Chapter 19: Beyond the World and the Starry Sky
Shang Xingzhou did not speak. He rose and walked out of the house.
Prince Chenliu was momentarily startled, then quickly followed.
Shang Xingzhou climbed the stone steps beside the house to the rooftop, which appeared to be an observatory platform. The slightly cold night wind stirred his sleeves.
Only then did Prince Chenliu notice that this Daoist temple had no formation to regulate heat and cold.
Shang Xingzhou looked up at the starry sky, his hands not clasped behind his back. His blue Daoist sleeves swayed gently backward with the wind, making him look like a clown on a stage, as if in the next moment he would crouch slightly, then dash forward, or leap into the starry sky, only to land comically.
Prince Chenliu watched his back and unconsciously compared him to the Holy Empress on the Sweet Dew Terrace.
“If you want someone to perish, first drive them mad.”
Shang Xingzhou’s voice was as faint as the wind, devoid of any flavor, without emphasis, and impossible to discern his true emotions.
Prince Chenliu didn’t know who this remark was aimed at. Was it Xu Yourong who was mad, or the Emperor? And who was about to perish?
Shang Xingzhou’s gaze deepened into the sea of stars, and he spoke no more.
Prince Chenliu took his leave. After leaving Ever Spring Temple, he couldn’t help but look back at that rooftop.
He still wasn’t sure if his trip to Luoyang tonight had been the right choice.
This morning, Xu Yourong had arranged to meet him at the National Academy and said those words, which felt very deliberate.
Her making him feel that deliberateness was itself a deliberate act.
But if he hadn’t already harbored such thoughts, how could he have been moved by that deliberateness?
Over the years, he had hidden his ambitions extremely well, unknown to anyone, including his father and acquaintances like Mo Yu. Even the Holy Empress Tianhai had only suspected, not confirmed—perhaps because she simply didn’t care.
But he couldn’t fool Xu Yourong.
Back in the palace years ago, he had felt that the little girl looked at him with a strange expression, always wearing a half-smile.
If she hadn’t exposed him back then, why was she saying such things now? Why was she so deliberately giving him this opportunity?
Prince Chenliu couldn’t miss this chance. He also knew that if his reaction were even slightly off, Shang Xingzhou would see it as provocation. So he remained very calm and honest. Now it seemed this approach worked—at least Shang Xingzhou had no reaction.
So what should he do next?
Prince Chenliu rushed back to the capital overnight. When he arrived at the Prince of Peace’s mansion, the morning light had already fully dispersed, the winter sun hung high, and warmth gradually arrived.
It seemed winter was truly ending, and the season of renewal was approaching.
With some emotion, Prince Chenliu entered the mansion.
“You should be very clear: the Holy Maiden wants to use us to pressure the Emperor into siding with the Pope.”
The Prince of Peace stared into his eyes and said, “If so, why did you still go to Luoyang?”
“Yourong always acts fairly. Even her schemes are aboveboard.”
Prince Chenliu had grown even calmer now. Even facing his father’s icy gaze, his expression didn’t change.
“Wildfire is terrifying, but without that fire, we wouldn’t even have a chance to snatch chestnuts from the flames.”
The Prince of Peace’s eyes suddenly turned fierce, with a glint of fire flickering within, while his voice grew even colder: “But have you considered this? Only chaos brings victory. Does she have the ability to unsettle the Dao Lord’s mind?”
Prince Chenliu said, “I know Yourong. Even if the Dao Lord ultimately wins, it will be a pyrrhic victory.”
The Prince of Peace was silent for a moment, then asked, “So when do you think it will begin?”
Prince Chenliu said, “From the moment she arranged to meet me at the National Academy, this chess game began. Last night, when she entered the palace, that was the killing move.”
The Prince of Peace raised an eyebrow slightly. “A killing move?”
Prince Chenliu said, “Yes. This move is a game for the world, and it must be answered with the world.”
The Prince of Peace sighed. “So the storm has already arrived.”
