Based on my past life’s experience, it was definitely going to rain, but I had no way of knowing when. So, I decided to stall for time.
I bowed to my nominal father and said, "Your son requires certain items to perform the rain-making ritual. I hope Your Majesty will grant me permission." He was too lazy to argue with a dying boy and waved his hand in consent.
I immediately declared that I needed a sword and a nine-tiered terrace built. Each tier had to be exactly 9.9 meters high—no more, no less—and each tier had to have exactly 81 steps, again, no more and no less. I warned them that if the rain didn't come, they couldn't blame me.
The construction crew was stunned by my demands. They understood "nine tiers," but they had no idea what "9.9 meters" meant. I realized then that people in this world were different from those in mine, so I used my small hands to gauge the length, holding them out to represent exactly one meter. The workers immediately understood, grabbed a ruler, and measured my outstretched arms. They asked me how they could ensure the height was exactly 9.9 meters. I told them to just divide that length into ten segments. These craftsmen were truly skilled; they drew the markings by hand with perfect accuracy—something I certainly couldn't have done. In truth, I had no idea if my arms actually measured a meter, but since no one else knew either, I just insisted that it was so.
Next, they brought me a sword, but I told them their swords wouldn't do; I had to forge my own. My nominal father was getting annoyed and ordered his chief swordsmith to be brought in. A moment later, the master smith arrived—the same man I’d seen standing near the front of the court earlier. He clearly knew his craft. I had intended to drag my feet, but these guys were incredibly efficient. Before I knew it, the furnace and all the necessary tools were ready.
I had no choice but to pick up a piece of charcoal and sharpen it to look like a pencil. I began to sketch on the ground. Having seen countless legendary swords in my past life, I just picked one I liked and started drawing. My sketches were casual, but the smith beside me became increasingly energized and amazed, nodding repeatedly as he watched. Finally, I inscribed the character for "Righteousness" on both sides of the blade. Even in these circumstances, I couldn't help but show my true, goofball nature.
They brought over a variety of metallic materials, but I noticed there wasn't any iron. I didn't care; I assumed in this luxurious Royal Palace, low-end materials like iron weren't used anyway. I picked out some high-quality ores based on instinct. The smith noted that there was too much material, so I told him to melt it all together and discard the excess.
He said he had never forged a sword that way—everyone usually chose a single type of ore. I told him just to do as I said, and intrigued, he followed my instructions. After two hours of smelting, everything had melted into molten metal. I had them stir it all together, then took the appropriate amount. The guy followed my lead—professionalism really makes a difference. After a series of clanging sounds, my long sword took shape. Then, I had him engrave the designs from my sketch onto the blade. This was purely a stalling tactic; the engraving alone would take another two hours.
Time is a funny thing—it’s never enough when you need it, yet it flies when you wish it would slow down. In the blink of an eye, five hours had passed and the sun began to dip in the west. Dammit, I had to admit these people were fast; they had built a nine-tiered terrace in half a day.
The sword was finished according to my requirements. I tried to lift it, but couldn't—it was way too heavy, at least twenty or thirty pounds. It was embarrassing. *Damn*, I didn't think this stupid sword would be so heavy. The smith seemed to notice my awkwardness and asked what the characters meant.
"They mean 'Justice,'" I replied. He asked why he’d never seen them before. I casually lied and said they were written in the Immortal Script, so of course he hadn't. Since I was already in this situation, I decided to go all in—if these people believed in gods, I would just play the part of a mystic.
Since I couldn't lift it with one hand, I used both. With all my might, I heaved the sword up and swung it down with a *bang*, slicing the smith’s hammer clean in two. I expected him to fly into a rage, but instead, his eyes lit up as he touched the clean cut with the same expression I once saw on men looking at beautiful women in my past life. A shiver went down my spine; the guy was a pervert.
I dragged the sword a few steps away, but he didn't even notice, still stroking the blade and muttering about what a masterpiece it was and how his life had been worth it just to forge such a legendary weapon.
Seeing the man had lost his marbles, I moved even further away. When the First Prince saw me with such a divine blade, he was clearly displeased. If the timing hadn't been so awkward, I suspect he would have tried to snatch it. He looked at me with resentment, clearly hunting for trouble.
In a voice dripping with malice, he sneered, "The sword is finished, and the terrace is built. I wonder, my dear eighteenth brother, when exactly will you begin the rain-making?"
I looked up at the sky. The sun was blazing; there wasn't a single sign of rain. I scrambled for another excuse to stall. "I must change into white robes and a white headpiece, and I need my hair styled in the Pingtian Crown fashion before I can pray for rain."
Since they had already forged such a fine sword, they didn't care about a little more time. They immediately arranged for me to bathe and brought me a set of pure white clothes. They were incredibly comfortable—better than anything I had ever worn in either my past or present life. Even the haughty First Prince didn't have fabrics this fine.
Clothes make the man, and once I put on the outfit, I looked like a dashing young noble. The only problem was the sword—it was a bit too long, which looked rather uncoordinated.
After dragging my feet as much as I could, another hour passed. The inevitable had to happen, and sure enough, the prince came to urge me on again. I had no choice but to take small, dragging steps, dawdling as I climbed. Truth be told, it wasn't just stalling; the sword was genuinely too heavy. A five-year-old like me dragging a blade up those stairs was a real struggle. I’d walk a few steps and stop, walk a few more and stop. At this rate, I wouldn't reach the top in a million years.
The First Prince lost his patience again. He sneered, "Eighteenth brother, don't tell me you don't know how to pray for rain and are just stalling on purpose?" He started calling for men to carry me up.
Why did he have to be so smart? Even though I *was* stalling, I couldn't admit it. I immediately snapped, "You are all mere mortals; you cannot ascend! Come on," that was a perfect excuse.
The First Prince gave a look to the monk standing nearby. The monk immediately said, "Amitabha, patron, let this poor monk carry you up."
Before I could even react, the monk grabbed me by the collar and, with a few swift leaps, zipped to the top. Only then did I realize the monk knew martial arts. I thought about trying to butter him up, but realized he was the First Prince's man, and since he was dead-set on getting me killed, I decided against it.
To waste more time, I asked the monk, "Master, on what grounds do you call me a disaster?"
The monk replied directly, "Amitabha, patron, a man of the cloth does not lie."
Seeing he was immovable, I asked, "Monk, have you ever heard of the concept of cause and effect?"
The monk stared at me. "Indeed. My Buddhist faith has always emphasized the law of cause and effect."
"Then have you heard of the saying: 'Within a single leaf, a Bodhi; within a single flower, a world'?"
The monk looked at me sharply. "Where did you hear that?"
I played it mysterious. "It comes from beyond this world, of course." Since they were calling me a disaster, I decided to play along. Let's see who ends up dead first—me, or the one I manage to scare to death.