The next day indeed brought rain.

Early in the morning, the weather was as dark as dusk. Layer upon layer of black clouds slowly advanced from the horizon like countless silent armored soldiers pressing forward. Behind those black clouds, not a trace of golden sunlight could be seen. The wind howled up, swirling the golden silk of autumn chrysanthemums floating and sinking. The cool air was piercing, already hinting at winter’s chill.

The altar, located on the western side of the royal palace, was an ancient and solemn structure. The snow-white marble plaza and carved bridges guarded the central gray-blue sacrificial temple that was round on top and square below. The temple had three levels organized by era, enshrining the divine tablets of Heaven and all the Great Kings of Meng Kingdom. In front of the temple was a three-zhang radius marble platform surrounded by carved railings of the same color. The ground was carved with five-clawed flying dragons, fierce and ready to dance.

On the circular plaza surrounding the altar, the royal family and officials were arranged in order around the altar. A red carpet extended from the sacred path up to the altar where the Great King of Meng Kingdom would lead the officials in prostration and sacrifice, then ascend the altar to burn the imperial self-blame edict.

Five zhang away from the altar was the viewing area for envoys from various kingdoms. Whether intentional or not, Ji Kingdom’s position was in the center.

At the hour of Shen, bronze bells rang in unison, ceremonial music resonated, playing the solemn and dignified “Qi Tian Le” – a standard ceremonial piece used by all kingdoms. In the music, bright yellow canopies slowly wound their way along the sacred path from ahead, followed by a long black procession of Meng Kingdom officials.

Today everyone wore magnificent court dress in full ceremonial attire. The Son of Heaven wore twelve symbols, the nobles wore dark formal robes. The Great King of Meng Kingdom’s trembling crown with hanging pearls swayed, the pearl light flickering, covering his face so only the deep lines around his mouth could be seen.

Behind him was Prince Ping, leading a three or four-year-old child. Both wore similar attire. That child must be the royal youngest son, now led by Prince Ping, stumbling along on the red carpet.

Jing Hengbo was led by a protocol official to her position to wait, witnessing this scene. She raised an eyebrow, thinking that for such a small child, the old king’s idea of placing him on the throne under pressure from his adult son was truly a decisive and bold notion.

Her gaze fell on the military officers’ ranks in the procession. Following the order Meng Hu had told her, she found Old Duke Meng and General Ji. Interestingly, she discovered the two walked side by side, never making eye contact. Old Duke Meng’s face was iron-hard, not glancing at General Ji once. General Ji was over forty with a square face, looking quite grim, but showing neither anger over his daughter’s kidnapping nor meaningful looks toward Old Duke Meng. On the contrary, his lips held a cold, sharp smile as if waiting to watch some good show.

The Ministry of Rites presided over the sacrificial ceremony. Before the sacrifice day, the ministry had to do extensive preparation work: renovating the altar and streets, preparing the three sacrificial animals, offerings, prayers, divine tablets, ceremonial vessels, and musicians for the heavenly sacrifice. The chief officiant and Great King had already fasted for three days.

On the circular mound behind the altar platform, the highest level enshrined the Divine Emperor of Heaven’s throne with a sacred canopy to show respect for Heaven. On both sides were the divine tablets of Meng Kingdom’s past kings, representing sons of Heaven. The second level enshrined the sun, moon, and stars. Before all divine positions were arranged cattle, sheep, melons, fruits, jade, and silk tributes, along with various bronze and jade ceremonial vessels. The Great King’s prayer table was set on the platform below, with two prayer mats further back for the two princes.

According to requirements, the initial series of ceremonies was extremely complex and physically exhausting, and could only be performed by the old king alone. From the two-level circular mound, starting with the Divine Emperor of Heaven, then to family ancestors and celestial bodies, he had to kowtow, offer incense, present wine cups and sacrificial animals, and read prayer texts level by level, position by position. He also had to change clothes three times during this process. The ceremonial music progressed from “Beginning Peace Movements” to “Great Peace Movements.” Every advance, retreat, and genuflection had to conform to protocol. Starting an hour ago, an hour later, the old king was still kowtowing… Jing Hengbo yawned, seriously suspecting that by the time the old king finished kowtowing, perhaps the Great King would have conveniently been replaced.

Though it was clearly morning, the sky remained dark. Layer upon layer of black clouds seemed ready to press down to eyebrow level. The weather was stifling enough to suffocate, each breath seeming to fill with moisture from the air.

Thunder rumbled continuously from the horizon, growing closer, while the ceremony was only half complete. The ministers’ ranks showed some unease, with people constantly stealing glances at the sky.

With such complex procedures, if a thunderstorm came, would it cost the Great King his life?

Was this exactly Prince Ping’s plan for today?

Once the Great King collapsed, how could a three-year-old prince be Prince Ping’s opponent? Or would today’s heavenly sacrifice become a new king’s enthronement sacrifice?

With great difficulty, everyone watched with bated breath as the Great King finally finished sacrificing to all he was supposed to sacrifice, turned to the prayer table, and began reading the self-blame edict to Heaven.

