"System, what's going on? Low-dimensional is actually the historical dynasty of the high-dimensional world?"
Zhang Zicheng frowned, finding it difficult to accept it for a moment.
Because since it is a historical dynasty that has appeared in reality, then as time passes, can’t we really come to the modern era we live in?
In that case, will I appear in this universe?
However, as soon as he asked the question and had not received a reply from the system, Zhang Zicheng remembered the Three Kingdoms-themed war game he played some time ago.
Maybe, this is not the so-called history, but a low-dimensional one that was influenced by high-dimensional works such as Romance of the Three Kingdoms?
The systematic answer supports Zhang Zicheng’s guess: [High-dimensional information will escape into low-dimensionality. If there is no interference from other information, it is possible to roughly restore high-dimensional history.]
[As long as the environmental conditions are similar to those in high dimensions, there is a high probability that the final development of events will be forced to move closer to the trajectory of high-dimensional history. Some worlds will call this phenomenon 'luck', 'fate', and 'measurable calamity'.
'National destiny', 'fate', etc.】
[However, the historical figures in it will be more biased towards the overall perception 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.]
Zhang Zicheng breathed a sigh of relief.
It seems that it is just because there are so many modern works on the Three Kingdoms theme. It is not the real history, but the ancient earth influenced by high-dimensional information such as games, movies, novels and so on that have spread to the present day from "The Romance of the Three Kingdoms".
While Zhang Zicheng was talking to 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.
Fu Shui was drawn from the well in the village. One of Zhang Jiao's followers, who looked young, asked strangely: "Great Master, there is obviously a well in this village, but why do these people look so thirsty?" Zhang Jiao used a brush, stained with some cinnabar from the packet, and drew something on a piece of withered yellow straw paper.
After hearing what the entourage said, he put down his brush and shook his head and said, "I don't know either. Let's ask someone."
As he spoke, he twisted the talisman in his hand, ignited it in mid-air, and the plant ashes fell into the water bowl nearby.
Zhang Jiao stood up with the bowl in hand. When he turned around, he saw an equally skinny old man lying by the well.
The strange thing is that there are no other people within ten feet of this old man hugging each other for warmth, so he is just guarding the well all alone.
Zhang Jiao carefully lifted up the old man with white hair as dry as grass, fed him a sip of talisman water, and asked softly: "Old man, are you feeling better?"
The old man sipped the talisman water, and the flow of water could be clearly seen on his shriveled face.
If this layer of skin is cut open, no blood or flesh will flow out at all. It will just be like a broken water bag leaking water from the mouth.
Their flesh and blood seemed to have been sucked dry by something.
After the old man drank the water, he took a few breaths, trembling and wanted to bow, but was stopped by Zhang Jue, who reluctantly opened his wrinkled eyelids and said only: "Much better, much better, thank you, Taoist Master, thank you, Taoist Master."
”
Zhang Jiao nodded. He looked at the old man and didn't want to ask any more questions, but the conditions of the others were not much better. And only this old man was closest to the well, so he must know more things.
But Zhang Jiao had more questions to ask than the well, and couldn't help but ask: "Has the imperial court allocated funds or sent people for such a severe epidemic?"
When the old man heard this, he quickly said: "Yes, yes, I came twice."
As he spoke, he turned to look at the hungry people in the village, old and young, his eyes were dry, like dry and wrinkled white grapes, and he said hoarsely: "The first time I came here was during spring planting."
"They took away the young men in the village, saying they were going to serve as corvees to fight the Xiqiang."
"Some people only have one breadwinner in their family. After being taken away, many fields were left uncultivated. Ahem..."
The old man coughed a few times, and Zhang Jiao quickly relieved him.
After a few breaths, the old man said tiredly: "My second son didn't want to go at that time because his eldest brother died early. When his mother gave birth to her third brother more than ten years ago, the mother and son left together, leaving only us, father and son.
Survive."
"My baby is stubborn. He couldn't let me go and was afraid that I would run out of food. He wanted to wait until spring planting before leaving, but he made two wrong sentences and got into a conflict with the official, and his head was chopped off."
"The official took the head of my second baby and walked around the village, saying that whoever dared to resist would be punished. Finally, he threw the head of my second baby into the well. The villagers had no choice but to abandon their fields and follow them.
Gone."
The old man's words were calm and without any fluctuations, but after hearing this, Zhang Jue's eyes widened involuntarily, and his hands clenched his fists uncontrollably.
"Later, I pulled the second baby's head out of the well. But I don't know if the second baby had a grudge. 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 son, Erba, dad is sorry for you, but the people in the village have not sorry for you. If you have grievances, come to dad, don't
Angry fellow villagers are all poor people and can't afford to offend..."
"But my baby was stubborn and didn't listen to advice, so more and more people in the village got sick, so I went from house to house, kowtowed and apologized. Two families were kind-hearted and only scolded me, but they still died of illness."<
/p>
"Later, Mr. Cha came again. He said he wanted to collect taxes. The emperor seemed to want to engrave some merit monument, so the summer rent was 30% more... I told Mr. Cha that the people in the village were all sick and had no energy to farm.
There is no harvest this year."
Speaking of this, the old man's expression became a little depressed. There was no sadness, but more like confusion and incomprehension.
"When the poor man heard this, he didn't believe it at first, but then he believed it. He discussed it with the people around him, and finally they said: Since there is a plague in the village, we should collect the autumn tax in advance, so that we will not die and evade taxes.
They also won’t have to make another trip.”
"I said, how can there be any truth in this? The villagers also made trouble, but many people died later, so I had no choice but to give it up."
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Zhang Jiao's breathing became heavy.
He clenched his teeth and his whole body was trembling slightly.
And the followers behind Zhang Jiao were all staring angrily, gnashing their teeth, wishing they could choose someone to devour.
The old man's words were very organized and the logic of his speech was very clear, and it seemed that there was nothing serious.
But he couldn't feel Zhang Jiao's huge reaction at all, which was how he discovered that his reaction to the outside world was extremely slow.
The old man raised his head, looked at the well not far away, and said vaguely: "Taoist Priest, tell me, why does my baby have such a bad temper?"
"If he wasn't angry, at least the young and old in the village would still have the strength to cultivate some land. Although most of them would be taken away, there would still be two more left..."
Zhang Jiao forcibly suppressed his emotions and said with a forced smile: "Old man, you have misunderstood. Your child does not have a bad temper and is very filial. The water I just gave you to drink was from this well."
"It's just that the water in the well is not clean, and the plague from other places has come from underground. Your child has been fighting the plague in the well."
"Not only did he not harm anyone, he also had merit..."
At this point, Zhang Jiao's head was in a daze. He felt like 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 became extra attentive. After listening carefully to what Zhang Jiao said, a trace of hope appeared on his face: "Really?"
"Isn't my baby harming others?"
Zhang Jiao was speechless and could only nod his head.
The old man showed a smile, and finally there was some light in his dry eyes.
He whispered: "Okay, okay."
Then, close your eyes.
Zhang Jiao was silent, silent.
He felt that the old man's bones were falling apart in his arms. It seemed that the connecting muscles between each bone were broken.
Zhang Jiao slowly placed the old man on the straw mat with trembling hands.
Then, with an almost struggling attitude, he stood up from the ground.
He slowly turned his head, and his eyes, which seemed to have seen all the vicissitudes of the world, glanced at the hungry and dying people around him, with unspeakable sadness in his eyes.