The Hall of Supreme Harmony felt less like a palace chamber and more like a tomb as Long Tian ascended the stairs. The air was thick with the scent of expensive ambergris and the unuttered fear of five hundred officials. The rhythmic thud of Long Tian's boots against the polished obsidian floor was the only sound, each step a deliberate hammer blow against the complacency of the court.
Prime Minister Cao Guan stood frozen on the upper dais. He was a man who prided himself on his composure—a master weaver of human souls who had spent decades turning the Chinise Kingdom into his personal chessboard. Yet, as he watched the young man approach, a cold, unfamiliar sensation crept up his spine.
Zhao Feng's eyes, usually dull and watery from the previous night's debauchery, were now pools of midnight ice. They did not flicker with the aimless anxiety of a fool; they held the piercing, predatory focus of a hawk circling its prey.
"Your Majesty," Cao Guan said, his voice a smooth, practiced baritone as he recovered his mask of civility. He bowed, though the angle was shallow—a subtle insult designed to remind the court who truly held the reins of power. "You speak of waking up. Truly, the spring air must have cleared your humors. But the hour for the Great Sacrifice is upon us. The Altar of Heaven awaits, and the people are eager to see their Emperor... in whatever state he may be."
A ripple of stifled laughter moved through the back rows of the officials—those loyal to the Cao clan. It was a test. Normally, Zhao Feng would have shrunk back, laughed nervously, or asked for a cup of wine to steady his nerves.
Instead, Long Tian stopped exactly one pace from the Prime Minister. The height difference was negligible, but Long Tian seemed to tower over the elder statesman, his presence expanding to fill the cavernous hall.
"The people shall see their Emperor, Prime Minister," Long Tian replied. His voice didn't just carry; it commanded. It was a voice forged on battlefields where thunder and steel vied for dominance. "But whether they see a sacrifice of grain or a sacrifice of traitors... that remains to be seen."
The hall went silent. Even the wind outside seemed to hold its breath.
Cao Guan's eyes narrowed into slits. "A bold jest, Your Majesty. Perhaps the wine from last night was more potent than I realized. Let us proceed to the Altar before the auspicious hour passes."
The procession moved toward the Great Altar of Heaven, a massive circular stone structure situated in the heart of the Forbidden City. Thousands of citizens and common soldiers stood behind the iron railings, their faces a mixture of apathy and disdain. To them, this was a hollow tradition—a ritual performed by a puppet while the country bled under high taxes and corrupt governors.
Standing at the edge of the sacrificial pit was Permaisuri Liu Ruyan.
She was dressed in ceremonial phoenix robes of crimson and gold, a longbow of black horn slung across her back—a tradition for the daughters of the Liu military clan, even in marriage. Her face was a mask of cold porcelain. When she saw Long Tian approaching, her lip curled in a familiar gesture of disgust. She expected him to stumble, to smell of the gutter, to embarrass the memory of her father once again.
But as Long Tian reached the sacrificial platform, he stopped before her. He did not look away. He looked directly into her eyes.
Ruyan blinked. For the first time in three years, she did not see a frightened boy behind those beads. She saw a man whose gaze contained the weight of mountains. It was a warrior's stare—one that recognized a peer.
"Hold the bow, Ruyan," Long Tian whispered as he passed her. "The hunt begins today."
Ruyan's hand tightened on her sleeve. What... what did he just say?
The ritual began. The High Priest, a man secretly on Cao Guan's payroll, stepped forward with a golden bowl containing the blood of a white bull.
"May the Emperor offer the blood to the Heavens, that the harvest be plentiful and the enemies of the state be scattered!" the Priest chanted.
Usually, Zhao Feng would tremble while holding the bowl, often spilling half of it on his robes, much to the amusement of the court.
Long Tian took the bowl. His hands were as steady as the earth itself. He held the gold vessel high, his muscles rippling beneath the silk of his sleeves. The "strong body" of Zhao Feng reacted to the ritual intent; Long Tian felt a surge of vitality, the raw physical power of this vessel finally finding a purpose.
"I do not offer this blood to a silent sky!" Long Tian's voice boomed, reaching the ears of the thousands of commoners beyond the gates. "I offer it to the Ancestors of Chinise! I tell them that the sleep of the Dragon is over! I tell them that the weeds that have choked this garden shall be pulled by the root!"
