Volume One: The Hidden Dragon in the Abyss Chapter 18: Chaos Unleashed

The first performance had just ended when the warship, which seemed about to depart, suddenly halted. The other pleasure boats remained silent, and only the recitation of Wang Chuan’s poem echoed, sung again and again, three times in total.

“Is there true talent hidden among this rouge and powder? Why not come aboard for a while?”

At last, someone appeared on the warship, crossing the deck to stand by the rail. This middle-aged man, dressed in a brocade robe, had piercing eyes; at once, the others recognized him—it was indeed Marquis Huaiding.

Unfortunately, after presenting his poem, Wang Chuan had already left.

...

That person was still there?

After reaching the shore, Wang Chuan found that the figure in the darkness was still watching him.

Following me?

He sensed that this was someone highly skilled in martial arts. Wang Chuan decided it was time to confront this person and find out what purpose lay behind this silent pursuit.

Just then, the grass and trees ahead rustled softly, and another group appeared. They wore fitted attire, each one serious and formidable.

“Young Master Wang, my lord requests your presence,” one stepped forward, speaking politely.

Wang Chuan noted their courtesy; after all, they had offered a proper greeting upon arrival, and their words were respectful.

“Who is your master?” he asked.

“You will know once you meet him,” the man replied.

“And what if I refuse?” asked Wang Chuan.

The man’s expression did not change as he pondered for a moment. “It is of no consequence. Should you remain in Fucheng, we will come to invite you again.”

Their words suggested patience and determination. Though their presence alone was somewhat intimidating, they made no move to force him.

Wang Chuan said nothing more and walked on.

They watched him go, making no attempt to stop him.

He walked some distance, then his voice carried back: “Lead the way.”

“At once.”

The leading youth hurried to the front to guide him.

Zhong Bo, though uneasy, steadied himself after observing his master’s calm.

They must have been discovered.

Since arriving, Wang Chuan had maintained his identity as Yan Huan, never betraying himself, nor had Yang Hao. Yet somehow, they knew—Wang Chuan’s true identity was exposed.

Friend or foe?

Wang Chuan seemed entirely untroubled.

They entered the city by night, moving quietly and without hindrance.

At last, they arrived at the imperial palace.

Zhong Bo was left dazed—no wonder.

He was led away to rest in a side hall, while Wang Chuan went on alone.

The one he was to meet was the Lord of Yu—the Emperor of Great Yu.

...

“All under heaven say you have transcended and vanished, yet here you are in Fucheng,” said the Lord of Yu, clad in yellow robes, his face full and ruddy, radiating a sense of fortune.

Wang Chuan had met the Lord of Wei and the Lord of Jin before; they both possessed a sharp, domineering aura befitting rulers of the realm. But this sovereign seemed an ordinary middle-aged man.

“Your Majesty, I have long heard of you. How may I be of service?” Wang Chuan asked.

“In years past, rumor had it that the Crown Prince of Jin refused to eat gruel, lived in the capital of Wei for over a decade, became indistinguishable from the common folk. Your verses are peerless, your fame resounded through the world, and soon after came news of your grave illness. Not long after, there were tales of enlightenment by a sage,” the Lord of Yu gazed at him, eyes burning. “But I believe that all such tales are but hearsay. Even what one sees with one’s own eyes may not be the truth.”

“Your Majesty is quite right,” Wang Chuan replied with a faint smile.

A sovereign of his era, two decades of rule.

This was no mediocre ruler.

“Then tell me, what brings you to Yu?” the Lord of Yu asked.

“Am I not allowed to come?” Wang Chuan smiled again.

“Anyone would find it odd. The states of Yu and Jin have had no dealings for years, each keeping to their own affairs,” the emperor said.

Geographically, the two states did not share a border, separated as they were by Wei and Tang.

They were hardly close.

After leaving Wei, Wang Chuan had not returned home but had come instead to Yu.

It truly was odd.

