The convoy of Type-59 tanks rumbled out of the Imperial Capital's shattered gate, leaving behind a court paralyzed by silence. The citizens peered from their windows, watching the iron monsters retreat. They had expected blood. They had expected a coup. Instead, they saw discipline. The tanks didn't loot; they simply turned their turrets backward and left.
Inside the lead tank, Jiang Chen unbuttoned his collar. The audience with the Emperor had been a gamble, but the radioactive shard had played its part. Mutually Assured Destruction was a concept even a Spirit Severing cultivator understood, provided they valued their throne more than their pride.
"Administrator," Chen Wei's voice crackled over the secure comms. "The Thunder Sound Holy Land has issued a decree. They are calling you the 'Machine Devil'. They have ordered all vassal kingdoms to embargo Beiluo. No grain, no iron, no trade."
"They are trying to starve a city that runs on physics," Jiang Chen said, watching the countryside roll by through the periscope. "They think we depend on their networks."
He picked up a schematic he had drawn during the journey. It wasn't a weapon. It was a box.
"We don't need their grain," Jiang Chen said. "But we do need their ears. Han, signal the convoy. Double time back to Beiluo. We have a tower to build."
Three weeks later, the skyline of Beiluo City had changed again.
Rising above the smoke stacks and the reactor dome was a skeleton of steel lattice, climbing five hundred meters into the grey sky. It was the Broadcasting Spire. At its tip, a massive array of dipoles pulsed with a faint red light, powered directly by the suffering of Ancestor Xue in the basement below.
In the factory district, the assembly lines had switched from bullets to something far simpler.
Thousands of small, wooden boxes with a single copper dial and a speaker mesh were sliding down the conveyor belts.
[Item: The People's Receiver (Model 1).][Tech: Crystal Radio Set (modified for Spirit Wave transmission).][Cost: 2 EU per unit.]
"Load the trucks," Jiang Chen ordered from the gantry. "I want one of these in every village, teahouse, and market square within a thousand miles. Give them away for free."
"Free, Sir?" A logistics officer blinked. "That's... millions in lost revenue."
"It's not a loss," Jiang Chen corrected. "It's an investment in the most dangerous weapon of all: The Truth."
Village of High Creek - 400 Miles from Beiluo
Old Man Liu was a peasant who had never traveled further than the local river. His life was dirt, taxes, and fear. When the cultivators of the local sect flew over, he bowed until his forehead bled. When the tax collector demanded 60% of his harvest for the "Holy Offerings," he starved so his children wouldn't be beaten.
Today, a strange metal carriage without horses had stopped in the village square. Men in grey coats handed out boxes.
"What is this?" Liu asked, holding the wooden box. "Is it a spirit trap?"
"It's a voice," the soldier said. "Turn the dial."
Liu hesitated. The entire village gathered around. Was it a demon?
With a trembling hand, Liu turned the brass knob.
Static... Crackle...
Then, a voice cut through the air. It was clear, warm, and spoke the common tongue, not the flowery, archaic language of the nobles.
"...citizens of the North. This is the Voice of Beiluo."
The villagers jumped back.
"You are told that your hunger is holy," the voice continued. "You are told that the Holy Lands protect you. But ask yourself: When the wolves came, where were they? When the plague came, who burned it?"
Liu stared at the box. It was saying things that would get a man executed.
"The Thunder Sound Holy Land sits on a mountain of gold while your children eat husk. They claim the Dao requires sacrifice. But why is it always you who sacrifices, and never them?"
The villagers looked at each other. The fear in their eyes was replaced by a spark of shock. Someone was saying the quiet part out loud.
"Come to Beiluo. We do not ask for worship. We ask for work. We do not offer prayers. We offer bread, heat, and iron. The age of the Gods is over. The age of Man has begun."
Then, music played. A strange, rhythmic orchestral piece that stirred the blood.
"He... he challenges the Monks," a young woman whispered, clutching her child. "He isn't afraid."
Old Man Liu looked at the distant mountain where the local sect resided. For the first time in sixty years, he didn't feel the urge to bow. He felt the urge to listen.