“After the storm, the rainbow appears.”
Prince Chenliu said, “When I was young, the Empress taught me that rainbows come from the sun, and we are the descendants of the sun.”
The Prince of Peace understood his meaning and stared into his eyes. “The Emperor’s bloodline is equally pure.”
Prince Chenliu said, “But in the end, he’s just a cripple.”
The wildfire in the Prince of Peace’s eyes gradually died out, but the ambition hidden for so many years, like his son’s, slowly surfaced.
He asked, “Will the Pope agree when the time comes?”
Prince Chenliu said, “If Yourong loses, the Pope naturally won’t live.”
“One last question.”
The Prince of Peace asked, “You’ve never said what happens if the Holy Maiden wins.”
Prince Chenliu smiled. “Other than the whole family dying, what price could match this game for the world?”
The Prince of Peace was silent for a long time, then he too smiled—a laugh tinged with self-mockery. As it faded, the ambition in his eyes dissipated, his expression grew gentler, and his round face became as pleasant and amiable as an old farmer’s or a wealthy man’s.
He rested his hands on his plump belly and said with emotion, “It seems your marriage to Pingguo needs to be hurried along.”
…
…
The early morning in the detached palace was very quiet.
The sound of a bamboo broom’s slightly withered tips scraping against the hard bluestone ground came from afar, unceasing.
Chen Changsheng lay with his eyes open, staring at the intricate and obscure patterns on the ceiling, his thoughts unknown.
He had woken up before the fifth hour—a very rare occurrence. And not getting up immediately after waking was even rarer.
Lying in bed was, for many ordinary young people, one of life’s greatest pleasures. But for him, it was unquestionably an irresponsible waste of time, filling him with immense guilt.
He hadn’t gotten up now because this was his first day living in the detached palace.
He was still unfamiliar with his surroundings, unaccustomed, and even vaguely apprehensive. He didn’t know where to go to wash up after getting up, what kind of service he would receive, or even where the clothes he had taken off last night had been put away.
He also didn’t know what Xu Yourong had discussed with his senior brother when she entered the palace last night.
Only when the quiet outer hall, with most of its sky occupied by the eaves, was lit by the winter sun did he finally get up.
The first person he saw was An Hua.
Last night, the millions of believers who had prayed with candles had finally been persuaded to leave late into the night, but An Hua hadn’t gone.
She had waited in the hall for half the night. Her eyes were slightly red, whether from exhaustion or tears.
“About your aunt’s matter, it seems this is the only way to handle it.”
Chen Changsheng took the Daoist robe from her hand and looked at her reddened eyes, speaking with apology. “I hope you don’t blame me.”
An Hua quickly said, “How could I dare blame Your Holiness.”
Chen Changsheng could tell she wasn’t lying and asked in confusion, “Then why are you sad?”
An Hua lowered her head and asked, “Your Holiness, are you really planning to leave?”
In many dynasties before the Great Zhou, the Daoist sect was also the state religion, and history had seen many Popes.
The Pope had no term limit; until the moment he returned to the sea of stars, he was the holder of divine authority over the entire sect.
But among those historical Popes, some had indeed ended their terms early—either to pursue the Great Way without being burdened by worldly affairs, or because they were disheartened by something. They chose to retreat into the deep mountains, unseen, or to cross to the other shore of the starry sea.
An Hua had studied at the Azure Thirteen Divisions since childhood and later became a teacher, dedicating her youth to the state religion. She knew the scriptures by heart and was naturally familiar with these accounts. The more she thought about what Chen Changsheng had said in the Hall of Light last night, the more she feared he might choose that path. She was so anxious and uneasy that even Tang Thirty-Six’s comforting words couldn’t reassure her, and she had shed tears several times during the night.
Chen Changsheng looked at the sky split by the eaves above the hall.
He once again recalled the darkness like a well’s mouth beyond the sea of stars that he had sensed that night.
He would bear the responsibilities he should bear.
But after doing all that, if there were farther places, of course he would want to go see them.