Volume One: The Hidden Dragon in the Abyss Chapter 27: The Coming-of-Age Ceremony

“Her gaze flickers with radiance,”
“Her long sighs are as fragrant as orchids.”
As Xu Wei finished reading the final couplets, her cheeks grew even more flushed. She raised a delicate hand to her face, feigning breathlessness with a quickened, gentle exhale.
The brush’s tip shifted deftly, capturing the lady’s bearing with exquisite words, etching her spirit and demeanor.
The poem concluded with a flourish, leaving its audience lingering in reverie.
It made one feel as though they saw her in person, as if her voice echoed in their ears—how could one not be utterly captivated?
This poem, truly, had reached its pinnacle!
There was no need to force comparisons with earlier works or to twist meaning.
“Clouds imagine her robes, flowers her beauty” painted the beloved’s natural grace and peerless allure.
And “Like a lotus emerging from clear water, untouched by artifice” sketched a maiden’s unrestrained and untouched spirit—pure, unspoiled by the world.
Such heights would be hard to surpass in days to come.
Xu Wei’s face was so red she wished she could find a hole to crawl into, and only then did she realize coming here might have been a mistake; it was simply too embarrassing.
Wang Chuan blew gently on the ink and presented the poem to her.
“Thank you…”
Xu Wei accepted it and quickly darted away, shrinking by the Empress’s side, not daring to meet anyone’s gaze.
Yet she carefully stowed the poem, and when no one was looking, she stole a furtive glance at Wang Chuan.
Within less than an hour, the poem had already spread throughout the capital.
Yet many people, half-laughing and half-crying, discovered there was no paper left to copy it.
“Well done! Nephew, your talent truly lives up to its reputation!” the Sovereign of Yu said gleefully, seemingly sincere, pointing to a certain guest below. “That is the envoy sent by the Fourth Prince of Jin—he wishes to marry my daughter!”
At these words, a stir swept the hall.
Even Xu Wei was startled; it was the first time she had heard such a thing. She peeked out at Wang Chuan, then at the Sovereign.
Wang Chuan’s expression did not change, nor had he touched anything on the table.
The envoys from Jin were about to rise in response.
“Is he worthy?” the Sovereign of Yu suddenly thundered, startling everyone present.
Their minds went blank, stunned by the outburst.
“Your Crown Prince at least knows how to compose poetry—his works are among the finest in the land, his talent unparalleled! But what of your Fourth Prince? What does he have to offer?” the Sovereign pressed on.
The envoys felt their faces burning—compared to this, their offer was woefully inadequate.
Clearly, the Sovereign of Yu was no fool to be trifled with.
To the world, this monarch was known as a benevolent ruler.
But his kindness, it seemed, extended only to his subjects.
Was he truly so exacting with others?
The Yu realm had enjoyed peace for too long, quite unlike what outsiders imagined.
“Nephew Wang Chuan, I must reward you!” the Sovereign now said, his tone warmer.
“Your Majesty, that is unnecessary,” Wang Chuan said, rising quickly, his voice calm.
None could tell if he truly meant to decline or was simply being polite.
“No, I insist,” the Sovereign replied, “I have not been so pleased in a long while. Do not refuse me. I have been considering an appropriate reward, and now I have it!”
With that, he removed something from his own person, and an attendant carried it over to Wang Chuan.
The ministers’ expressions shifted.
The Dragon Crown!
The Sovereign had taken off his own crown and bestowed it upon Wang Chuan.
No wonder their faces changed.
“Do you understand my intention?” the Sovereign asked kindly.
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Wang Chuan replied with a sigh, unwilling to play along.
He understood instantly.
This was the Sovereign’s counterstroke—a sign of his lingering displeasure over Wang Chuan’s earlier actions and continued presence in Fucheng.
He was being thrown into the fire.

