The first year of Jian’an was destined to be a turbulent one.
Ever since the night the imperial mausoleum caught fire, the Jian’an Emperor had ceased attending court. Though he had issued an edict delegating governance to the Cabinet, his continued absence had long since sown seeds of doubt and dread among the officials. None knew what had truly transpired that night, or whether the lightning bolt had struck the young emperor himself — and whether the so-called imperial edicts were, in truth, being manipulated by someone within the inner palace.
In the court of Wu Jing, the halls rang with clamor no different from a marketplace, with endless quarreling and squabbling. The emperor had barely ascended the throne before the plague of corpse-poison had erupted, and in the chaos of disaster relief, he had not even named an empress — his consorts were but a handful. Those who sought information found themselves completely in the dark.
Once, the Holy Maiden had been there to assist the new emperor in managing affairs of state. Now, she had vanished without a trace. The same was true of the National Preceptor. The cascade of strange and inexplicable events set countless hearts churning with unease.
As news of the emperor’s prolonged absence from court continued to spread, the border regions began to stir with unrest. Some commoners, whose families had been destroyed by the corpse-poison plague and who had been stirred up by scheming individuals, had organized ragtag mobs. Using the officials’ inadequate disaster relief as their pretext, they stormed into government offices, looting, burning, and smashing everything in sight.
When these reports reached the court, all were shocked and furious.
The corpse-poison plague had clearly stabilized — every county office, post station, and roadside pavilion had been set up as a medicine distribution point. The contagion was no longer spreading, and those infected had been cured. Yet because of human greed, the common people were suffering persecution once more. How utterly unjust.
Now the court was embroiled in fierce debate over who should be dispatched to suppress the rioters.
“His Majesty arrives!” The sharp cry of announcement rang out abruptly. Everyone started and turned toward the entrance — sure enough, the Jian’an Emperor emerged in full imperial regalia of brilliant yellow, crown and bead-curtain in place.
All dropped to their knees in a single wave, crying out three times for his ten thousand years of reign.
Tantai Wuji ascended the dragon throne and looked down at the hundred officials prostrated below. A strange surge of exhilaration welled up within him as he absorbed the awe and reverence emanating from them. He could not help but arch a brow.
For a thousand years, he had continued to survive by seizing one body after another, doing nothing but accumulating power. His true body he had placed upon the dragon vein, nourished by the pure spiritual energy of the earth’s meridians — enough to repair the shattered original form that had been broken when he failed to endure the lightning tribulation, filling even the sinews and meridians with spiritual energy.
And the act of body-seizing allowed his divine soul to find a vessel, permitting him to continuously cultivate and nourish his soul, strengthening himself. When the moment was right and his true body and divine soul merged as one, he would undergo a perfect rebirth and charge toward a new Great Path with twice the result for half the effort.
He could easily have become the supreme ruler of all under heaven — the Human Emperor — yet he had never done so. To be the Human Emperor would inevitably hinder and interrupt his pace of cultivation; the labyrinthine complexities of mortal governance would drag at his footsteps and corrupt the purity of his Dao-heart. So he had always preferred to lurk within Clan Tantai as a supremely gifted genius, or as a National Preceptor — never as an emperor, that thankless and endlessly troublesome role.
He had calculated everything perfectly; success had been within reach in an instant. Regrettably…
Tantai Wuji’s gaze turned suddenly sharp. His schemes had been flawless, and they had been correct — yet he had fallen because of his own contempt, bitten savagely by the wolf cub he himself had raised.
The catastrophic defeat at the imperial mausoleum. His true body stolen away. His divine soul grievously wounded. The humiliation and agony burned like poison fire, scorching him day and night, making it impossible for him to maintain his composure.
Tantai Wuji had not yet bidden the officials to rise. They grew nervous, exchanging sidelong glances with those beside them.
What was happening?
“Your Majesty?” The chief eunuch trembled as he offered a gentle reminder. He felt as though the emperor before him had been replaced with something else entirely — far more terrifying than before. A single glance made one feel the urge to kneel and beg for mercy.
After all, this was merely a seventeen- or eighteen-year-old emperor. Not even ten days ago, he had been nothing like this.
But the chief eunuch dared say nothing. He could only keep reassuring himself: His Majesty had been struck by heavenly lightning, which had cracked open the fog of his mind. He had achieved enlightenment!