“What if I said I came to propose marriage?” Wang Chuan met his gaze. “I have heard that Her Highness the Princess is wise and virtuous, a rare match. As Crown Prince, my coming-of-age ceremony approaches, and yet I remain alone.”

As he spoke, Wang Chuan’s tone grew ever more desolate.

The Lord of Yu’s face darkened, growing more and more severe before gradually regaining composure. “Impossible! The Crown Prince of Jin is far beyond what we could aspire to. Whatever your purpose, I ask that you leave Fucheng as soon as possible, and spare us any trouble.”

He was direct, issuing an unmistakable order for Wang Chuan to depart.

...

Leaving the great hall, Wang Chuan suddenly felt the night wind chill him, causing him to pause.

You want me to leave Fucheng?

He stood at the towering palace gates, gazing out over the vast, glittering expanse of the city, thousands of lights flickering in the prosperous night.

Yet beneath the darkness, who could say what forces were stirring?

“The wind rises again,” he murmured.

He slowly descended the long flight of steps, suddenly sensing something. He looked up at the sky.

Mars dwelling in the Heart?

Wang Chuan’s brow furrowed.

Just then, he saw a middle-aged man in the official robes of the Astronomical Bureau hurrying toward the palace, passing by Wang Chuan in haste.

“Your Majesty, the Director of the Astronomical Bureau requests an audience!” A eunuch, nearly breaking with protocol in his urgency, rushed in to report.

“Summon him.”

The Lord of Yu could only return to his seat on the dragon throne, an ominous feeling rising within him.

“Your Majesty, the red star has appeared—a heavenly punishment descends!” The Director entered, bowed deeply, and reported anxiously upon kneeling.

“Mars dwelling in the Heart?” The emperor stood up in shock.

“Yes,” the Director nodded, his expression deeply perturbed.

Unconvinced, the Lord of Yu strode quickly outside.

Indeed, in the skies over Fucheng hung the celestial sign of Mars in the Heart constellation.

Many had already noticed this strange phenomenon.

Within court and without, the news caused an uproar. This night would not be a peaceful one.

...

Perhaps many had gone to sleep early, and not everyone witnessed it.

But the officials of the Astronomical Bureau surely had. Their duties were to observe the heavens, interpret celestial omens, and compose the imperial calendar, with staff on duty throughout the day and night.

The Director had rushed to the palace at the first possible moment.

“What must I do to avert disaster?” the Lord of Yu asked.

The Director, while reporting, had been pondering his reply, knowing the emperor would certainly ask. “By your sacred grace, I hold high office, yet my talents are shallow and I fear I am unworthy. Perhaps it would be best to convene the pillar ministers to discuss the matter—it concerns the very foundation of the state.”

Those four words—Mars dwelling in the Heart—were a deep taboo among generations of astronomical officials.

Its gravity could not be overstated.

“I have ruled for many years, and the land has been blessed with peace and prosperity. Yet in the past two years, calamity has been unending, and now the Western Qiang press upon our borders. Tell me, have I erred? Have I displeased Heaven?” The Lord of Yu summoned several senior ministers and asked.

...

“Flickering flames, bewitching confusion—what an omen!”

“A great event is sure to befall the Yu state!”

All across the land, people could see the celestial sign above Fucheng.

Mars dwelling in the Heart—a dire omen.

“The Heart mansion—one of the seven mansions of the Azure Dragon in the eastern sky—consists of three stars, the seat of the Celestial Emperor’s rule. The brightest among them, Heart Two, is also known as Antares, the Fire Star, symbol of the Celestial Emperor. The planet Mars, with its flickering, fire-like glow and erratic movements—sometimes east, sometimes west, now visible, now hidden, swift or slow, ever-changing and elusive—was called ‘Yinghuo,’ the Bewildering Flame. Since ancient times, Mars has presaged war, a sign of ill fortune. When Mars dwells in the Heart, it signals impending great calamity, one of the most ominous celestial portents recognized by court astronomers,” explained a Prime Minister. “Your Majesty, Mars dwelling in the Heart is a national disaster. Its reappearance will unsettle the hearts of all. This calamity-bringing star must be found and its root removed.”

