PGVCW 42

Playing God in Various Catastrophic Worlds

Chapter 42

The Serfs' Morning and the Warm Soup

Ivan woke up just as the sky was beginning to grow pale. His body felt profoundly exhausted—the inevitable toll of day-in, day-out physical labor spent toiling in the fields year after year. Yet, for the first time in a decade, his spirit carried a spark of exhilaration.

"Will there be hot water to drink today as well?"

Clinging to this fragile hope, Ivan's family members all stirred from their sleep. Without breakfast, without even a basic washing up, the family set off like wandering wraiths down the path toward the farmlands—including little Ivan's ten-year-old sister, the five-year-old Olga.

Among the serfs, five was already considered an age capable of performing labor. Therefore, even though the little girl named Olga was painfully thin and weak from a lifetime of chronic starvation, she still had to accompany her family into the freezing morning chill toward their work site.

Ordinarily, Olga was always silent. As the youngest child in the family, words like "vivacious" had never once applied to her. But at this moment, she flitted around her family like a dusty, tattered butterfly, spinning in circles: "Father, will we be able to drink hot water today?" "Mother, are you thirsty?" "Brother, will there be hot water today?"

She put the question to all four of her older brothers in turn. Her two eldest brothers were the most exhausted; they had long since been beaten into silence by the crushing, repetitive weight of daily farm labor. Even her eldest brother, who was barely twenty years old, looked as aged as their parents; his prematurely young face was already etched with deep wrinkles carved by relentless exposure to the sun and the constant habit of frowning.

Little Olga's questions went unanswered by the older brothers, but Ivan—who had not yet completely withered into the hollowed-out shell of their parents and elder siblings—answered her: "Our new master is benevolent; perhaps today they will bestow hot soup upon us once more."

Upon hearing the phrase "new master," a glimmer of spirit flickered across the deeply creased, weathered faces of the otherwise silent family members. To them, even if nothing whatsoever was added to the hot water, a pot of heated liquid was a luxury that could keep their stomachs feeling comfortably warm for a long stretch. After all, every single tree and blade of grass near the manor was the exclusive property of the master; for the serfs, hot food was a rare and precious resource that defied easy attainment. What was more, for the greater part of their lives, they couldn't even manage to cram cold food into their bellies.

On this freezing morning, Ivan and his family trudged unsteadily toward the manor. No sooner had they arrived than they caught sight of mist rising into the air, instantly revitalizing their lagging spirits.

"It's hot soup!" "The master has mercifully bestowed hot soup upon us again!"

Nearly prostrating themselves with profound gratitude, they hurried forward, finding that several other serfs were already lined up to collect their portions of hot broth. The serfs who secured the hot water seated themselves carefully on the ground, sipping it in tiny, cherished mouthfuls, feeling the faint, gentle warmth glide down their esophagi straight into their stomachs. The soothing warmth in their bellies brought expressions of pure bliss to many a serf's face.

"When we finally die one day and pass into the realm of the gods, will it be just as blissful as this?"

The Princess and the Courtier's Worries

Sipping on the comforting hot water, people who had been as numb and lifeless as corpses finally found the inclination to converse, gathering in small clusters to praise the greatness of their master.

The target of their deep gratitude, Xia Wang'an, was likewise drinking hot water. In this particular respect, the people of Blue Star and the serfs of the magical world shared the exact same sentiment: being able to drink a bowl of slightly heated water was an immensely blissful thing—especially since a dash of sugar had been added to hers.

The moment her figure came into view among the serfs, it triggered an emotional peak. Not daring to approach too close to the guards shielding Xia Wang'an, the serfs bowed from afar, offering silent salutes to express their heartfelt gratitude.

"This Highness is truly far too naive and simple-minded."

A short distance away, Carlo murmured quietly in conversation with a guard: "To boil this much water—just think of how much firewood has to be wasted." The guard heartily agreed: "Indeed. The time these serfs spend drinking water could otherwise be spent accomplishing quite a bit of labor."

In this world, serfs were treated as the private chattel of the domain's lord, and in their eyes, Xia Wang'an's actions represented a direct sabotage of asset yield maximization. Yet precisely because of her lofty, exalted status, they dared not voice any overt criticism against her wasteful behavior.

"She must have never stepped foot outside the palace walls, which is why she has no inkling of how serfs ought to be managed."

Carlo felt he had a duty to step forward and offer some well-meaning counsel: "If Princess Wang'an continues to lavish excessive compassion upon these serfs, these base and ignoble wretches will inevitably exploit her soft-heartedness and push their luck further and further."

Acting on his conviction, he marched right up to Xia Wang'an—who was taking leisurely sips of her sugared water—and launched into a lengthy, impassive stream of advice.

