Chapter 79: The Array of Pots and Jars

Under the Daoist priest’s “militarized” management, the refugees in the camp had been organized into squads, platoons, and companies. When they went to work on the dike, they showed a basic level of organization and discipline. Now, each held a farm tool or a wooden stick. Dressed in tattered rags, their wrinkled faces filled with tension, they looked like characters from the picture books about peasant uprisings that Zhang Yingchen had read as a child.

Zhang Yingchen had his men place several hundred large earthenware pots and wooden basins about a hundred meters from the trench, scattered near the passageway. Since they couldn’t find enough oversized pots on short notice, they repurposed the stone and ceramic pig troughs that every farmer owned, burying them halfway into the ground.

These pots and troughs were scattered like a plum blossom formation, and everyone said the Daoist priest was setting up a “Pot and Jar Array.” They waited with bated breath, eager to see what “immortal magic” the “True Man” would perform this time.

“Keep it up, everyone! Fill all these pots,” Zhang Yingchen urged the Daoists who were tending the fires. They were constantly stirring the gruel in the cauldrons, which was even thinner than usual.

Strong young Daoists carried buckets of the cooked gruel on shoulder poles to the “Pot and Jar Array” in front of the trench, pouring the contents into the containers. The weather was frigid, and steam billowed from the hot gruel as it was poured. Soon, however, it cooled, and a thin layer of ice began to form on the surface of the pots that had been filled earlier.

Initially, he had considered adding sedatives or anesthetics like datura or fish-stunning herbs to the gruel. But then he realized the refugees were already severely malnourished. Consuming this doctored, ice-cold gruel would likely kill them on the spot. Even without the additives, eating the cold food would probably cause fatal diarrhea for many.

However, whether the refugees got sick was not his primary concern at the moment. He had set up this “Pot and Jar Array” mainly to slow the momentum of the refugees’ charge on the trench.

The refugees were coming for food. Incited by the cult and starving for days in the freezing cold, their survival instincts would make them incredibly frantic. They would likely charge the earthen dike without regard for the trench or rifle fire. No matter how many “miracles” he performed, it would be difficult to control the situation. Once the refugees swarmed the trench and climbed the dike, he wasn’t confident that the people in his camp could fend off such a desperate mob. Besides, a trench full of corpses was not the outcome he desired.

Therefore, he had to blunt their initial assault before making contact, allowing his side to seize the initiative and manage what came next.

By setting up the “Pot and Jar Array” some distance before the trench, the hungry refugees would be diverted by the food during their charge. The spot where they gathered was right in front of the path to the camp. Once the crowd clustered there, they would form a human barricade, effectively absorbing the impact of the refugees coming from behind and reducing the direct pressure on the dike. With little food and many people, fighting would inevitably break out over the pots, causing even more chaos in front of the trench. This would buy him more time and help cool the refugees’ fanatical fervor.

The pots were half-buried to prevent them from being knocked over and wasted during the scramble. It also forced people to crouch down to eat, increasing the time it took to consume the food. The thin gruel was, of course, a way to save grain, but its greater advantage was that without a proper container, it was very difficult to eat. This would make the refugees linger at the array for a long time.

As long as the refugees were clustered around the pots, those who hadn’t eaten would focus their attention on the food right in front of them, sparking larger-scale fights and throwing the attacking tide of refugees into disarray. The cult leaders and other key figures would stand out in the chaos. His special reconnaissance marksmen could then make full use of their skills. Combined with the high-powered speakers, his “miracles” would once again prove effective.

He glanced at his sound system. A special reconnaissance team member had already placed it under a table draped with a magnificent ceremonial cloth. He gently tapped the microphone on his neck to test the connection. Everything was normal.

The cloud of dust in the distance grew larger and closer, and the faint sound of chanting mantras drifted on the wind. Zhang Yingchen took a deep breath to calm himself.

The pots and jars outside the trench were all filled with gruel, and everyone who had been outside had withdrawn. Zhang Yingchen, wearing a Qingfu Lotus Crown and ceremonial robes, stood on the high platform of the dike. He held a fly-whisk in one hand. To his left stood Min Zhanlian, dressed in practical clothes with a sword at his waist; to his right was Luo Chun, holding the Seven-Star Sword. Surrounded by a group of handsome young disciples, he truly looked like an immortal descended to the mortal realm.

Standing high not only gave him a better view but also an imposing presence. The refugees were now a mob driven largely by instinct, having lost most of their judgment, making them easily influenced by external factors. Zhang Yingchen had meticulously managed every detail to manipulate the psychology of the masses.

