Your universe is so fragile

Chapter 19 Zhang Jiao
"System, what's going on? The low-dimensional is actually the historical dynasty of the high-dimensional world?"

Zhang Zicheng frowned, feeling a bit unacceptable for a while.

Because since it is a historical dynasty that once appeared in reality, wouldn't it really be possible to come to the modern age in which you live as long as time passes by?
In that case, will all history repeat itself?

However, as soon as he asked the question, Zhang Zicheng remembered the Three Kingdoms-themed war game he played some time ago before getting a reply from the system.

Perhaps, this is not the so-called history, but the low-dimensionality formed by the influence of high-dimensional Romance of the Three Kingdoms and other works?

The systematic answer supports Zhang Zicheng's guess: [High-dimensional information will escape into low-dimensional, if there is no other information interference, it is possible to roughly restore the high-dimensional history. 】

[As long as the environmental conditions are similar to high-dimensional, then the final development of the situation will most likely forcibly move closer to the trajectory of high-dimensional history.Some worlds will refer to this phenomenon as 'air luck', 'destiny', 'calculation', 'national luck', 'fate' and so on. 】

[However, the historical figures in it will be more inclined to the overall cognition of high-dimensional people than the official history.But it will not deviate too much from the real image, the weight is about half and half, and may fluctuate according to popularity. 】

Only then did Zhang Zicheng heave a sigh of relief.

It seems that it is only because there are so many works on the theme of the Three Kingdoms in modern times, not the real history, but the ancient earth influenced by the high-dimensional information such as games, movies, novels and so on from "The Romance of the Three Kingdoms".

While Zhang Zicheng was talking with the system, on the computer screen, Zhang Jiao had already made more than a dozen bowls of talisman water and distributed them to the people in the village.

The Fu water was drawn from the well in the village. A young-looking follower of Zhang Jiao asked strangely, "Master, there is a well in this village. Why do these people look so thirsty?"

Zhang Jiao used a brush to draw something on a piece of withered straw paper with some cinnabar in the packet.

Hearing what the entourage said, he put down his brush and shook his head, "I don't know either, let me ask someone."

As he spoke, he twisted the spell in his hand and ignited it in mid-air, and the ash fell into the water bowl beside him.

Zhang Jiao stood up with the bowl in his hand, and when he turned around, he saw a skinny old man lying beside the well.

The strange thing is that within ten feet of this old man, there are no other people huddling together to keep warm, so they are so lonely guarding the well.

Zhang Jiao carefully lifted the old man with white hair like grass, fed him a mouthful of talisman water, and asked softly, "Old man, do you feel better?"

The old man sipped the talisman water, and he could clearly see the flow of water on his shriveled face.

If this layer of skin is cut, there may not be any blood and flesh flowing out, but only water from the mouth will leak out like a damaged water sac.

Their flesh and blood seemed to have been sucked dry by something.

After drinking the water, the old man took a few breaths and tremblingly wanted to bow, but was stopped by Zhang Jiao, who barely opened his wrinkled eyelids, and only said in his mouth: "It's much better, it's much better, thank you Taoist priest, thank you Taoist priest. "

Zhang Jiao nodded, looking at the old man's appearance, he didn't want to ask more questions, but the condition of the others was not much better.And only this old man is the closest to the well, so he must know more things.

But compared to the water well, Zhang Jiao had more questions to ask, so he couldn't help but asked, "Did the imperial court allocate funds or send people for such a big epidemic?"

Hearing this, the old man hurriedly said: "Yes, yes, and I came twice."

As he said that, he turned his head to look at the hungry people in the village, his eyes were dry, like dried and wrinkled white grapes, and he said hoarsely: "The first time I came, it was the spring planting time."

"They took away the young and strong in the village, saying that they were going to serve in corvee and go to fight some Xiqiang."

"Some people's family is just such a pillar. After being taken away, many fields are barren. Cough cough..."

The old man coughed a few times, and Zhang Jiao quickly relieved him.