Instead of pouring the blood slowly into the ritual fire, Long Tian flung the bowl into the flames. A massive pillar of crimson fire erupted, roaring toward the sky. The sheer force of the gesture caused the High Priest to stumble backward in terror.
The crowd of commoners gasped. A low murmur, like the sound of a rising tide, began to swell among the people.
Cao Guan stepped forward, his face flushed with anger. "Your Majesty! You break the protocol! This is an affront to—"
"The only affront here, Prime Minister," Long Tian interrupted, turning his back on the fire to face the assembly, "is the state of this Kingdom. I have spent years 'dreaming,' as you so kindly encouraged. And in my dreams, I saw officials eating jade while the soldiers in the North ate dirt. I saw ministers building villas while the dikes in the East crumbled."
Long Tian descended the altar steps, walking straight toward Jenderal Wang Qi, the commander of the capital guards. Wang Qi was a large man, armored in polished silver, his hand resting arrogantly on his sword hilt.
"Jenderal Wang," Long Tian said softly.
"Your... Your Majesty?" Wang Qi stammered, confused by the sudden attention.
"Your men look soft. Their spears are dull, and their bellies are full of the Prime Minister's gold. Tell me, if the Khan of the North breached the gates this morning, would you fight, or would you negotiate a price for my head?"
"I... I would fight to the death!" Wang Qi blustered, his face reddening.
"Then prove it," Long Tian said. In a movement so fast the eye could barely follow, he reached out and gripped the hilt of Wang Qi's sword.
With a surge of Zhao Feng's untapped physical strength, Long Tian wrenched the blade from the General's sheath. It was a heavy broadsword, meant for two hands, but Long Tian held it in one, the tip pointed directly at the throat of the Prime Minister.
The guards reacted instantly, hundreds of blades clearing their scabbards. The officials shrieked and scrambled back.
"Lower your steel!" Cao Guan roared, his voice trembling with a mixture of rage and genuine fear. "Your Majesty, this is madness! You threaten the Prime Minister in front of the Gods?"
"I threaten no one," Long Tian said, his voice a calm, terrifying contrast to the chaos. "I am simply inspecting the quality of our steel. It seems... it is still sharp enough to cut through lies."
He tossed the heavy sword back. It spun in the air and landed perfectly, point-first, in the stone pavers at Wang Qi's feet, buried four inches deep in solid granite.
The display of raw strength was impossible. No man, let alone the pampered Zhao Feng, should have been able to pierce stone with a tossed blade.
Long Tian turned to the crowd of commoners. He raised his arms wide.
"Citizens of Chinise! Today, the grain is offered! But tomorrow, I promise you justice! Go back to your homes. Tell your neighbors. The Emperor has woken up, and he is hungry for the truth!"
For the first time in a decade, a cheer erupted from the commoners. It wasn't a loud cheer—it was a shocked, tentative roar of hope, but it shook the foundations of the palace more than any earthquake.
Cao Guan stood alone on the dais, his hands shaking within his long sleeves. He looked at the sword buried in the stone, then at the retreating back of the Emperor. He realized then that the arsenic had failed. Not only had the puppet survived, but it had been replaced by something infinitely more dangerous.
Behind him, Permaisuri Liu Ruyan watched her husband walk away. She looked at the bow in her hand, then at the man who had just defied the most powerful man in the Kingdom.
"The hunt..." she whispered to herself, a faint, dangerous smile touching her lips. "So you really meant it."
Long Tian returned to his palanquin, his heart racing. The exertion had been great, and the "rust" in his muscles was still there, but he had achieved his first goal. He had shattered the image of the Fool. He had sowed doubt in the hearts of his enemies and hope in the hearts of the poor.
As the curtains of the palanquin closed, Eunuch Lian whispered, "Your Majesty... that was... incredible. But the Prime Minister will not let this pass. He will strike tonight."
"I am counting on it, Lian," Long Tian said, closing his eyes to begin his breathing exercises. "A gardener cannot plant new seeds until he has burned the dead fields. Let them come. Tonight, the palace shall run red."