The Sky Above the Crimson Cloud Sect
Two disciples were flying on their swords, patrolling the airspace. They were arrogant youths, used to looking down on the mortal world like gods viewing an ant farm.
"Did you hear?" one disciple laughed. "The mortals are hoarding those wooden boxes. They sit around them all night listening to the 'Iron Prince'."
"Let them listen," the other scoffed. "Words cannot stop a flying sword. If they get unruly, we will just burn a village to remind them of their place."
Suddenly, a strange sound filled the air. Not from a box, but from the wind itself.
Crack... Hiss...
The disciple's flying sword began to wobble. The spiritual connection to his weapon was being interfered with.
"What is happening?" He tried to stabilize his flight, but his Qi felt heavy, sluggish.
"The radio waves," the first disciple realized, his face paling. "The Master said the Iron City is pumping 'noise' into the air. It... it disrupts the concentration needed for flight!"
Below them, in the village they were flying over, the peasants weren't cowering. They were looking up. And they were pointing.
"Look!" a peasant shouted, holding a radio. "The Iron Voice said the 'Immortals' are just men on sticks! Look at them wobble! They are scared!"
Laughter.
The disciples heard laughter.
For thousands of years, mortals had only screamed or begged. Now, they were laughing at the clumsy flight of their masters.
The humiliation hit the disciples harder than a physical blow. Their Dao Hearts—the belief in their own absolute superiority—wavered. If the mortals no longer feared them, what were they?
"Let's go," the disciple stammered, veering away. "This place... the air feels wrong."
Thunder Sound Holy Land - The Golden Hall
The Holy Abbot, Grandmaster Kong, sat in meditation. He was a being of immense power, half a step into the Spirit Severing realm. But his meditation was broken.
A disciple rushed in, holding one of the wooden boxes.
"Abbot! We cannot stop it! We smashed the boxes in the eastern province, but the people hid them in cellars! We killed the merchants, but the soldiers from Beiluo drop them from the sky with metal birds!"
Kong opened his eyes. He listened to the box.
"...The Abbot claims to be Indestructible. But has he ever stopped a 105mm Howitzer shell? Physics does not care about his enlightenment..."
Kong crushed the box in his hand, turning it to dust.
"This Jiang Chen," Kong's voice was low, trembling with a fury that shook the temple pillars. "He attacks not the body, but the Faith. He is poisoning the roots of the world."
If the mortals stopped believing, the Holy Land would lose its recruits. It would lose its tithes. It would lose the collective psychic energy that sustained their ancient arrays.
"He wants a war of ideas?" Kong stood up, his golden Kasaya robe flaring. "We will show him the futility of his 'science'. Mobilize the Vajra Guardians. Wake the Titan Beasts."
"We march on Beiluo?"
"No," Kong smiled, a cruel, enlightened smile. "We will cut off his head. We will strike him where his 'science' cannot reach."
"We will attack his mind."
Beiluo City - The Studio
Jiang Chen sat in the recording booth, watching the VU meter bounce as the announcer read the evening news.
"The harvest reports are in. Sector 04 reports a 200% yield thanks to the new nitrate fertilizers..."
Chen Wei entered the booth.
"Administrator. It's working. We have reports of peasant uprisings in three vassal kingdoms. The Holy Land's tax collectors were chased out of Green Valley yesterday with pitchforks."
"Good," Jiang Chen said. "But the Holy Land won't take this lying down. They rely on fear. When fear breaks, they will lash out."
He looked at the monitor showing the city. The lights were bright. The people were fed. But he knew the physics of empire.
"System," Jiang Chen muttered. "The Rabbit/Ghost King DNA splicing. Is it ready?"
[Project: Gene-Seed. Status: 85%.][Compatibility: 99% with User Physiology.][Effect: Will allow User to cultivate 'Rad-Qi'.]
"Finish it," Jiang Chen ordered. "The monks are coming. And I'm tired of relying on a suit to fight gods."
He looked at the microphone.
"Let's give them one last show before the fighting starts."
He leaned into the mic.
"This is Jiang Chen. To the Abbot of Thunder Sound: You call me a demon because I give fire to the people. But a demon hides in the dark. I am broadcasting on 108 Megahertz."
"Come and get me."