“But the land of Yu is vast, its people countless—if Mars has indeed appeared, how could I know upon whom its fate has fallen? How am I to search?” the Lord of Yu asked.

“In ancient Zhou times, there was a children’s rhyme: ‘The moon will rise, the sun will sink; the mulberry bow and basket suit—the Zhou state will perish.’ It meant that the one making bows from mulberry wood would destroy Zhou. This rhyme, it is said, was inspired by Mars. King Xuan of Zhou was terrified and searched for all bow-makers in the capital. Yet the child was never found. Coincidence or fate, at that time a palace maid who had been pregnant for forty years gave birth to a girl. A couple of bow-makers, fleeing, found the abandoned infant—she became Baosi, whose laughter for beacon-fires brought Western Zhou to ruin,” the Prime Minister continued. “They say Baosi was the incarnation of Mars, bringing about the military calamities of King Li’s reign, and so the great Zhou fell. That was the earliest recorded Mars-dwelling-in-the-Heart omen. Now, too, it is a warning from Heaven!”

“Where in Yu is our Baosi?” the Lord of Yu asked, feeling the analogy ill-fitting. “From whence comes such a harbinger of ruin?”

“Your Majesty, in pre-Qin times, the ruler of Song, Duke Jing, also witnessed Mars dwelling in the Heart. He sought reasons for this omen. His ministers suggested blaming the prime minister, but the Duke refused, for the prime minister was the pillar of the state. They then suggested blaming the common people, but he replied, the people are the foundation of the nation. Blame the harvest, they said, but again he refused,” another Minister of State added in support. “So, the mere appearance of this omen does not necessarily herald the downfall of a ruler; that is a one-sided view. Mars is the star of surveillance, patrolling the constellations, its fire virtue shining forth, traversing the world at the command of Heaven. Thus, it brings disaster to unrighteous lands, but to a well-ruled and virtuous state, it brings no harm. Your Majesty has ruled diligently for many years, and the land is at peace—yours is a reign of merit.”

As Master Star-Reader Zi Wei once said, “Your three statements on the virtue of kingship will be heard by Heaven, and Mars will move on.”

So they waited, and indeed, after a while, Mars shifted by three degrees.

...

Wang Chuan left the palace, leaping into the air with a technique that made him soar like a startled swan, like a dragon ascending to the heavens.

He landed atop a cliff more than ten miles away, standing alone in the wind.

Just as he was about to act, light flickered before him. He clasped his hands behind his back and waited.

At last, the one who had shadowed him for days revealed themselves.

As if descending from the moon, veiled in radiant light, a stunning woman in snowy white robes floated gently down amidst the silvery moonlight.

Her gown was of silver-threaded white, the collar draped from both shoulders, concealing an inner garment of pale red embroidered with white peonies—pink on white, noble and dignified. The neckline of her under-robe barely covered her delicate curves, revealing a glimpse of gold-trimmed lingerie beneath. Such a refined and elegant traditional style, Wang Chuan had rarely seen.

Her skirt, too, was pink, slit at the calf to reveal plain white trousers beneath. The hem of her outer skirt crossed lightly at her waist, opening on both sides and trailing softly behind.

At her waist was tied a moon-white butterfly sash, and her hair was arranged in a cloud-like chignon.

Even in this remote wilderness, she was attired as if for a grand courtly banquet, rather than wandering untamed woods.

Though her stance was ambiguous, neither foe nor friend, Wang Chuan found himself unwilling to strike without cause.

She looked at him, her voice as gentle as flowing water, tinged with a strange sorrow when her eyes met his.

“Wang Chuan?”

“Who are you?” he asked.

“I come from Moon Spirit Mountain. I am a friend of your mother,” she replied.

Wang Chuan paused; this possibility had never occurred to him.