Chapter 2: A Storm Proves the 'Sorcery'

The East Market was a roaring kettle of noise, the clamor crashing over the bluestone streets in overlapping waves. Lu Yan stood on the street corner opposite the Qinfeng Teahouse, hands clasped, idly tossing two bronze coins between his fingers. The rough verdigris against his fingertips was cold, gritty with the weight of time, as if he were feeling the undercurrents of this prosperous Great Tang civilization. From the second floor of the teahouse next door came the cough again—this time tinged with a suppressed anger that rattled through the thin wooden walls, muffled yet urgent. The corner of Lu Yan’s mouth twitched, a flash of mockery in his eyes. Li Zhi was young, barely out of boyhood, yet already crushed under the pressure of being the Crown Prince. Finding quiet in this chaotic East Market? It was a miracle that hadn't happened yet.

“Your Highness,” Lu Yan called out to the tightly shut window, his voice low but carrying a strange, piercing clarity that seemed to bypass the barrier entirely. “Are you here today just to listen?”

The coughing stopped abruptly. There was a sharp clink of a cup hitting a table inside, and a beat of silence followed by a cold, wary voice from behind the wood: “Scholar Lu, you’re bold. If you have a point, say it. If you’re spewing heresy to stir the masses... I won’t hold back.”

Lu Yan smiled, but didn’t answer. Instead, he turned to face the bustling crowd. The sun was brutal, the sky a cloudless expanse of blue, the air so dry it tightened his throat, casting sharp shadows on his robes. He took a deep breath, and within him, the Historical Echo System vibrated faintly, its interface flickering at the edge of his vision. The meager burst of Prestige Points from the two coins was small, but enough to keep his mind sharp. If he wanted to establish dominance, he needed to do something Chang’an wouldn’t forget.

He brushed the copper dust from his hands and spoke up, his voice carrying clearly. “Ladies and gentlemen! Today, I feel inspired to make a wager with you all. Within three days, Chang’an will see a massive downpour—rain that washes the dust from the streets. If I lose, I’ll shut my doors forever and never tell another story. But if I win…” He paused, his gaze sweeping over the faces filled with skepticism and curiosity. “Every one of you who bets on me gets a word of prophecy from me to ensure your household’s safety.”

The crowd erupted. It was early summer. Sure, you got occasional thunderstorms, but three days of heavy rain? That was practically impossible in Chang’an. And here was a young scholar, daring to joke about the weather?

“Ha! Is Lu the Young Master looking for a quick death?”

“Look at that white robe. He looks like a painter, not a storyteller. When did he learn how to brag?”

“I think he’s desperate for fame. Look at this sky—blue as freshly washed silk.”

Lu Yan’s expression didn’t change. If anything, a gentle, warm smile appeared on his face, turning the mockery into mere background noise that only highlighted his composure. He wasn’t in a rush to explain himself, because the system’s notification was flashing in his mind: [Faith Harvesting Initiated... Negative Emotion Conversion Rate: 15%...]

At that moment, a rough, boisterous laugh came from the back of the crowd. Zhao Tiezhu, a mountain of muscle, swayed his wine gourd and squeezed through the people with a few of his bangers until he was standing right in front of Lu Yan. He used to be the king of the storytelling scene in the East Market, monopolizing most of the seats, but lately, Lu Yan’s “weird tales” had been siphoning off his audience.

“Lu the White-Face, what nonsense are you spouting here?” Zhao Tiezhu spat, drool flying, his scarred face twitching. “Rain in three days? You don’t care if you break your tongue! I swear on my life: if it doesn’t rain today, I’ll break this sharp little mouth of yours so you can only drink porridge for the rest of your life!”

The crowd flinched at Zhao Tiezhu’s aura, retreating two steps to form a semi-circle. Zhao was a local heavy hitter; even the officials gave him a pass, so nobody wanted to cross him lightly.

Lu Yan looked up, meeting Zhao Tiezhu’s gaze with eerie calmness. There was no fear in his eyes, only a kind of detached, superior pity. He let out a soft sigh. “Boss Zhao, you sound like you just swallowed half a jin of stale vinegar. But rain is a gift from heaven, not something you can demand with fists. I’m betting on the will of the heavens; you’re betting on your knuckles. Let’s each stick to our own game, how about that?”

“Shut up!” Zhao Tiezhu snarled. The goons behind him pulled out their weapons, blades flashing in the sunlight. “You have one stick of incense to apologize and crawl out of the East Market, otherwise...”

He didn’t finish the threat. There was something about the faint, scholarly aura around Lu Yan that made Zhao uneasy. If this bookworm had backers, the trouble would be too much even for Zhao Tiezhu to handle.

Lu Yan didn’t move. He just gave a light smile, pulled a folding fan from his robe, and started to fan himself gently. “One stick of incense? No need. Just watch the sky.”

The sun was still high, not a breeze in sight. Zhao Tiezhu’s contempt only grew deeper. He reached out and clapped Lu Yan on the shoulder with such force that Lu Yan almost stumbled. “You hear me, Scholar Lu? The sky in Chang’an doesn’t belong to some poor bookworm to command.”