As soon as the old king opened his mouth, everyone’s expressions became complex – the old king’s voice was hoarse and breathless, clearly physically exhausted.

“…I, though young and inexperienced, inherited this great enterprise, unable to spread enlightened transformation, thus disrupting yin and yang. This has caused great floods in the southwest, severe drought in the northwest, famine filling the land, people eating each other, Heaven sending down punishment, the royal city encountering fire… Heaven’s way is not distant, its warnings not false. If the myriad people have faults, they lie with me alone. The manifestations from the Supreme Emperor are extremely clear. Forever contemplating past warnings, I am deeply fearful.”

While reading the edict, storm clouds surged and pressed forward in the sky.

When the last word was hoarsely finished, the horizon suddenly brightened, then a thunderbolt struck straight down with a tremendous “crack!” like heaven and earth being torn like silk. Everyone trembled.

Prince Ping lowered his head, hiding his elated expression. That thunder came at the perfect time!

Only one thunderclap, like a fierce warning. After a moment of quiet, rain came pouring down with a great “whoosh.”

This rain fell wildly and fiercely, unrestrained and without prelude. In just an instant, the yellow earth was splashed with rain bubbles, the red carpet turned deep red, and between heaven and earth hung snow-white rain curtains. Everything was misty with rain fog, making it impossible to distinguish human figures across the way.

However, the sacrificial ceremony had time requirements, and stopping midway was inauspicious.

Everyone could only continue kneeling in the rain. They all wore layers upon layers of ceremonial robes that, once soaked with rain, became so heavy they couldn’t lift their heads.

The torrential rain drowned out the old king’s voice. The Ministry of Rites officials dutifully carried away the prayer table in the rain and presented the bronze tripod for burning the self-blame edict. The tripod had a lid to prevent rain from entering.

The old king supported himself on the ground, slowly trying to rise, but lacking strength and weighed down by heavy ceremonial robes, he couldn’t get up for a moment. The Ministry of Rites officials watched anxiously, wanting to help, but according to sacrificial regulations, everyone must stay in their assigned position, not say an extra word, not take an extra step, not make an extra movement. They could only watch helplessly.

The three-year-old prince, being young, wasn’t particularly pampered in temperament. Being drenched by the heavy rain seemed fun to him. He laughed and looked up, seeing his father king struggling to rise. Anxiously stamping his feet, he scolded the Ministry of Rites officials: “Go help the Great King… go help the Great King…”

Everyone looked troubled. Prince Ping suddenly bent down and said to his brother: “Little brother, didn’t the Grand Tutor tell you? Sacrificial ceremonies have strict rules – no one can move randomly. If they walk onto the altar, it’s disrespectful to Heaven and our royal house. They’d be executed. Do you want to cause their execution?”

“Then you can’t go either? I can’t go either?” The child sucked his finger, looking at him seriously. “Father King can’t get up.”

“We can’t go either.” Prince Ping met the child’s disappointed gaze, a flash of cunning suddenly appearing in his eyes. “However, today’s situation is special. You’re a child. If you go, Heaven will pity your youth and surely won’t punish you or Father King.”

The child’s eyes lit up. He nodded and immediately toddled forward to help the old king of Meng Kingdom. The Ministry of Rites officials kneeling opposite looked up in alarm, wanting to stop him, but received Prince Ping’s vicious warning glare.

The ministers also stirred slightly. Some pretended not to see, others showed disapproval, but children’s behavior was always more easily accepted. Looking at the pouring rain and the old king struggling in it, they really couldn’t speak to stop him.

The self-blame edict in the small bronze tripod had already begun slowly burning. Through the openwork gaps, red firelight flickered faintly, but with such heavy rain, no one could see clearly.

The envoys’ viewing area had canopies, making them the best-treated among everyone. Gong Yin stood beside Jing Hengbo, glanced at the tripod, and said: “There’s a pipe under the tripod. Fire is leaking down.”

A slight smile curved Jing Hengbo’s lips.

Yelu Qi and Pei Shu glanced at the nearby sacrificial temple. Heavy rain could cover many traces – for instance, at this moment, on the temple’s flying eaves, shadows seemed to flicker faintly. With sharper eyes, one could also see what appeared to be transparent, thread-like objects drifting down from above.

Muffled thunder gathered overhead. In the early stages of a thunderstorm, lightning was most frequent.

The three-year-old child, supporting his aged father king, stood by the tripod waiting. Only when the self-blame edict was completely burned and the remaining ashes scattered in all four directions of the altar would the entire ceremony be complete.

The heavy rain couldn’t extinguish the fire hidden deep in the tripod.

The paper scroll in the tripod gradually curled and edges lifted, turning ash-white.

Under the layer of ash, sparks of fire dropped through specially designed channels in the tripod, slowly burning the red carpet below, following a narrow gap beneath the carpet into the depths of the altar.

Overhead, muffled thunder rolled closer, purple lightning flashing like a demon snake.

