Chapter Four: The Imperial Advisor Transforms into a Dragon and Brews Immortal Elixir (1)

Just seven days earlier, within the royal palace of Yucheng in Zhenxun.

It had been over four centuries since the great Yu founded the Grand Xia dynasty. The present Son of Heaven was the seventeenth emperor since Yu’s reign—the current monarch, King Jie of Xia.

On this day, King Jie was in the Moonwatching Palace, conferring with the hundreds of ministers on affairs of state. Suddenly, the sounds of commotion and startled cries drifted in from outside. Before long, hurried footsteps approached the palace. Already aware of the disturbance, the king commanded an attendant to summon the cause before him.

Moments later, a sword-bearing guard rushed into the hall, knelt on one knee, and, out of breath with excitement, reported, “Your Majesty, just now beyond the capital’s walls, a sudden gale rose in the skies, thunder and lightning crashed, and under the blazing sun, a torrential rain fell. Amidst the storm appeared two enormous black dragons, each over a hundred yards long, concealed amidst the clouds. General Guo at Tiger Pass outside the city spotted the dragons locked in furious combat. As one dragon fell towards the city, threatening disaster, I hastened here to warn Your Majesty. Then, from the clouds above, a boy in red robes appeared, his entire form aglow with fiery light. His eyes blazed crimson, and with but a glance, he raised a hand towards the warring dragons. Instantly, both dragons dissolved into twin gusts of black wind and vanished. The clouds dispersed, the rain ceased, and the sky was restored to calm.”

At his words, the court erupted; the civil and military officials alike marveled at such a spectacle, unseen in centuries. Had it not been for the king’s assembly that day, few might have witnessed it.

King Jie, supporting his chin in silence, wore a troubled expression. A eunuch at his side, noting the king’s disquiet, called out sternly, “Silence! Do not disturb His Majesty!”

The ministers turned to look at their sovereign, and seeing his pensive mood, fell quiet, each waiting for the king’s response.

At that moment, a shrill voice announced, “The Grand Preceptor enters!” All eyes turned to the door, where the ever-elusive Grand Preceptor appeared. Recognizing him, the king’s thoughts seemed to settle. He exchanged a knowing glance with the Preceptor, then commanded the guard, “Send men at once to search every place where the dragons fought, and seek out any relics or omens they may have left behind. If you delay in this matter, you shall answer to me!”

“At your command!” The guard sped off, leaving all in the hall staring after him.

With the guard’s departure, King Jie abruptly dismissed the court and returned to his palace chambers. The Grand Preceptor followed him to the Wo Long Hall—an honor unique in the dynasty’s history, for no minister had ever enjoyed such informal access to the king. Some in the court took note, but could only sigh and depart.

As the ministers withdrew, they could not help but discuss the marvels they had witnessed, their talk spreading wild tales through the city.

Within the king’s private chamber, the Grand Preceptor came alone. Only he and King Jie were present in the Wo Long Hall.

The Preceptor spoke first. “Your Majesty seemed troubled just now—does some burden weigh upon your heart?”

King Jie wiped his brow. Indeed, his mind was ill at ease. After much hesitation, he confided in the Preceptor a strange encounter from years past, not unlike the events just described.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, the king began, “Years ago, I traveled incognito among the people. Arriving at a bustling market, I sensed something amiss as soon as I set foot there. Turning, I found my personal guards gone—where, I could not tell. Alone, I pressed on, and gradually the surroundings faded into a mist, swirling like clouds. Then, before me appeared a boy in red. He smiled at me—a smile so strange I cannot describe it, both enchanting and tinged with danger, utterly unnatural on a child’s face.”

The Preceptor, draped in a robe embroidered with seven stars, her features half-concealed by her hood and a silver mask, exuded an air of otherworldly mystery as she stepped past the king’s couch.

“Oh! Is that so?” Though rarely surprised, the Preceptor’s eyebrows knit slightly at the tale.

King Jie’s face was shadowed with doubt as he continued, “The boy in red the guard described today must be that same demon child from years ago. Yes—he is the one who sows confusion!”

His voice grew agitated, as if recalling something that angered him deeply.

“That day, the red-robed demon led me to a mist-laden lake. He turned and said, ‘I am no child, nor of this world. My presence here is not by my will—perhaps it is the will of Heaven, or fate itself.’

“I did not understand, so I pressed him for more.”