Lu Yan steadied himself. He didn’t strike back; he just brushed the dust from his sleeve and said quietly, “We shall see. Tomorrow, before the sun sets, the thunder will come.”

Zhao Tiezhu let out a scoff, turned on his heel, and left his crew behind with the snickering crowd. Lu Yan stood there, eyes closed, feeling the system’s feedback. [Prestige Points gained: 50. Exchange Item: Basic Rhetoric - Psychological Pressure.]

Fifty points wasn’t much, but it was enough to support the manifestation of his prophecy. He opened his eyes, a slight curve appearing on his lips. Day one: nothing happened. Logical.

By the evening of the second day, the East Market was just as noisy as ever. Lu Yan stood in his usual spot, the wooden sign reading “Lu Family Storytelling” set before him. The crowd was smaller, mostly onlookers who just wanted to see the fallout, plus the eyes Zhao Tiezhu had sent to monitor him.

“Scholar Lu,” a thin, mocking voice called out. One of Zhao’s goons stood a few paces away, sneering. “It’s sunset now, right? What, need another round? This rain might be waiting for you to grow old.”

Lu Yan held his teacup, steam curling up from the rim. He watched the purple twilight fade at the horizon and silently issued a command in his mind. [Prophecy Manifestation: Storm. Prestige Cost: 30 points.]

Instantly, the clear sky seemed to be torn open. Dark clouds rushed in at a visible speed, blotting out the sky, the warm dusk turning gloomy and oppressive in seconds. Moist, heavy air spread out, and the temperature on the ground dropped sharply.

“What... what’s happening?” someone in the crowd gasped.

The goon’s face went pale. He looked up instinctively to see lightning flickering faintly in the clouds. A roll of thunder, like a heavy hammer, boom over their heads, buzzing in their ears.

Lu Yan set his cup down. His voice was still gentle, but it carried an undeniable power. “No rain on day one was the setup. Thunder at sunset on day two is the prelude. Everyone, listen closely.”

The moment the words left his mouth, the first lightning bolt struck, illuminating the entire street. Immediately after, heavy rain began to hammer the ground, splashing mud everywhere. Pedestrians covered their heads and fled, scrambling for shelter. Even Zhao’s goons forgot to monitor him, running ragged to hide under any eave they could find, soaked to the bone.

Lu Yan stood in the rain, unfazed. He slowly unfolded an oil-paper umbrella. Water slid off the ribs, forming a crystal-clear curtain. He didn’t move an inch, his posture as elegant as if he were presiding over a grand ceremony.

The crowd was stunned. In this drenched, chaotic evening, the scholar in the white robe was the only focus. Whispers started to grow, some eyes sparking with awe.

“Magic! Actual magic!”

“He said it would rain! He wasn’t bullshitting!”

“Master Lu... no, the Immortal Lu has divine powers!”

Lu Yan kept his smile, feeling the numbers ticking up in his head. [Prestige Points Surged: 500! Emotional Resonance: Awe + Fear = 80%.]

He spoke, his voice cutting through the rain and carrying in all directions: “Rain washes away the dust, and the mind finds clarity. You’ve all gotten wet. Don’t worry—will the sun come out tomorrow? Today’s rain is just the heavens having a sneeze.”

The onlookers were moved by the poetic description. They stopped, shivering in the cold rain, but looking at Lu Yan with reverence. In that moment, the umbrella in his hand felt like a scepter, ruling the chaotic rainy night.

On the third day, the storm arrived as predicted, even fiercer than before. The East Market turned into a watery world. Several of Zhao Tiezhu’s stalls were swept away. He could only watch from a high platform, his face as blue as a bruise. He couldn’t deny Lu Yan’s prediction, and he couldn’t shake the fear of the unknown that gnawed at him.

Lu Yan stood on the high ground, looking down at the surging crowd and the rain, his mind terrifyingly calm. The “Basic Rhetoric” he’d exchanged was working, giving him absolute leadership in the chaos. The people kneeling and shouting his praise were, in his eyes, just a mob of emotionally driven believers.

He closed his umbrella, letting the rain drip from the tip, forming a broken chain of pearls. He turned and walked toward the teahouse, steady steps, each one keeping perfect rhythm.

Just then, an ornate carriage pulled up slowly. The curtain was lifted, revealing a pair of deep, sharp eyes. It was Fang Xuanling. The renowned chancellor was calculating and shrewd, his gaze scrutinizing Lu Yan like a hawk.

“Master Lu,” Fang Xuanling’s voice was steady. “Let me offer you a word of advice. Rain is good, but too much causes a flood. If your talents are used for the right path, you can benefit the people. Are you interested in joining the ‘Advisory Council’ and helping the court?”

Lu Yan stood at the edge of the rain, looking at this future pillar of the state, while internally screaming: You want to use me as a tool? No way.

He smiled slightly, tapped the tip of his umbrella toward the carriage. “Your Excellency, the sky is clearing.”