The illogical thought flashed through his mind and was quickly suppressed by Feng Bingwen.
According to his understanding, although humans and dragons sometimes have conflicts, these are kept to a small scale. From a macro perspective, humans and dragons get along quite harmoniously, and to some extent, they even benefit each other.
The human and dragon races live and reproduce in completely uncontested areas, only occasionally intersecting. Humans sometimes use the power of dragons to control the wind and rain, while dragons use the incense offerings from humans to advance further in their cultivation.
"What exactly is going on with this Xuan Ting Dragon Lord? Legends about him have been circulating around Xuan Ting Lake for hundreds of years, which means he has received offerings from the human race for hundreds of years. There's no reason for him to undermine his own foundation!"
Having uncovered no truly useful information, Feng Bingwen could not come to any conclusion no matter how much he guessed.
"Xiaowen, the wind and rain are too strong tonight, do you want to come and sleep with me?"
At this moment, the old man who had come despite the rain suddenly made a suggestion.
"No, I'm used to sleeping alone."
Feng Bingwen refused without hesitation. He knew the old man was worried about him, but there was no need for such worry.
"Then you should be careful when you sleep alone at night, and don't sleep too soundly."
"I know."
After giving some instructions, the old man left with his two farmhands.
Feng Bingwen looked at the torrential rain, remained silent for a moment, and then went back to sleep with his cat in his arms.
Although the celestial phenomena were unusual, with his current strength, protecting Fengjia Village should not be a problem. With this thought in mind, he was able to calm down.
The night passed by as Feng Bingwen recited the Daoist scriptures, and he had a fulfilling night. However, under the clouds and rain, countless people were awakened by the storm and could not fall back asleep.
"Ugh..."
As darkness still fell, Feng Bingwen heard faint cries coming from the doorway of his burning house, the cries filled with sorrow and despair.
Hearing such a pitiful cry, Feng Bingwen got off the bed, opened the door and went out. He saw a group of beautiful and charming flower fairies fluttering their wings and surrounding him. One white and one yellow flower fairy sat on his shoulders and reported the situation they had discovered.
"Sir, a group of people have come to the door. They are all crying, and they are all dirty. Some people are being carried, and they are covered in mud. They look so pitiful."
"Master, don't listen to Xiaobai Shao. Tell me first. She doesn't even know what happened."
"Hey, don't talk nonsense! I was the one who gathered all the information, why are you guys trying to steal my credit!"
A single elf has a soft, melodious voice, and listening to them speak is a pleasure. However, when a hundred elves gather together and make a racket, even the most beautiful voice becomes noise. Feng Bingwen couldn't help but show annoyance on his face.
"Enough, Little Chrysanthemum, you tell the story!"
Feng Bingwen spoke directly, making the final decision, and designated the most spiritual flower spirit in the Hundred Herbs Garden.
Stealing small books from the county town's bookstore was an idea she came up with herself, which shows the extent of her intelligence. The only pity is that she didn't use this intelligence for good.
"As expected, the master dotes on me the most."
The designated little yellow chrysanthemum couldn't help but feel smug and vain. It even glanced at the little white peony sitting on Feng Bingwen's other shoulder with a hint of provocation. With Feng Bingwen's support, this elf had also developed enough intelligence to learn to speak.
"Stop talking nonsense and get to the point."
Feng Bingwen reached out and poked her forehead with his finger.
"Oh, sir, don't worry. It's like this. I heard that last night, a house in your village was washed away by the rain. What's worse, the man of that house was worried that the crops in the fields would be destroyed by the rain. He ran out to check on the crops, but because the rain was too heavy, he couldn't see the road clearly and tripped and fell, hitting a rock and breaking his leg."
After being pointed at by Feng Bingwen, the little flower spirit immediately became obedient and blurted out everything she had overheard while peeking through the wall.
"After hearing about the family's plight early this morning, the master had them invited to our house, and we heard that they were to stay."
"So that's how it is."
Upon hearing this, Feng Bingwen nodded, not surprised at all.
Each village has a single surname, and the dozen or so households in the village are basically related by blood. If you trace their lineage back several generations, they all come from the same ancestor. If one family suffers a disaster, those who still have the means to help will naturally not sit idly by.
“Sir, this man in your village is so foolish. With such heavy rain, what good would it do if he ran out to check? What was going to be washed away would still be washed away. He ran out blindly in the middle of the night and even broke his leg.”
Looking at Feng Bingwen's calm demeanor, one of the elves couldn't help but mutter, thinking that the person who went to steal the crops in the middle of the night was really stupid.
"You little rascal, stop talking nonsense."
Upon hearing this, Feng Bingwen gave it a flick on the forehead in annoyance.
It wasn't that he thought this fellow villager was stupid. The crops planted in the fields were more important than life itself to farmers. Only with a harvest could they avoid going hungry. Expecting the other party to remain calm and make the most reasonable judgment after suddenly encountering such a disaster was obviously unrealistic.
"It will probably be washed away by the rain overnight. Only the mud-brick houses will remain, probably the Ping Anbo family's house."
Hearing the faint wailing carried by the wind and rain, Feng Bingwen thought for a moment, took an oil-paper umbrella from the room, opened it, and headed towards the door.
In his own living room, he saw several figures covered in mud. A middle-aged man with a weathered face lay pale on the ground, several planks of wood clamped between his legs, with faint traces of blood visible. Beside him was a woman, weeping with several children. Two elderly people in the family were comforting him.
"Oh no! My home is gone, and my food is gone too! How am I going to survive?!"
The woman wailed, and several children of varying ages, who were also somewhat bewildered, cried along with her.
“Aunt Xiangzi, although your house is gone, everyone is safe. Ping An only broke his leg and will recover in a few months. He's not that old. If you work hard for a few more years, you can rebuild a house.”
Feng Bingwen watched as his grandmother comforted him, repeatedly saying that it was good that everyone was alright. This was the only reason he could comfort them now.
"Don't cry, what are you crying about? It's just that we lost our harvest this year and our house was washed away. I'll lend you ten silver coins without charging you interest. You can pay me back next year when you've recovered. As for accommodation, you can stay in the old house next door if you don't mind."
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