Chapter 296 Spark Sets the Prairie Afire
After leaving Liu Mingyuan, Ye Fan did not rush to leave. Instead, his figure swept over the city wall like a ghost and infiltrated the city granary.
Outside the granary, several guards were yawning lazily. One of them complained, "I heard people are starving to death outside the city, yet the grain here is piled up until it molds, and not a single grain is released."
Another sneered, "Release it? Lord Prefect is counting on this grain to make a fortune!"
Ye Fan's eyes were cold. He immediately chanted a spell silently in his mouth, then walked past the guards swaggeringly.
Subsequently, he pushed open the heavy warehouse door. What rushed to meet him was not the smell of mold, but mountains of grain. Aside from that, countless heavy sacks of bran and fodder were piled up casually. Clearly, this was the true "relief grain" intended to deal with the disaster victims.
Ye Fan let out a cold sneer. With a wave of his sleeve, he stored a large amount of grain into his storage bag. Then, he deliberately took a few sacks of bran and fodder before turning around and vanishing into the night.
...
At dawn, Ye Fan returned to the desolate village where the disaster victims had gathered.
The village chief was sitting on a stone, looking at the dying villagers in the distance with a furrowed brow.
Ye Fan walked to his side and said in a low voice, "Village Chief, I have something to say."
The village chief looked up, a trace of wariness flashing in his cloudy eyes. "Young man, did you really go last night?"
Ye Fan did not answer. Instead, in front of all the disaster victims, he recounted everything he had seen and heard at the Zui Xian Tower the previous night—how the Prefect and the wealthy merchants drank and made merry, how they plotted to delay the relief effort, and how they viewed the disaster victims' land deeds and children as prey.
As he spoke, the expressions of the disaster victims gradually became distorted from their initial numbness.
"They will not save you." Ye Fan's voice was cold and clear. "They will wait until you have sold off your children and handed over all your land deeds before bestowing a little bit of bran and fodder that even livestock would not eat!"
As he spoke, he violently threw a few sacks of bran and fodder onto the ground. The bags split open, and the moldy fodder mixed with soil rolled out.
The crowd instantly exploded into an uproar.
"Is this for humans to eat?!" An emaciated old man tremblingly grabbed a handful of fodder, his voice hoarse.
"My son... my son was just bought by them yesterday!" A woman suddenly collapsed into loud sobbing.
"They are trying to force us to death!" Several young men clenched their teeth, their fists clenching until they cracked.
The village chief stared at Ye Fan's back, a complex emotion flashing in his eyes.
He seemed to understand something. He opened his mouth but ultimately lowered his head in silence.
Ye Fan did not say anything more. He simply took out a portion of grain from his storage bag and distributed it to the hungriest disaster victims.
"This is what I stole from the granary." He said indifferently. "If you still wish to live, you must rely on yourselves."
...
Over the next three days, Ye Fan moved among the disaster victims continuously, recounting everything he had seen.
"Do you know? The leftovers dumped daily by the cook in the Prefect's manor are enough to feed half a village!"
"The silver those merchants obtained in exchange for your children is currently being used to buy pleasure in the Zui Xian Tower!"
"The imperial court's relief grain arrived long ago, but they are holding it in the city without releasing a single grain!"
Every time he finished speaking, he took out a small portion of grain and distributed it to the crowd. The hungry disaster victims swallowed the hard-won food while listening to these cruel truths, and the fire of anger in their eyes burned brighter and brighter.
By the evening of the third day, stretching over hundreds of miles, countless disaster victim camps were like a pot of water about to boil. The suppressed anger rolled in everyone's chests.
Ye Fan knew the time had come.
On the fourth day, as the sun set in the west, Ye Fan stepped onto a raised platform.
Countless disaster victims gathered around, their eyes flickering with the fire of hunger and anger in the twilight.
"Villagers!" Ye Fan's voice spread across the entire venue under the amplification of his spiritual power. "It has been three days. You have heard enough of the truth and eaten enough of the charity grain!"
The crowd quieted down, with only heavy breathing sounds rising one after another.
"I ask you—" Ye Fan suddenly raised his voice, "Do you still want to continue kneeling and waiting for death?!"
"No!" A few young men took the lead in roaring angrily.
"Do you still want to watch your own children being bought away and your own ancestral graves being sold?!"
"No!!" More people shouted along.
Ye Fan's gaze swept across every face, and his voice exploded like thunder:
"Then tell me—on what grounds can they eat Carp Baked Noodles in the Zui Xian Tower while your children are gnawing on tree bark?!"
"On what grounds can they wear silks and satins while your wives are selling their bodies for grain?!"
"On what grounds can they withhold the relief grain while your parents are starving to death?!"
Every sentence was like a heavy hammer, smashing viciously into the hearts of the disaster victims.
"We are not ants!" Ye Fan's voice almost tore apart the night sky. "We are humans! We are humans of flesh and blood!"
"Today, I, Ye Fan, ask you just one sentence—do you dare to follow me into the city and take back what belongs to you?!"
After a brief silence—
"We dare!!"
The roar of tens of thousands of people gradually started from soft to loud, finally shaking the entire earth.
Although all this was his careful planning to begin with, in this very instant, Ye Fan still suddenly produced a certain realization.
The power in this world that can move mountains and fill seas is perhaps not limited to just one type: spells.
He drew his long sword, the sword tip pointing straight at the distant city wall:
"Then what are we waiting for?!"
"Kill our way in! Take back our grain!!"
...
Tens of thousands of disaster victims, like a flood bursting a dam, charged toward the city gate.
The soldiers guarding the city looked in horror at the dense mass of people. Someone tremblingly raised a long spear but was pulled back by a companion:
"Run! Run fast! These starving ghosts have gone mad!"
The city gate collapsed with a loud crash under the impact of the disaster victims.
Ye Fan stood at the very back of the procession. He did not need to act personally at all.
Wherever his long sword passed, the guards threw away their helmets and armor, and no one dared to block him.
There was no pity in his eyes, only cold determination.
This fire was finally burning.
The position of True Disciple is mine for the taking!
...
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