Chapter 897

That day, everything was different from usual.

The streets, usually filled with laughter and music, were quiet. Clouds that had yet to clear cast shadows over the people below, and the canal, swollen by unprecedented rainfall, churned uneasily, as if reflecting the mood of the city.

At the end of it all, and at its center, stood the imperial palace.

Rumble.

It was the dim hour before dawn. Even when the massive iron gates began to open with a heavy metallic groan, no one thought anything strange was happening.

The palace gates always closed at the hour of the Rat¹ and opened at the hour of the Rabbit.²

Before long, dawn would break. Ministers from the various courts would make their way to the palace, while the people of this beautiful, dangerous metropolis—high and low alike—began another day in their own places.

Like precisely meshing gears.

As if that were simply the natural order of things.

But the dazzling light that appeared between the slowly opening gates was proof that this day would not begin like any other.

“H-Hey. Is that…?”

“Hm?”

A vendor who had set up his stall along the main road in front of the palace, as usual, turned at the call of a fellow merchant. His narrow eyes swelled wide.

“T-The Embroidered Uniform Guard?”

The words had barely escaped his lips when—

“Ha!”

With a short battle cry shouted in unison, a thousand Embroidered Uniform Guards mounted on their fine steeds poured through the wide-open gates.

Thud-thud-thud-thud!

Hooves thundered, waking the dawn.

The ground shook. Dust, settled by the cool morning air and rainwater that had yet to dry, rose into the air.

The thousand riders shot forward like a single arrow, crossing the main road before the palace in the blink of an eye. At a hand signal from their commander, they scattered in every direction.

From a thousand to hundreds. Hundreds to a hundred. A hundred to dozens.

They split up, then split again, exactly as planned.

The people who had started their day early watched in a daze. But when they saw the notices left behind by the golden tide that had swept through the Imperial Capital, they understood.

Tomorrow. The hour of the Goat.³

The grand banquet for the imperial prince’s birthday. Begins.

That was how the first line of the hundreds of proclamations began, each written by the imperial court calligrapher whose elegant handwriting was renowned throughout the realm. The faces of the people already suffering from the untimely flood twisted with anger.

“Three days? He’s holding that damn banquet for three whole days in a situation like this?”

“Shh. Keep your voice down. Want to get arrested for treason?”

“Treason, my ass. I worked like an ox my whole life to buy my house, and now I’ve lost it and every last thing in it. What have I got left to be afraid of?”

“Exactly!”

“Fuck, so to hell with what the people think? His own kid’s birthday comes first, is that it?”

Some had lost their property. Others, their families.

And they were all neighbors who had been closer than family.

So the people trying to calm those furious at the proclamation didn’t look happy, either.

The Son of Heaven. Or the Emperor.

How could the supreme ruler, descended from the dragon appointed by Heaven and charged with caring for all his subjects, do such a thing?

Those who had lost what they treasured in the flood were furious. And the people watching them suddenly realized that they too might one day be standing there, furious over their own losses.

Something’s wrong with this country…

At first, they had done nothing but look up to the Son of Heaven. He was so far above them that they couldn’t dream of seeing him, no different from the sun overhead.

But the current Emperor had violated the bonds of kinship.

He was a monster in human skin who had seized the throne by slaughtering his parents, his siblings, and countless loyal officials and their families.

And so Heaven’s favor must have turned away from him.

At the Shaolin Temple, known to everyone under Heaven, eminent monks had been dying. In Sichuan, thousands of martial artists had turned the broad daylight into a sea of corpses and blood.

And that wasn’t all.

Unbelievable rumors had come from Hubei of an imugi gone on a rampage. Sinister tales said that the barbarians of the harsh lands of Nanman had formed a vast army and marched north.

The northern tribes, quiet as mice for a hundred years, were showing signs of unrest. And now an unprecedented downpour had struck the Imperial Capital.

What could this string of disasters mean?

Heaven has forsaken this country. No—the heavens are trying to punish the Emperor.

If these had been peaceful, prosperous times, no one would have given such rumors and superstitions a second thought.

A house earned through hard work, a beloved family, plenty of grain and money—that would have been enough.

For more than a decade, the realm had been as calm as the waters of West Lake. The people hadn’t complained about their new Son of Heaven as much as one might have expected.

They could condemn the Son of Heaven for defying the natural order, but their lives and livelihoods hadn’t changed all that much.

Some had even cheered when corrupt officials who’d run rampant during the late Emperor’s peaceful reign were caught up in the purge for treason. Good riddance, they’d said.

But things were different now.

In barely two years, strange phenomena that could only be called supernatural powers had appeared throughout the realm. A young king beloved by the people had been summoned to the capital. And the Son of Heaven, ignoring his suffering subjects, had poured a fortune into a banquet celebrating his heir.

