1: Wild God? Am I weak?

Great Yan Dynasty.

In the winter of the thirty-second year of Great Yan, Chang Sheng Village huddled in the folds of the Great Xing Mountains, like a dried date pit.

All the doors and windows in the village were tightly shut at this moment. Only under the old locust tree at the east end of the village, all the men of the village gathered around a faded wooden barrel, silent.

On the periphery of the crowd, the remaining women and elders also waited anxiously, as if they were all afraid of something.

Everyone's face was ashen, their cheeks hollow, and their eyes were empty and lifeless, as if their Soul had been drawn out by something, leaving only a physical shell.

Village Chief Li Fu, over fifty years old, was hunched over, standing at the forefront of the crowd.

He numbly scanned each villager, and seeing that everyone was present, he let out a heavy sigh.

“Today is the first day of the month again… Everyone, step forward and draw a bamboo stick.”

Li Fu's voice was dry and hoarse, like an old bellows, speaking almost one word at a time.

The villagers below showed little reaction to his words; their eyes remained dim, and their expressions dull.

After speaking, Li Fu was the first to extend a pair of hands, like old tree bark, into the stick barrel.

With a light touch of his fingers, Li Fu drew out one bamboo stick, looked down at it, showing neither joy nor sorrow, and simply moved aside silently, waiting for others to come forward and draw.

This was Chang Sheng Village's chilling ritual of drawing lots for death, held on the first and fifteenth day of every month, a tradition that had been passed down for many years.

In Chang Sheng Village, this ritual was like a great mountain, weighing heavily on the heart of every villager.

Drawing lots for death, as the name implied, meant choosing one person to die.

All because the so-called Mountain God would descend upon the village on the nights of the first and fifteenth, demanding a young adult as a sacrifice.

If they failed to provide one, the entire village would face utter destruction.

And this drawing of lots for death was the method for selecting the sacrifice for the Mountain God.

The crowd moved forward one by one, like a flock of silent lambs, without a word. The entire process was so quiet that one could almost hear heartbeats, exuding an indescribable eeriness.

Suddenly, it was as if a thunderclap exploded in the crowd, and a heart-wrenching wail abruptly erupted.

“Our San Wazi is only thirteen! Last month, Er Wazi just… just sacrificed himself…”

“Damn it! This is not giving me a way to live!”

“Bullshit… Wuwuwu…”

Before she could finish cursing, her mouth was covered by those around her. Qian Dazhuang’s wife slumped to the ground, her fingers digging into the frozen earth, dark red blood seeping between her fingers.

Village Chief Li Fu walked forward with heavy steps, helplessly patting Qian Dazhuang's shoulder, his lips mumbling as he squeezed out a sentence: “Dazhuang, my condolences…”

Then, he fled as if escaping a wilderness.

The others were long accustomed to this, merely shaking their heads and sighing, then returning home to tightly close their doors and windows.

In this Chang Sheng Village, which family wasn't tormented repeatedly by such despair!?

At the same time, at the foot of the mountain, a small, thin figure was squatting in the grass, intently digging for wild vegetables.

This person was San Wazi, who had been chosen. His clothes were tattered and patched, like a broken fishing net.

His emaciated body shivered in the cold wind, and his hands were covered in cracks.

San Wazi carefully dug down along the roots of the wild vegetables, little by little. Suddenly, he hit something hard. His heart tightened, and his movements slowed further.

When he saw it was an iron box, San Wazi couldn't help but feel a surge of joy. In this impoverished place, iron was a rare commodity and could be exchanged for a lot of food.

He dared not be careless, nor did he have time to consider what was inside the box. After much effort, he slowly dug the box out.

San Wazi tremblingly opened the box, and what met his eyes was a clay figurine of an indistinct human figure.

“Is this a Divine Image?”

San Wazi muttered to himself. Seeing that dusk was falling, he didn't have time to think much, so he hugged the box tightly, grabbed the wild vegetables he had dug, and ran home in a flash.

“Dad, Mom, I’m back.”

San Wazi called out as he entered the door. Once inside, he keenly sensed that the atmosphere in the house was so heavy it felt like it could freeze.

“Dad, Mom, what’s wro—”

Before he could finish speaking, San Wazi saw a short stick lying quietly on the table, like a death warrant.

In that instant, his heart turned to ashes, and he understood everything—he had been chosen to be the Mountain God’s sacrifice for the first day of this month.

The village rules were like iron laws; the chosen family had no room for resistance.

