In the Wansui Mountain Imperial Palace, Crown Prince Zhao Huan showed no sign of joy or anger as he followed Xiang Xian through the Imperial Garden toward Chongwen Court. Xiang Xian’s vigilance reached its peak, and the Wisdom Sword on his back faintly glowed, ready to be drawn at any moment.
“How have you considered yesterday’s proposal?” Zhao Huan asked coldly.
Xiang Xian blocked him with a single sentence: “The Exorcism Division serves Lord Xiao Kun as Chief Emissary. This humble official dares not decide on his own.”
What Zhao Huan wanted was a “Heavenly Omen”—something like wind, snow, thunder, a True Dragon appearing in the world, strange lights from the heavens, or even immortal miracles descending to leave a divine decree. Such phenomena would create omens signaling a dynastic change, allowing him to smoothly unite his supporters in the court and force his father to abdicate.
He had already made full preparations. Half the court was his people, and for years, the ministers had grown dissatisfied with Daojun Emperor Zhao Ji. A year ago, they had even jointly dismissed Prime Minister Cai Jing and threatened to expel the “Six Thieves” who brought ruin to the dynasty, including Tong Guan. Zhao Ji had lost the people’s hearts; his luxurious lifestyle had provoked heavenly wrath and popular resentment. All that was needed was for Zhao Huan to present the petition for his abdication.
Now, his plan was stuck at the final step. Zhao Huan had first hinted to Guo Jing, but Guo Jing remained unmoved. He knew full well that his power came from Xiang Xian; without Xiang Xian, he had no support.
Zhao Huan had overestimated Guo Jing. He had thought the Exorcism Division held a transcendent status and that National Advisor Guo Jing, bearing the title of Grand Demon-Exorcist, cared not who sat on the throne. But he was precisely wrong: Guo Jing possessed no Magical Power at all. His rise to his current position relied entirely on pretending to wield supernatural arts to deceive others. Naturally, he hoped Zhao Ji would remain on the throne longer so he could continue enjoying wealth and honor.
Thus, Zhao Huan shifted his approach to Xiang Xian. Though rejected by both him and Xiao Kun, Zhao Huan still felt there was hope because Xiang Xian had mostly remained silent when the request was made—a sign of reserving judgment—which made him think he could still win him over.
They stopped outside Chongwen Court.
“The Official Family has not yet finished dressing. Your Highness the Crown Prince, please wait outside,” the guard blocked Zhao Huan and Xiang Xian.
“Has Lord Guo already gone in ahead?” Zhao Huan asked gravely.
The guard did not answer.
Inside Chongwen Court, sunlight filtered through the astrolabe dome. At noon, a figure faintly appeared behind the screen, followed by a satisfied voice from the couch, as if after a long sleep.
Zhao Ji had finished dressing with the service of his concubines, and the palace servants moved the screens aside.
“Official Family.” Guo Jing, possessed by Mr. Qin, had changed into a different expression.
“Mm.” This was Zhao Ji’s first audience with ministers since the New Year festivities began. He said to those around him, “Grant the National Advisor a seat and serve him a bowl of New Year rice cakes.”
Zhao Ji glanced at Chaosheng but did not ask about his origins, knowing Guo Jing would introduce him.
Sure enough, “Guo Jing” did not sit and instead said, “Great joy to the Official Family—news has arrived.”
Chaosheng glanced at Mr. Qin but said nothing. He resolved to absolutely not speak.
And at that moment, he suddenly spotted a bird perched high on the side—A Huang.
A Huang perched on the skylight in the dome, basking in the midday sun, still in his lazy pose, looking down on the scene from above.
Chaosheng thus steadied his heart, knowing Xiang Xian must be nearby.
“Oh?” Hearing this, Zhao Ji immediately asked, “How goes the matter you mentioned last time?”
Mr. Qin only smiled without speaking. Surprise filled Zhao Ji’s eyes, and then he realized something, turning his attention to Chaosheng.
“Precisely.” Mr. Qin spoke as if in riddles to Zhao Ji. “What the Official Family desires lies with this Little Bro here.”
Chaosheng silently watched Zhao Ji, his eyes full of distrust.
“Quickly invite Young Sir to sit!” Zhao Ji’s face changed instantly. Then he realized something and immediately dismissed those around him, clearing the area, leaving only “Guo Jing” and Chaosheng.
“No matter.” Mr. Qin smiled kindly. “Official Family, this matter begins with Kunlun Mountain and White Jade Palace. Atop Kunlun Mountain Peak stands a giant tree called Jumang, said to connect to Shenzhou’s vital energies. Beneath the giant tree lies an Immortal Palace built of white jade—the divine domain of the Queen Mother of the West, mother of the ancient immortals.”
“Oh—” Zhao Ji stroked his beard and nodded slowly.
How does he know so much about White Jade Palace? Countless thoughts flashed through Chaosheng’s mind.
“The divine servants dwelling in the palace possess undying, ageless lives,” Mr. Qin sighed. “But only so long as they remain at Kunlun Mountain Peak. Once they leave the power of the Sacred Tree Jumang, they become no different from mortals.”
“Mm.” Zhao Ji seemed thoughtful.
Before Mr. Qin, occupying Guo Jing’s body, could speak again, Chaosheng suddenly said, “You are already the revered king of men—can you not let go of the pursuit of eternal life?”
Mr. Qin and Zhao Ji both burst into laughter together.
Chaosheng was baffled. Zhao Ji said, “Let me think on it.”
But Mr. Qin smiled and said, “This minister has found a way for the Official Family to achieve longevity without ascending the mountain to cultivate.”