“Is this… is this truly the right thing to do?”

A man in a worn bamboo hat pulled low over his face muttered the question on everyone’s mind.

“The people’s will is Heaven’s will, and Heaven’s will is the people’s. Why, then, has the Emperor turned his back on Heaven and his people?”

His voice rang clearly through the crowd, which had fallen silent.

The invisible air pressed down on them, heavy and still.

In the suffocating silence, people clenched their teeth and their eyes shone. For some reason, they strained to hear every word of the man’s voice, which sounded unusually clear.

“The azure heaven’s power is waning, and dark clouds gather. The storm that will soon descend will soon swallow the realm whole.”

It was strange.

Hundreds of people had gathered there, yet not one of them spoke. They all listened to the man.

The rough laborer who had never learned to read. The street vendor who lived from day to day. Even the elderly Confucian scholar, whose learning was likely as extensive as his years.

There was something mysterious in the man’s words and voice, a profound insight and conviction that drew them all in.

And left them with a question they couldn’t help asking.

“Um, sir. Forgive me for interrupting, but could I ask you one thing?”

At the laborer’s cautious approach, rough as he looked, the man in the bamboo hat nodded.

“Go ahead.”

“If it’s not too much trouble, what should a poor man like me do to escape the storm you mentioned?”

“Head for the mountain.”

“What?”

The laborer’s eyes widened at the answer, given without a moment’s hesitation. The man in the bamboo hat continued slowly.

“Find the highest mountain in the realm and take shelter there. It has a stream that never runs dry, fruit growing ripe, and animals roaming free. Its forests will provide timber for homes and firewood. It could shelter all the people under Heaven and still have room to spare.”

The laborer was dumbfounded.

So was most of the crowd.

The highest mountain in the realm?

Where was there a mountain vast enough to shelter everyone, with food and resources to spare?

While the laborer searched for words, another man, more impatient, blurted out,

“I don’t know who you are, but you seem to be a master of profound cultivation. Do you mean the Five Sacred Mountains of the Central Plains?”

A few people gave soft cries of recognition and nodded.

The five famous mountains, said to be the highest in the realm and filled with sacred energy—yes, that would make sense, they murmured.

“Which of the Five Sacred Mountains do you mean? Mount Song in Henan? Taishan in Shandong? Huashan in Shaanxi? Or…”

“You’re all wrong. I didn’t mean the Five Sacred Mountains of the Central Plains.”

“What? What do you mean? If not the Five Sacred Mountains, then what—”

The man’s calm, firm reply left the crowd speechless. Just then, an elderly voice came from somewhere among them.

“There’s one place left. No, it was the only place from the beginning.”

Every head turned.

An elderly Confucian scholar in faded but neat clothes gazed at the gloomy sky and murmured, almost to himself,

“Shangshan.”

“…!”

A few people understood what those words meant, and their eyes widened. Most remained confused.

Until the old scholar continued.

“Yes. That place could shelter all the people under Heaven. No matter how fiercely the storm swallowed the Five Sacred Mountains of the Central Plains, it would never dare reach Shangshan. The mountain’s master is under Heaven’s protection, a descendant of the dragon who commands rain and lightning.”

For a moment, the world seemed to stop.

Everyone stood frozen like statues, looking at one another. Then they realized they had all reached the same conclusion.

Shangshan.

Higher and wider than the Five Sacred Mountains of the Central Plains, a mountain capable of sheltering all the people under Heaven.

And its master—a descendant of the dragon, protected by Heaven.

How had they failed to see it? How could they have been so foolish?

The man had never been talking about a mountain. Every word had pointed to one person who could shelter this troubled realm.

Prince Shangshan…!

Was this what it felt like to have a bolt of lightning strike through the crown of your head?

Everyone’s whole body trembled as if they’d been electrocuted.

Mouths agape. Teeth clenched. Fists balled, as they fought to cool their heads, burning hot with excitement.

And at the same time, they pictured a future they had never imagined before.

What if… what if His Highness Prince Shangshan took the throne?

Heaven’s favor had already departed. The people’s hearts were wavering.

And a child who had survived the vast, brutal purge years ago had returned to the capital, to the very place where he had first cried out at birth.

Was it fate, or coincidence? Another sinister plot by an Emperor who had already violated the bonds of kinship once?

Or…

Was it the Mandate of Heaven?

No one dared speak. Slowly, they turned their heads.

They wanted an answer.

They wanted to face the man who had put this startling possibility before them.

But in the next moment, their anticipation and excitement came crashing down.

The place where the man in the bamboo hat had stood only moments ago was empty.