Chapter Seventy-Three: Favor and Threat

“Dalong, are you planning to treat us to roast whole lamb for lunch today? But this setup is a bit over the top—eight whole lambs? We couldn't possibly finish them in one sitting!” Wang Peng joked.

Xiaozhu tiptoed and giggled, “Uncle Wang, there will be no roast lamb today, but the lamb offal soup cooked by Master is delicious. I just wonder if you’ll be able to stomach it later!”

“This little girl is teasing me, isn’t she?” Wang Peng responded indifferently.

Xiaozhu and Xiaomei had witnessed a few explosions before, so they felt comfortable making light of the situation. Yet, they failed to notice the curious glances cast their way by those around them.

“So, little girl, tell us—what is Dalong doing here?”

“I can't say!” Xiaozhu’s lips curled up slightly, revealing a charming smile. “Master said he’ll let you witness a spectacle today—he called it a true miracle…” Before she could finish, Xiaozhu quickly covered her mouth, refusing to utter another word.

Just then, Zhen Qian brushed the dust from his hands and walked over, stepping past the sandbags, and called out to Zhen San to prepare. Zhen San held a line three or four meters long, shouting to the crowd, “All ready! Take cover, we’re about to ignite—countdown begins! Nine… Eight… Three, two, one! Ignite!”

He crouched and tapped the line with his fire striker, then, like a startled rabbit, dashed toward the sandbag pile with a speed no ordinary person could match, muttering as he ran, “One second, two seconds… five seconds!”

By the time Zhen San counted to five seconds, he was already hidden behind the sandbags, still counting softly, “…nine seconds, ten seconds! It’s about to explode—get down!”

No sooner had Zhen San spoken than a deafening blast erupted, followed by a sudden tremor beneath their feet. Those who thought it a trick were struck like thunder, stumbling and nearly falling. Most felt their ears instantly deafened, their minds buzzing, unable to hear even their own voices.

Zhen Qian poked his head out from behind the sandbags, glanced outside, then turned to see the crowd staring blankly at him. “Are you all right?”

“What did you say? I can’t hear you!”

“Damn!” He realized he’d forgotten to tell everyone to keep their mouths open during the explosion. But it didn’t matter; their hearing would return in a few seconds.

After a brief period of deafness, the group gradually came to their senses, turning their heads toward the site of the blast, instantly stunned, each drawing in a sharp breath.

“Am I seeing things? Did you all see that…?”

Before them was an apocalyptic scene. The eight lively, plump lambs were gone; everywhere lay scattered limbs and flesh. Some twitched helplessly on the ground, their warm intestines spilled out, clearly beyond saving. Some were unrecognizable, their bodies seemingly torn apart, while others, though mostly intact, were obviously dead.

At the sight of such carnage, some felt their stomachs churn, a sour taste rising up, threatening to bring up their breakfast. “What happened just now with that loud bang?” Everyone instinctively looked to Zhen Qian.

But Zhen Qian was equally shocked, his heart twisting. It was his first time experimenting with livestock, and he hadn’t expected the iron lump forged by Lin the blacksmith to have such power. Once the surprise faded, another thought surfaced: the cost of making these iron lumps was rather high. Even excluding the raw materials, processing them was no easy task. Though satisfied with their effectiveness, he realized they weren’t suitable for mass production.

“Is this the miracle?”

Someone finally broke the silence, attributing everything they had just witnessed to a miracle. When they looked at Zhen Qian, their eyes brimmed with awe.

Rumors had long circulated that, after losing his memory, Zhen Qian’s spirit wandered the heavens, even meeting legendary immortals with whom he had ties. Though once met with skepticism, today’s events made it impossible not to believe—how else could one explain the miracle?

“So Zhen Lang was forging a miracle. Today, we’ve truly seen a miracle!”

Whoever insisted on calling this a miracle, it didn’t matter—even if it was just a homemade bomb. Yet Zhen Qian had no intention of being mistaken for a charlatan. He immediately raised his voice, “This is thunder from the heavens. But to avoid attracting undue attention, we call it a bomb. Its power cannot compare to a true miracle, of course. Miracles are never meant for use among mortals—they would bring Heaven’s wrath. So these bombs are much weaker, but still quite formidable, don’t you agree?”

With Zhen Qian’s explanation, many doubts were dispelled. How could mortals wield miracles?

If true miracles could not be mastered by ordinary men, then Zhen Qian’s bombs could not truly be called miracles, or at least not complete miracles. Their power, though impressive, was clearly limited. If they were real miracles, destroying a few fat lambs would be nothing—flattening the entire valley would hardly surprise.

“Even if this isn’t a miracle, its power is terrifying. We absolutely cannot let outsiders know about this!” Wang Peng was the first to react, loudly warning those around him, “No one is to speak of today’s events—otherwise, don’t blame me for being harsh.” Though he said this, he felt some regret. Whether miracle or not, its power was undeniable. Zhen Qian had acted rather rashly; he shouldn’t have called so many people here.

Seeing that the elder of the Wang family had spoken, everyone realized the gravity of the matter. Their excitement at witnessing a miracle quickly faded, and they all hastened to promise not to let word spread—just short of swearing oaths.

Zhen Qian saw that the effect was as he hoped. Though bombs were mysterious, they could not escape the notice of those with sharp eyes—rather than hiding, it was better to reveal them openly. He had first struck fear into them, now it was time to win their loyalty. “Everyone, don’t worry. You are all people I trust—otherwise, I wouldn’t have invited you today. Just keep this matter in your hearts, as if nothing ever happened.”

With these words, Zhen Qian bound them all to his cause, making them his confidants. Their identities—slaves, retainers, or adopted sons—only drew them closer.

Retainers were a group he could trust unconditionally. For years, they had followed first his mother, then himself, never wavering. As for the slaves, their status meant it was impossible not to harbor resentment. With so many secrets—just the brewing alone, if leaked, could buy their freedom—he could only entice them with benefits. The adopted sons, as for how they felt about him as their foster father, Zhen Qian couldn’t quite grasp, but he knew he needed to plan ahead.

Moved by Zhen Qian’s trust, the group felt a surge of emotion. To witness a miracle was extraordinary, their hearts unsettled, unsure whether to rejoice or fear. But now, with no choice left, they dreaded that divulging the miracle might bring Heavenly punishment, while other thoughts whirled in their minds. If Zhen Qian had indeed gained the favor of immortals and received their miracles, following him might bring them a share in that blessing.