Was this what passed for benevolence?
“I hear your coming-of-age is near; this is my token of goodwill,” the Sovereign said genially.
The capping ceremony marked a young man’s passage into adulthood—hair grown long, gathered into a topknot, secured by a coronet. Only after such ceremony was one considered a man.
But this was no ordinary coronet; the Sovereign had given him the Dragon Crown.
The coronet’s cord would pass under the chin, with a pin to secure it within the knot.
Not all adults could wear a coronet; only the nobility and high officials were permitted, and even then, each rank had its own. Thus, the coronet was not only functional but a symbol of rank, an emblem of ceremonial attire.
But the Dragon Crown—a symbol of imperial power itself—was the Emperor’s most precious possession.
Wang Chuan was only a Crown Prince. To receive the Dragon Crown—what would others think?
What would the princes of Jin think, or their Emperor?
If he wore it, it would be overstepping his station. Even accepting it as a gift was already overreaching.
A masterstroke, indeed.
“I hope you understand: to wear the crown is first to bear its weight,” the Sovereign admonished earnestly. “I have ruled for twenty years; it has not been easy. One must walk as if on thin ice, ever mindful of the realm and its people, attuned to their hardships and cares.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Wang Chuan replied with equal gravity. “I shall take this coronet as a constant reminder of your teachings.”
To all appearances, it was a scene of elder admonishing youth.
Yet the courtiers sensed something amiss.
Later, they realized—if only Wang Chuan were the Sovereign’s own son, it would be perfect. But he was not. Still, it was said the Princess shared a close bond with Wang Chuan; perhaps theirs would become a tale for the ages…
“The Emperor of Yu—we did not come to watch poetry recitals and idle talk. We barbarians value strength, not the flowery verses of scholars!”
It was then that the Little Ape King stepped forward with a loud, brash voice. “My tribe seeks alliance through marriage—what is your answer?”
The delegations from the Barbarians and the Demons had already been in the Central Plains for several days; it was no secret to other nations.
They had been in Fucheng for three days now, and for the Barbarians, the main goal was a marriage alliance.
The strategy of forming alliances through marriage—if there was to be a true pact, a familial bond might make it more reliable.
It was a common practice among states, once used with the Xiongnu and the Western Qiang.
But for the Barbarians—a foreign people—to play this game? It was almost absurd.
Xu Wei’s face turned pale at these words; she clutched the Empress’s sleeve, looking anxiously to the Sovereign.
Many at court understood the current situation.
Jin and other states struggled to hold back the Barbarians on the northern frontier.
The Yu realm, meanwhile, was reeling from a surprise attack by the Western Qiang, suffering heavy losses.
Breaking out of this stalemate was imperative for all.
The Demon clan, far away, would not intervene out of charity.
So forging ties with the Ape tribe presented an opportunity.
Among the many Barbarian clans, it was said that the Apes once shared common ancestry with the human race.
Moreover, the Apes had never invaded human lands—a crucial precondition for cooperation.
In terms of strength, the Apes were among the elite.
There was mutual benefit: the Apes coveted the jungles of the Western Qiang.
The far northern wastes were bitterly cold and barren, breeding the Barbarians’ hardy and martial character—but unsuited for the Apes.
By contrast, the forests of the Western Qiang seemed made for them.
Thus, Yu, Wei, Jin, and other states saw a brilliant solution:
With the Apes’ strength, launch a western campaign against the Qiang!
The far north and the Qiang territories were separated only by a great snowy mountain, difficult even for masters to cross.
So the Apes, to attack the Qiang, would have to pass through human lands.
The nearest route traversed Jin, Yu, and Wei.
Of course, the human realms would not allow foreign armies passage for nothing.
The time, place, and people—perhaps all could align.

Cooperation was for mutual benefit, for victory shared by all.
Jin needed help to defeat the other Barbarians of the north—yes, to defeat their own kin.
Yu hoped the Apes would help drive out the Western Qiang.
Wei, too, had its own needs.
Thus, the Apes proposed a marriage alliance:
By this, they meant a princess betrothed to the Little Ape King, heir of their tribe.
“And are you worthy?” the Sovereign replied.
Laughter rippled through the hall, barely suppressed.
As the Little Ape King’s face darkened in anger and he was about to protest, the Sovereign continued:
“I heard you were defeated by Prince Wang Chuan. If your tribe values strength, then say it again before him—are you worthy?”
Using me as a shield now, Wang Chuan thought with a wry smile.
If I step forward, will he still dare to utter those words? Who else could he use as a foil?
The Little Ape King glanced at Wang Chuan, then quickly looked away, shrinking back.
“Very well, I too wish to see the prowess of your human champions—who else dares?”
At that, someone from the Barbarians stepped forward, striding into the arena with the gait of a dragon and tiger.
A Tiger tribesman?
At a glance, his features were unmistakable, and the crowd murmured.
The Tiger, Lion, and similar clans were born with great strength—among the highest tier of Barbarians, invincible among their peers.
Why did the humans strive so desperately to ally with certain Barbarian tribes? Because their strength was truly formidable.
The Barbarians were fierce by nature.
On the northern frontier, those who faced them—soldiers and civilians alike—knew the saying:
“A Barbarian army of less than ten thousand can be overcome; more than that, they are unbeatable!”
The Little Tiger King had already made a name for himself in his tribe, renowned in his time.
“Nephew Wang Chuan, will you lend me your strength?” the Sovereign asked.
All eyes turned to Wang Chuan.
He stood, stepped forward. “I will.”
Barbarian attendants brought forth the Little Tiger King’s weapon—a massive axe, so heavy it took several Tiger warriors to carry it.
Yet he lifted it with ease, swinging it twice as the air whistled with force.
Wang Chuan, for his part, selected a long halberd—a silver blade, its shaft wrought with a coiling golden dragon.
At first touch, he sensed it was unlike any he’d handled before, far superior in craftsmanship and material.
The Yu realm had hidden its strength well; years of peace had not dulled their progress.
Their national power was rising, ambition stirring—perhaps even dreams of hunting the Central Plains.
Seeing this halberd, Wang Chuan understood in an instant.
This would be interesting.
“Battle!”
The Little Tiger King growled, slamming the axe’s handle to the ground.
At the peak of mastery, a warrior commands the world’s vital energy, channeling it at will.
Their understanding of the laws of nature reached a new level; their martial soul, more potent and mysterious.
Thus, what would take an ordinary man all his strength, a true warrior could do with a flick of the wrist.
That single gesture silenced the raucous hall.
Though few had dealt closely with the Barbarians, many recognized the fierce and combative Little Tiger King.
He was young, yet already stood out as a leader of the new Barbarian generation.
In such a setting, no matter whom he challenged, the Empire’s honor was at stake—refusal was not an option for the Sovereign.