Zhang Yingchen took out his telescope and looked towards the rising dust. A massive crowd was surging towards them. He couldn’t help but sigh inwardly and murmur the name of the “Supreme Unity Heavenly Lord Who Saves All from Suffering.”

“The heretic Daoist’s temple is just ahead!”

Someone in the crowd shouted it first, and the words spread like wildfire. The refugees, who had been trudging along weakly from hunger, were suddenly energized as if they had taken ginseng.

Mixed in the crowd were many well-fed, robust men. They would sometimes shout, “Everyone, charge the temple and eat your fill!” or “Kill the heretic Daoist and deliver all sentient beings!” At other times, they would pat the shoulders of those next to them and say in a friendly tone, “Brother, hurry up! If you’re late, others will have eaten everything.”

Under their incitement, the tide of refugees surged toward the Cloud Ascension Temple. However, this caused the already stretched-out procession, which spanned for miles, to become even more dispersed. The women, children, and elderly were left behind, while the front was filled with young and strong men, maddened by hunger. Their eyes were bloodshot, all thinking that if they were to die, they would die on a full stomach. They quickened their pace, breaking into a desperate sprint for the last few miles, like travelers in a desert who had just spotted an oasis.

Xiao Chu Ba was among them. He clutched a wooden stick tightly. His eyes, glazed over from hunger, turned crimson the moment he heard the “heretic Daoist’s” temple was just ahead. He roared hoarsely, not knowing what he was shouting, and scrambled and crawled his way to the front. With tens of thousands of people, if he was even a little late, he wouldn’t even get the scraps.

Wang Xing and Lei Zilin stomped their feet in frustration, cursing Protector Liu for his incompetence. They had received reports from their scouts that a deep, wide trench had been dug outside the Cloud Ascension Temple, with an earthen dike built behind it, apparently guarded by local militia. The two had planned to have the refugees advance slowly, gather the entire force at the trench, and then begin the assault. Their strategy was to drive the women, children, and elderly forward to fill the trench. Once the trench was filled and the defenders’ gunpowder and arrows were depleted, the able-bodied men would charge. This was a tried-and-true tactic for using refugees to storm fortified positions. To their dismay, Protector Liu had completely dismissed their suggestion and instead sent his men to spread the news that the temple was just ahead, inciting the refugees to charge chaotically.

This way, although the sheer mass of tens of thousands of desperate refugees would be enough to fill the trench and breach the temple, their own plan to seize the food and silver inside and then use it to recruit the able-bodied men for a rebellion would be ruined. Such a chaotic battle would result in massive casualties among the young and strong, leaving them with less than a tenth of their potential force.

“What do we do?” Wang Xing stared intently into Lei Zilin’s eyes. “After this battle, we won’t have many men left to command!”

“We’ll have to play it by ear,” Lei Zilin said, unable to think of a better solution. Wang Xing had only forty followers in total. Compared to the several hundred cult members mixed in the crowd, they had no real power. If they defied the Protector’s orders now, they would probably be seized on the spot. “Let’s not push to the front. Let the others do the fighting!”

“But then we’ll be left with no one…” Wang Xing said. His thinking was simple: if the young and strong men were all dead, a pile of women, children, and old folks would be useless.

“With money and grain, do you think we’ll have trouble finding men to be soldiers?” Lei Zilin’s mind worked quickly. “Our first priority is to help the Protector ascend to heaven as soon as possible…”

Wang Xing understood immediately. “I hear that heretic Daoist is very powerful.”

Xiao Chu Ba followed the crowd and surged towards the trench. The scattered pots and jars on the ground immediately caught their attention. In ordinary times, no one would have considered the gray, thin paste in these containers to be “food.” But to people who had been tormented by hunger for months, not a single whiff of food could escape their notice. The men at the front let out a terrifying roar and threw themselves at the “Pot and Jar Array.”

Xiao Chu Ba wasn’t at the very front, but he knew from the shouts and the sudden surge of the crowd ahead that there must be something to eat. He swung his stick wildly, smashing it down on the head of the man in front of him. After felling him, he immediately trampled over his back. Then, he no longer needed to run; a huge force from behind pushed him forward.

In an instant, as if mercury were spilling across the ground, the hundreds of pots were swarmed by refugees. Thousands of grimy hands—some holding broken bowls, some with pottery shards, others completely empty—madly scooped at the gruel-filled pots. Some people, having no container, simply threw themselves over the jars and began to drink ravenously.