Duke Wen managed internal affairs, coordinated resources, and appeased the people.

Duke Martial held military power, led the demon army, and fought across the land.

Duke Wu oversaw sacrifices, communicated with heaven and earth, and divined fortune and misfortune.

The Three Dukes each performed their duties, assisting Jing Hui and upholding the last of the order in Tianchi Province.

Jing Hui clearly remembered the day 《Ode of the Three Dukes》 was created. It was a rare sunny day.

The sky of Tianchi Province rarely cleared, but on that day, the clouds had parted, and sunlight spilled through the gaps, falling upon the altar in the Royal Capital.

Duke Wu led the young and old of his entire clan to stand upon the altar.

Duke Wen stood to the left of the altar, holding a bundle of bamboo slips. Duke Martial stood to the right, a long sword at his waist.

Jing Hui stood below the altar, watching them.

At that time, the plague was rampant in Tianchi Province, and people were dying every day.

But that day, everyone set aside their work and gathered around the altar.

It was the day to sacrifice to the ancestors, one of the few traditions Tianchi Province could still maintain.

Sacrifice was a vital activity. It both comforted the deceased, letting them know their descendants were still stubbornly alive, and unified the people, allowing the living to see a glimmer of hope amidst despair.

Life in Tianchi Province was too bitter.

Plague, famine, and death—these things played out every day.

If there were no activities to bring hope, many would have given up long ago.

They needed a reason, a reason to believe that tomorrow would still come.

The sacrifice was that reason.

Duke Wu said that the chirping of the Mingchan Clan could communicate with heaven and earth and convey prayers.

Duke Wen said the sacrificial lyrics should be written beautifully to please the ancestors.

Duke Martial said they should sing loudly so the ancestors could hear.

The civil and martial dukes argued for a long time, and in the end, neither could convince the other.

Duke Wen said, "What do you know? Sacrifice is about sincerity, literary talent, and artistic conception."

Duke Martial countered, "You are the one who does not understand! Sacrifice is about momentum, majesty, and letting the ancestors know we are still alive!"