The boy’s expression turned grave. “He said, ‘Though you have the talent to rule and care for your realm, fate has set a calamity before you. Should you fail to escape it, your dynasty will fall—especially if you place your trust in strangers and the uncanny.’”

“‘If you do, Xia will be lost!’” The last words were spoken through clenched teeth.

At this, the Preceptor’s hand paused briefly before resuming its motion.

King Jie continued, his anger barely contained: “Such treasonous words enraged me, and as I stepped forward, the red-robed child vanished before my eyes, as if he were nothing but mist—I could not lay a hand on him!”

“He vanished before Your Majesty like a passing breeze, did he not?” the Preceptor remarked unhurriedly.

“Exactly—he disappeared before me! As he faded, I caught a final phrase, and then, as if from a dream, I found myself back in the marketplace.”

“What did he say?” the Preceptor inquired, her curiosity piqued.

“He said: ‘The Star of Mars is not of this world. I am not of this world—do not see me off.’”

At these words, the Preceptor’s heart leapt; she rose abruptly. King Jie, taken aback, asked, “Preceptor, what do you make of this?”

“You are troubled because you sense today’s events are connected to that encounter of old, and so you are unsettled?” the Preceptor replied with a question of her own.

“Exactly. Today’s events are grave, and if that demon child is truly linked to the twin dragons, he must be of the immortal sects. I have always honored the Supreme Celestial Emperor’s will, but if I defy the divine will, calamity may befall us!” King Jie dared not dwell on it; to him, the Preceptor’s standing was equal to that of the immortal orders. If not for her, no one in the court could unravel today’s mystery.

“Perhaps Your Majesty is unduly anxious. The boy’s words were deeply enigmatic—he claimed not to be of this world, which suggests he is not of the immortal sects. This need not concern you. I stake my life on ensuring Your Majesty’s safety.”

“Then I must rely on you,” the king replied, his voice tinged with shame.

…

In a courtyard of Yucheng, an elderly man with graying temples descended quietly from the rooftop. Nearly a century old, he was the Grand Historian Zhonggu, the most senior statesman to have served three reigns. He, too, had heard of the day’s strange happenings. Having studied the stars for over fifty years, he knew such celestial omens could not be false.

“The stars of the Dipper form a line; twin dragons appear, disaster follows.”

Zhonggu reflected on ancient prophetic verses passed down through the ages:

“When the emperor rides twin dragons forth, he tours the wondrous realms of Heaven and Earth.
If he stays within bounds, all shall be peaceful and auspicious;
If he strays beyond, disaster and discord ensue.”

While deep in meditation, the old minister heard a faint sound outside the garden. Smiling knowingly to himself, he murmured, “A friend comes to call—I must greet him.” With that, he walked into the courtyard.

His visitor was none other than General Guan Longfeng, a pillar of the military. Zhonggu welcomed him warmly, already guessing his purpose.

General Guan’s honest face still betraying astonishment, the old minister took stock of him, then said with a smile, “General Guan, you’ve come about the twin dragons outside the capital, have you not?”

Guan Longfeng chuckled, “Indeed. In Moonwatching Palace, all the ministers have their theories, but none compare to your insights!”

“Ha! General, you jest. I have pondered the omens at length and have resolved to report to His Majesty at dawn. If these portents are linked to the twin dragons, it bodes ill for the realm!”

General Guan, shocked, asked, “Why do you say so, Grand Historian?”

Zhonggu’s expression turned grave. “You may not know this, but years ago, His Majesty encountered a red-robed boy—the same who subdued the twin dragons today.”

Guan Longfeng was astounded. “Is that so? Why did the boy come? Was he sent to subdue the dragons as an offering to the king?”

Zhonggu replied, “Far from it! The omens are not so simple. Years ago, this boy spoke words that deeply offended His Majesty. Do you know what he said?”

General Guan’s heart quailed; the old minister might dare speak such words, but he dared not hear them, lest they bring trouble. After a pause, he asked worriedly, “Would you tell me?”

“This matter is of great import and concerns the fate of the realm. As pillars of the dynasty, we must share the burden. Years ago, the red-robed boy solemnly warned that if His Majesty placed his trust in the uncanny, ‘Xia would be lost.’ You surely understand what ‘uncanny’ refers to?” Zhonggu’s tone was weighty, his gaze full of meaning.

The two men exchanged glances, their thoughts the same—both recalling the mysterious Grand Preceptor, second only to the king in power.