——Yongfeng County, there was a severe drought last year, and the fields were so cracked that they could fit into a fist.
——The old man in the county was flipping through the "Canon of the Yin Dynasty" and reciting with trembling words: "In the year of Bingchen, there will be a drought in Lingnan, so we must endure it..."
——The original owner of his body, an exiled branch of the royal family, led a dozen young men to dig a three-mile-long canal.
——Rice saved 70% of the life.
——Then the man in the black python robe came and said that he had "broken the earth's veins".
——Now, he is kneeling here, waiting to be burned to ashes for the crime of "going against history."
"It's three quarters to noon—"
The prison officer raised his voice.
Zhou Yan raised his head suddenly, and the scorching sun made his eyes turn white. There is a high platform on the east side of the execution ground, with three figures in black python robes sitting upright, holding ink pens in their hands. He knew what it was—the imperial historian, a person who specialized in recording "how history should happen."
The audience was dark and filled with ordinary people, their eyes numb, as if they were watching a play that had nothing to do with them.
"The sinner Zhou Yan!" The prison officer unfolded the scroll, "The citizens of Yongfeng County violated the "Canon" prophecy on water conservancy in Lingnan in the year Bingchen, opened canals privately, disrupted the earth's veins, and went against the destiny! According to the law, they will be burned at the stake and follow the official history!"
The executioner dragged the pile of wood and poured tung oil on it. The pungent smell mixed with the heat wave made people dizzy.
Zhou Yan's throat felt dry.
He saw it - the broken flag on the flagpole beside the execution ground, trembling slightly in the absence of wind. There are swarms of ants on the ground, trying their best to climb higher.