After a few breaths, the old man said tiredly again: "At that time, my second son didn't want to go because his elder brother died early. When his mother gave birth to the third younger brother more than ten years ago, the mother and son left together, leaving only us father and son. live."

"My baby is stubborn. He hated me and was afraid that I would run out of food. He wanted to wait until after the spring planting before leaving, but he made two wrong sentences, and had a conflict with the official, and then his head was chopped off."

"The official took my second child's head and wandered around the village, saying that whoever dares to resist will be the end. Finally, he threw my second child's head into the well. The villagers had no choice, so they left the fields and followed them gone."

The old man's words were calm and without any fluctuations, but Zhang Jiao's eyes widened when he heard these words, and his hands clenched into fists uncontrollably.

"Later, I fished Erwa's head out of the well. But I don't know if Erwa had resentment. People in the village started to get sick as soon as they drank water."

The old man turned his head and looked at the well overgrown with weeds not far away, and said helplessly: "I told my baby, Erba, dad is sorry for you, but the people in the village are not sorry for you. If you have resentment, come to dad. Blaming the folks, they are all poor people, so it is impossible to..."

"But my son was stubborn and didn't listen to persuasion. As a result, more and more people in the village got sick. I went door-to-door and kowtowed to apologize. There were two kind-hearted families who just scolded me, but they still died of illness later."

"Later, the poor man came again. He said that he wanted to collect taxes, and the emperor seemed to want to engrave a stele of merit, so the summer rent was charged by [-]% more... I told the poor man that everyone in the village was sick and had no energy to farm. There is no harvest this year."

Speaking of this, the old man's expression was a little depressed, he couldn't see the sadness, it was more like a daze and incomprehension.

"The poor man heard this. He didn't believe it at first, but later he believed it. He discussed it with the people around him, and finally they said: Since there is a plague in the village, the autumn tax should be collected in advance, so that we will die and evade taxes when the time comes. They also avoid having to make an extra trip.”

"I just said, how can there be such a reason? The villagers also made troubles, but later many people died. There is no other way, so I gave it up."

Zhang Jiao's breathing became heavy.

He clenched his teeth, trembling slightly.

And the attendants behind Zhang Jiao stared angrily, gnashing their teeth, wanting to choose someone to devour.

The old man's words were very orderly, and the logic of his speech was very clear, and it seemed that there was no serious problem.

But he didn't feel such a big reaction from Zhang Jiao, and that's how he realized that he was extremely slow to react to the outside world.

The old man raised his head, looked at the well not far away, and said vaguely: "Master Dao, tell me, why is my baby so angry?"

"If he doesn't get angry, at least the old and the young in the village will still have the strength to plant some land. Although most of them will be taken away, we can keep two more..."

Zhang Jiao forcibly suppressed his emotions, and said with a forced smile: "Old man, you misunderstood, your son is not tempered, and he is very filial. What I gave you to drink just now is this well water."

"It's just that the well water is not clean, and the plague from other places has come from the ground. Your child has been fighting the plague in the well."

"Not only did he not harm anyone, but he also had merit..."

Speaking of this, Zhang Jiao's head was in a daze, he just felt that it was all white, and he didn't know what he was talking about.

But as soon as the old man heard about his son, he was extremely focused. After listening to Zhang Jiao's words carefully, a trace of hope appeared on his face: "Really?"

"Isn't my baby hurting people?"

Zhang Jiao could no longer speak, and could only nod his head.

The old man showed a smile, and finally there was some brilliance in his dry eyes.

He said softly: "Okay, okay."

Immediately, close your eyes.

Zhang Jiao was silent, silent.

He felt the old man's bones spread out in his arms.It seems that the muscles connected to each other have broken strings between every bone seam.

With trembling hands, Zhang Jiao slowly placed the old man on the straw mat.

Then, in an almost struggling posture, he stood up from the ground.

He turned his head slowly, his eyes seemed to see all the vicissitudes of the world, and he looked at the hungry and sick people around him, and there was an indescribable sadness in his eyes.

This sadness is like a dark cloud.

Hidden rainstorm, hidden thunder.

(End of this chapter)