It wasn't that other villages hadn't resisted, but the price was simply too great.

They couldn't afford it.

Since things had come to this, he didn't want his parents to suffer any more. The family, with perfect understanding, ate their meal in silence.

After dinner, San Wazi quietly opened the Divine box, gently placed the clay figurine inside on the offering table, lit an incense stick, and then respectfully knelt and kowtowed.

“San Wazi, why are you bowing to a clay figurine?”

Qian Dazhuang watched his son's actions with a vacant stare, asking in a dazed voice.

“Dad, I think this looks like a Divine Image. If I worship it now, maybe it can protect me tonight. Even if it’s not, at this point, I have nothing left to fear.”

San Wazi's voice carried a steadiness beyond his years, but his slightly trembling shoulders still betrayed his inner fear.

Aunt Qian, standing nearby, heard these words, and her tears immediately burst forth, streaming down.

San Wazi was their youngest child. Their eldest had died young, and their second child had just been sacrificed to the Mountain God. Now, even San Wazi was going to be lost?

How could this world not leave people a way to live!

After San Wazi finished his prayers, Qian Dazhuang and Aunt Qian seemed to think of something. They silently stepped forward, offered an incense stick, and murmured:

“Heavenly God, please protect our San Wazi!”

“Heavenly God, please protect our San Wazi!”

Seeing this, San Wazi's heart ached. He sighed, then respectfully kowtowed three times to his parents.

He dared not look directly into his mother’s broken eyes, gritted his teeth, steeled his heart, and walked alone towards the ancestral hall not far from their home.

The moment San Wazi turned away, he didn't notice a faint golden light, like a streaking meteor, flash in the eyes of the clay Divine Image.

Lin Chuping was originally a university student in the modern world.

During a critical moment of saving someone, an unexpected accident occurred, and his life came to an abrupt end.

When he awoke again, he felt only darkness all around him, as if swallowed by endless gloom. At first, he thought he had died and arrived in the underworld.

Until he was dug out of the mud by San Wazi.

As San Wazi moved, Lin Chuping gradually realized that he was confined by an invisible shackle, bound within a clay figurine, unable to move, able only to watch everything happening around him.

It wasn't until San Wazi opened the Divine box that Lin Chuping saw the light of day again and clearly saw his surroundings.

What met his eyes was a dilapidated ancient mud-brick house, with mottled walls.

The few simple chairs inside looked weathered and precarious.

San Wazi, who had carried him home, was a thin boy of about ten years old. His tender face seemed to have been worn down by the hardships of life, exuding a world-weariness that didn't match his age.

The family was sallow and emaciated, their poverty evident at a glance.

But why did this family look as if someone was about to die?

Lin Chuping was full of questions but powerless to do anything.

He couldn't open his mouth.

He felt like a ghost trapped in the clay figurine, unable to do anything.

This state continued until San Wazi finished offering incense.

A crisp notification sound rang in his mind:

【Ding! Billions of Incense Fire Godhood System activated.】

【Ding! San Wazi contributed Incense Fire Value +10.】

Lin Chuping was stunned, unable to recover for a long time.

He had become a God just like that?

Was this Golden Finger a bit too powerful!

He composed himself and looked at the System panel that had appeared out of nowhere before him:

【Host: Lin Chuping】

【Level: Wild God】

【Jurisdiction: San Wazi's home in Chang Sheng Village】

【Divine Power: 0】

【Divine Art: 0】

【Incense Fire Value: 10 (Can be converted to Divine Power, used to purchase Divine Art)】

【System Store: Unlocked】

As for the words “Wild God,” Lin Chuping didn't take them to heart. A Wild God was still a God!

With a Heaven-Defying Divine Artifact like the System, why worry about not becoming a true God in the future?

With this 10 points of Incense Fire Value, Lin Chuping tried to detach himself from the clay figurine and moved a bit. It felt like breaking a layer of shackles, and indeed, he could.

However, just as he was about to step out of Qian Dazhuang's courtyard gate, he felt as if he was being pulled by a powerful force, unable to move an inch.

It seemed this was what “jurisdiction” meant; he couldn't leave the scope of his jurisdiction.

Immediately after, two more notification sounds rang out:

【Ding! Qian Dazhuang contributed Incense Fire Value +10】

【Ding! Qian Guihua contributed Incense Fire Value +10】

Lin Chuping looked at the 30 points of Incense Fire Value that had just been added to the System panel and nodded with satisfaction: This was truly a good start!