Tantai Wuji came back to himself and bade the officials rise. This fresh, raw reverence was immensely satisfying to him. So being emperor had this effect as well — quite excellent.
He had been ensnared by appearances. He was the Son of Heaven, the supreme lord of all under heaven, the object of ten thousand subjects’ awe.
With a rustling murmur, everyone rose and lifted their eyes.
Shen Qinghe was the Director of the Surveillance Bureau. He stood in the forward ranks, and having worked alongside those of the Dao, he too had come to believe. Following the cultivation method of the Gong Family that Gong Qi had provided him, he had been quietly practicing. Though he was unable to enter the true gateway of cultivation, performing the Small Heavenly Circulation and the Grand Heavenly Circulation had genuinely benefited both body and mind. Combined with the protective talismans Lang Jiuchuan had given him and the occasional health-nourishing pill secretly made by the Gong Family, he was at present sharp of mind and keen of eye and ear — and so it was that with a single glance, he could make out the emperor’s face with perfect clarity.
With that one glance, Shen Qinghe’s heart clenched.
The Jian’an Emperor before him bore a complexion touched by an unhealthy pallor, yet his lips were red as though stained with blood. His eyes were deep and fathomless as an abyss; occasionally, a flicker of blood-light that made one’s heart seize passed through them. He radiated an imperial dignity unlike anything Shen Qinghe had ever witnessed before.
Such dignity — not even his predecessor, the An’he Emperor, had ever possessed it. This cold and austere imperial aura was an oppressive force of extreme danger.
Like a completely different person.
Not only did Shen Qinghe feel this; the other senior officials shared the same impression. The Jian’an Emperor before them was no longer that small emperor they had seen before — that clueless, utterly un-imperial young man.
The Jian’an Emperor before them made people’s very courage falter.
Tantai Wuji seemed to see through their thoughts. His voice was cold and deep: “In recent days, rumors and gossip have spread throughout the city, throwing hearts into turmoil. This is because of the fire at the imperial mausoleum and the divine punishment of descending lightning. The truth, however, is this: a demon cultivator colluded with malevolent spirits to run amok, seeking to shake the very foundations of Great Yan and bring calamity upon all living beings. The National Preceptor and the Holy Maiden pursued the demon cultivator and the malevolent spirit to the mausoleum in order to exterminate them, and were unable to overcome the enemy — both fell. The National Preceptor and the Holy Maiden were the protective pillars of our Great Yan, and it was their simultaneous fall that caused heaven to send down lightning as a warning. The days We have spent away from court were also a period of tempering the self in response to this heavenly sign, as well as receiving the dying inheritance left behind by the National Preceptor.”
A chill of shock ran through the assembled officials. The National Preceptor and the Holy Maiden — dead?
For no clear reason, Shen Qinghe felt an ominous premonition rise in his heart. He sensed that this ‘Jian’an Emperor’ was about to target someone.
Sure enough, one of the officials called out loudly: “Your Majesty, may we ask — what manner of demon cultivator was this, and where are they now?”
“Lang Jiuchuan of the Marquis Kaiping household of the Lang Family — deceased in the twenty-first year of Anwu, and reanimated when a demon cultivator seized that body. The demon has sought to commit the gravest acts of insubordination.” Tantai Wuji’s voice was not loud, yet it struck every person present like a heavy hammer.
Shen Qinghe’s pupils contracted. Rage and grievance surged up through him all at once, tears welling in his eyes. His voice cracked as he cried out: “Impossible! Your Majesty, Lang Jiuchuan wore himself to the bone working to develop the antidote for the corpse-poison plague. It was because of him that this disaster did not spread throughout all of Great Yan — his merit and virtue are immeasurable. How could a person like him be the demon cultivator Your Majesty speaks of? Has Your Majesty perhaps been deceived by someone and wronged a loyal subject?”
Zeng Guangchuan swept aside his robes and knelt. “Your Majesty, Lang Jiuchuan is one whose path was confirmed by the Golden Lotus — it is utterly impossible that she is a demon cultivator. Please investigate clearly, Your Majesty, and do not chill the hearts of those who have rendered meritorious service.”
“We beg Your Majesty to investigate clearly!” Many others also dropped to their knees.
Tantai Wuji’s gaze turned cold and ruthless. A frosty arc curved at the corner of his mouth. “Golden Lotus confirmation of the path — is this what you speak of?”