Prince Ping suddenly raised his eyebrows, looking toward the temple’s flying eaves where a shadow flashed.

It’s coming!

“BOOM!”

A tremendous thunderclap exploded, more violent than before, as if splitting the blue sky right overhead, or as if the heavens had collapsed and mountains instantly overturned, right before their eyes. Everyone, already scattered by the rain, heard this sound and most fell face-first into the muddy ground with a “thud,” their ears ringing.

At the moment this thunder struck, the old king suddenly gripped his youngest son tightly.

At this moment, Jing Hengbo, who had been looking up at the sky while watching the altar from the corner of her eye, stepped forward.

At this moment, a Ministry of Rites vice-minister suddenly rushed forward with gritted teeth and resolute expression, drew a sword from his sleeve, and fiercely split open the ground beneath the tripod.

“BOOM!”

Another tremendous explosion.

Almost simultaneous with the thunder above, but more violent and fierce, arising from the altar.

The ministers kneeling on the ground hadn’t yet recovered from the shock of the lightning above when they suddenly encountered this sound. They felt the ground shake, the entire heaven and earth seeming to tilt, then heard crackling overhead as something crashed down like a blanket. At first they thought it was rain, then wondered why this rain was so heavy – perhaps hail? Then wondered why this hail carried heat. They could only desperately shrink their necks while hearing someone already wailing: “It exploded… it exploded!”

Looking around, they saw people with bloody heads, chaos ahead, the front section of red carpet had disappeared, and the altar at the end of the carpet… was completely unrecognizable.

Broken stones, yellow earth, overturned offerings, shattered ceremonial vessels were everywhere. The black soil below had been turned up, torn red carpet mixed among all this chaos, its colors made vivid by the rain like blood. Within those blood-like colors were glimpses of severed limbs and arms, pale white because the blood had instantly been washed away by the heavy rain.

Those in the circle outside the pile of rubble had mostly been knocked over by the blast, rolling on the ground. Many had bloody heads, groaning in the muddy rain.

Like a scene from hell.

This sight stunned everyone. They stared ahead in a daze, not daring to move or speak, as if trapped in a nightmare. After a long while, someone began shouting in a voice hoarse as a broken gong: “The altar was struck by heavenly thunder! The altar was struck by heavenly thunder!”

“Heaven has sent down punishment!”

“Oh Heaven!”

Listening to this, everyone’s hearts seemed soaked in the bloody rainwater of this moment – bone-chillingly cold, reeking with blood. Just now in the self-blame edict, the Great King had said that if his own lack of virtue brought disaster to the people, then Heaven’s punishment should fall on him alone. Now… wasn’t this exactly what had happened?

Looking at the altar now – a scene of devastation, with dismembered remains still visible. How could the Great King and little prince on the platform, or the attending Ministry of Rites officials, possibly have survived?

The Great King was dead?

The little prince was also dead?

Then the next step would be Prince Ping’s enthronement, wouldn’t it?

Everyone stared blankly through the rain curtain, not knowing what they were waiting for, their hearts empty, continuously washed by the thunder and rain.

Many people also showed joy – the great work was accomplished!

Suddenly a loud shout rang out as someone charged onto the altar, throwing himself on those mud and broken bricks, desperately digging at the mound that resembled a grave, clawing while frantically shouting: “Father King! Little brother! Father King!”

The one who rushed out was Prince Ping, now heedless of danger and filth, throwing himself on the ruins, desperately digging with his five fingers, his voice shrill as if trying to call back his relatives: “Father King! Father King!”

He pulled out a severed arm, looked at it, threw it aside, then desperately continued digging. His five fingers were soon bloody. A group of eunuchs rushed over, tearfully begging him to take care of his health. Prince Ping slapped one away: “This king only knows the Great King is under here!”

His voice was grief-stricken, his eyes bloodshot, wet hair stuck to his cheeks, bruises from being struck by stones still visible.

Some old ministers who had harbored suspicions, seeing his condition, couldn’t help but be moved. They wiped away tears and came forward to console him.

With the altar split by heavenly thunder in this state, the Great King had absolutely no chance of survival. Now Prince Ping was the only heir – he absolutely couldn’t have anything happen to him.

More and more people crawled forward on their knees, kowtowing in the muddy rain, urging Prince Ping to restrain his grief, begging the prince to take care of his precious body, urging Prince Ping to control his sorrow and quickly handle the Great King’s funeral arrangements…

In the pavilion, the envoys observing the ceremony looked at each other. A slight smile curved Jing Hengbo’s lips.

In the crowd, General Ji suddenly turned to glare at her viciously.

Jing Hengbo smiled even more smugly.

On the altar ruins, Prince Ping, sprawled in the mud in a disheveled state still wailing, had a corner of his lip that no one could see – also curving in a smug smile.

Everything was perfect, the coordination exquisite – truly a flawless plan.

But it wasn’t enough yet. He still needed to perform one final act to tell the world about this heaven-ordained divine mandate.