Heaven-Sacrifice, Do Not Waste Resources

"Heaven-Sacrifice? The Emperor is going to perform a Heaven-Sacrifice tomorrow? Are you sure your information is correct?" Lance Quinn asked in surprise.

Lance Quinn’s shock was instant—this move from the Emperor was utterly baffling. Snow had hammered down for days, and not once had the Emperor breathed a word about Heaven-Sacrifice. Now, out of nowhere, he was making this grand gesture? Every instinct screamed something was wrong. Lance Quinn would bet his life there was a scheme brewing behind the scenes.

A Heaven-Sacrifice was no trivial matter—the Emperor would never perform one just out of boredom. Sacrificing to Heaven was a major event, and if the Emperor truly intended to do it, he would at least prepare three to five days in advance. How could he announce it today and do it tomorrow?

Even the Emperor couldn't be reckless with such things. For him to act so abruptly, he must have some kind of plan.

"The news came straight from the Imperial Astrologers’ Office. It’s solid," Vincent Su replied, shrugging helplessly. "The Emperor summoned that old director, grilled him about when the snow would stop, flew into a rage, and immediately ordered preparations for a Heaven-Sacrifice."

He’s the Emperor—if he wants a Heaven-Sacrifice, what can anyone do?

"Did someone whisper in the Emperor’s ear? Otherwise, why would he suddenly fixate on Heaven-Sacrifice? Or does he suspect the Astrologers’ Office?" A chill ran down Lance Quinn’s spine—something was slipping beyond his grasp.

A Heaven-Sacrifice was no small matter.

"Probably not. The old director at the Imperial Astrologers’ Office hasn’t said much over the years—aside from a single good word when the Emperor first took the throne, he’s always kept his head down and avoided trouble. The Emperor wouldn’t suspect him over that.

As for anything else, we can’t get a word. Many of our spies near the Emperor were lost recently, and with him being so paranoid these days, it’s almost impossible to get any intel at all."

Because Prince Nolan was thrown into prison, a few palace spies turned traitor. After the Emperor’s purge, they lost even more hands inside the palace—now, most things were just out of reach.

If nothing weird was going on, why would the Emperor suddenly talk about Heaven-Sacrifice? Lance Quinn just couldn’t wrap his head around it. "No one’s petitioned him. By his usual standards, he’d never utter those words. The Emperor treasures his reputation—he’d never gamble on a Heaven-Sacrifice. If it flops or backfires, he’ll be cursed as a fool for all to see."

"It’s been snowing for days on end—it should stop soon. If the Emperor does the Heaven-Sacrifice now, odds are nothing will go wrong." Vincent Su frowned deeply. The Emperor’s move was so out of the blue, they couldn’t read him at all.

"Fifteen days of snow—it should’ve stopped by now, but it just keeps falling. Who knows what Heaven’s thinking?" Lance Quinn never trusted luck, and he was sure the Emperor wouldn’t risk it either.

If snow could last fifteen days, it could just as easily drag on for twenty-five. Begging Heaven to stop the snow without any clear sign was a reckless gamble.

Sure, the snow disaster was bad, but things were under control now, and all the relief grain was in place. There was no reason for the Emperor to rush into a Heaven-Sacrifice.

The Emperor hadn’t sacrificed before, and now he suddenly wanted to do it tomorrow—there had to be a reason. But Lance Quinn couldn’t figure it out. Did the Emperor really believe the snow would stop soon?

It didn’t add up. The Imperial Astrologers only said what the Emperor wanted to hear. He should’ve been angry and indecisive after their report, not making a big show of Heaven-Sacrifice.

Behind the mask, Lance Quinn’s eyes grew darker and sharper. Vincent Su knew that look—Lance was deep in thought. Vincent didn’t dare interrupt, just sat quietly and waited for Lance to figure things out.

If the Emperor was suddenly going for Heaven-Sacrifice, there was only one explanation: he was certain the snow would stop soon.

Suddenly, Lance Quinn stood up, his face serious as he said to Vincent Su, "Vincent, stop delivering grain to the disaster zones. Halt all relief activities immediately."

"What’s happened?" Vincent Su was startled by Lance’s abrupt order, his eyes narrowing instinctively.

A sharp glint flashed in Lance Quinn’s eyes; beneath the mask, his lips curved with a trace of mockery. "If my guess is right, there’ll be some so-called miracle tomorrow." Even if the snow didn’t stop, something miraculous would happen—only then would the Emperor’s Heaven-Sacrifice have meaning.

"A miracle? You mean the Emperor will stage something to calm the people?" Vincent Su quickly caught on.

Since ancient times, those who sat on the throne loved to claim they were Heaven’s chosen, the True Dragon Emperor. To make people believe in their divine mandate, they’d go to any lengths to produce so-called miracles, making the common folk trust and submit to them.

At a time when public faith was shaken, the appearance of a miracle would completely redeem the Emperor.