Xia Wang'an listened to him in silence until he finished, then asked with utter calm: "And if they do push their luck further, what then?"

"Respected Highness, perhaps you have never needed to trouble yourself with such administrative matters concerning serfs. In truth, if serfs are allowed to fill their bellies too well, major catastrophes are bound to ensue."

Perceptions of Power and Uprisings

Listening to his high-flown rhetoric, Xia Wang'an gathered that the gist of his argument was simple: once serfs grew full, they would gain vigor; once they had vigor, they would congregate in masses to launch attacks against the nobility.

"So what if they launch an attack?" The black-haired maiden clad in gorgeous garments radiated all the pristine innocence of a true princess: "Can't you all just beat them in a fight?"

She glanced sideways at the serfs, who didn't possess a shred of magical energy within their bodies: "They don't even know how to use magic."

Carlo choked for a moment: "雖Although they cannot use magic and lack trained warriors, when their numbers multiply sufficiently, they remain terrifying nonetheless."

Xia Wang'an looked perplexed: "Can't a mage wipe out thousands single-handedly?"

Carlo was stunned: "That is a level of might attainable only by the supreme Archmagi, and even within the royal capital, there are merely three such individuals."

Only after blurting out his instinctive reply did it dawn on him that this imperial princess regarded it as an absolute matter of course that a mage could conquer thousands single-handedly. Didn't that imply the mages she had witnessed in her homeland were all capable of wiping out armies of thousands by themselves??

A fresh wave of terror rippled through Carlo's heart, causing his already deferential attitude to instantly grow several shades more reverent.

Had Xia Wang'an known his thoughts, she would have enlightened him: No, absolutely not. It's just that she personally can wipe out thousands.

Of course, at that moment, she was still digesting Carlo's words. In other words, despite this being a magical world, the local mages were total weaklings; even achieving a feat as modest as defeating a thousand enemies required reaching the absolute pinnacle tier of magic.

What a bizarre magical world.

With her stellar academic track record, she found it deeply baffling why an uprising in a magical world would supposedly be triggered by people eating their fill. Shouldn't uprisings happen precisely when people weren't getting enough to eat?

This peculiarity also shed light on why, despite the boundless expanse of fertile land—meaning food production ought to have been abundant—the serfs were universally reduced to skin and bones. The granaries were crammed to bursting with grain, yet the serfs who labored to fill them were restricted to a single meager meal a day—a ration so sparse it barely qualified to be called "food".

"In our Xia Kingdom, people eat lunch as well."

At Xia Wang'an's single command, the serfs were served portions of food double the size of their usual rations. Believing they must have ascended straight to the heavenly kingdom, they fell upon the meal, devouring it ravenously.

Carlo was nearly driven to a panic attack. "You mustn't let them perceive your benevolence! If you show them kindness, they will only demand more!"

He recalled a story his father had told him during his childhood about a certain viscount. The viscount's domain was modest in size, but he was a genuinely kind man who actually permitted his serfs to partake of two meals a day. Everything proceeded smoothly at first, and the serfs felt deep gratitude toward him; however, when a severe plague struck and field labor ground to a halt, causing food supplies to dwindle, the viscount ordered the serfs to revert back to a single daily meal—only to be swarmed and hacked to death by the desperate serfs.

Upon finishing that cautionary tale, Count Albert had imparted a grave lesson to his second son: A serf who has tasted two meals a day can never be forced back to subsisting on one.

Watching the serfs eat with such unbridled joy, Carlo felt every hair on his body stand on end, terrified that the next second their appetites would swell further and they would surge forward like a swarm of ants. The meager escort of guards he had brought along stood no chance against such a multitude.

"Your Highness, I suggest we return to the castle first?"

Xia Wang'an effortlessly picked up on the palpable anxiety radiating from Carlo—a profound insecurity born of self-doubt regarding his own strength, compounded by an acute dread of the sheer volume of serfs. Carlo didn't fear serfs who were as numb and lifeless as zombies; what terrified him were serfs whose hearts had been rekindled with hope for the future.

"Why are you so afraid?" The naive princess asked softly: "There are only three thousand people here, after all."

With his sharp eyes, Carlo had already spotted several huskier men—evidently among the better-fed elements of the serf population—standing up from the ground.

Translator's Note: 

Bruh, why are we looping through the exact same plot points again? If you're getting massive deja vu, welcome to the club! We are officially trapped in a time loop together. 💀 I'm lowkey losing my mind because the raw source itself is just recycling chapters out here. Don't take my word for it, peep the cursed raw index yourself: Link 😭 Sending thoughts and prayers to us both as we survive this copy-paste nightmare!