Lance Quinn nodded, "It’s inevitable. Only a miracle can restore the people’s faith and minimize the damage caused by the snow disaster. What could be more convincing than a divine sign?"

"So all our effort—everything we’ve poured in—gets wiped out just like that?" Vincent Su’s heart sank. The blow was brutal. They’d fought so hard, spent so much, and now, just as hope was in sight, it all threatened to vanish like smoke.

If a miracle really shows up tomorrow, all their relief work will be drowned out by the Emperor’s spectacle—nothing but a footnote under his so-called divine sign.

In the blinding glow of the divine, how could the deeds of mere mortals ever hope to shine?

"It won't be a total waste, but it's close enough. If we stop now, we can minimize our losses," Lance Quinn said, turning away with a sigh.

The Emperor’s timing was impeccable. If the blizzard stopped in the next couple of days, everyone would say his sincere prayers moved Heaven itself to end the snow.

This moment, this stance—what a flawless counterattack.

"It’s infuriating," Vincent Su muttered. "We did all the work, and now the Emperor gets to swoop in and reap the glory."

"It’s not about pride. In the end, it’s the people who benefit. That’s enough for me. Our actions saved countless innocent lives," Lance Quinn said, unconcerned about the loss. To him, spending a little grain to save hundreds of thousands was a bargain worth making.

This chapter isn’t finished yet~ Please click next page to continue reading!

"That’s the only way to think about it, or I’ll never feel at peace," Vincent Su said, shaking off his gloom and trying to rally himself.

Sigh, after half a month of hard work, just when it was about to pay off, the Emperor snatched the credit. He’s gone too far.

Grinding his teeth, Vincent Su’s eyes suddenly lit up. With a wicked glint, he suggested, "Lance, what if we do something to ruin the Emperor’s miracle—turn his Heaven-Sacrifice into a joke?"

"It’s too late. The ceremony is tomorrow, and we don’t even know what miracle the Emperor has planned. If he prays and the snow stops, the more we do, the more it helps him. His prestige will soar, and all of Eastlyn will fall in line behind him."

Man versus Heaven? Hmph, unless you know Heaven’s next move, you’ll always be caught off guard.

"It can’t be that coincidental, right?" Vincent Su muttered, mouth half open. If it really happened, that would be true divinity.

"No telling. I’ll go into the palace and take a look. Handle the rest as you see fit—just don’t let that batch of grain go to waste."

...

With those words, Lance Quinn strode out of the secret room, moving so fast that Vincent couldn’t stop him. Vincent could only swallow back what he’d wanted to say.

"Fine, I’ll handle it myself. You’re too distracted for details anyway. Don’t waste the grain, right? Got it. I’ll make sure every last sack is put to use. If Eastlyn closes its doors, the rest of the Nine Provinces Realm is still open. With grain in hand, I’ll be the one calling the shots."

Vincent Su spread out a huge map, showing all four kingdoms and nine cities. Red marks covered the worst-hit snow disaster zones. His eyes landed on the most crimson region—he pointed and made his decision.

"Northlyn and Southern Lyn, huh? Just wait—I’m coming."

Vincent marked the map. If tomorrow’s Heaven-Sacrifice produced a miracle, he’d order his caravans to reroute overnight, sending all remaining grain and supplies to Northlyn and Southern Lyn by sled. With sleds, snow was no obstacle.

Even if the snow stopped, so what? The hardest-hit regions were buried under mountains of snow. It would take weeks to melt, and the river ice wouldn’t break anytime soon. The Emperor’s plan to move southern grain north was still a huge challenge.

And even if the snow melted, what difference would it make? You couldn’t grow crops overnight. People would still go hungry. Right now, whoever controls the grain, controls everything.

The more Vincent thought, the calmer he became. No wonder Lance Quinn worried but never panicked. As long as they held the grain, even if all their previous efforts were erased, they could still profit later.

If the Emperor used them and tossed them aside, fine—they’d just switch to supporting other kingdoms. Westlyn was out; he wouldn’t fight Prince Titus for credit. Northlyn and Southern Lyn were hit hardest, and there was plenty of opportunity there.

Especially Northlyn, which was always short on supplies. This blizzard had made things even worse. Luckily, the Northlyn people were tough—few had died. Once Vincent’s grain arrived, Northlyn would bounce back fast.

If he couldn’t play the hero in Eastlyn, Vincent would do it in Northlyn and Southern Lyn. He’d sourced this batch of grain himself, and next year’s harvest was already secured. There was no point letting it rot in storage.

Hmm, what should he trade this grain for? Maybe use it to win over some tribal chiefs in Northlyn?

Vincent Su plotted seriously, determined to minimize the impact of the Emperor’s Heaven-Sacrifice and squeeze every last benefit from his grain.

Of course, if tomorrow’s Heaven-Sacrifice failed, all the better. This was just planning ahead—covering all bases.

Lance Quinn’s luck seemed to be running thin. He was almost at the palace when someone blocked his way…