Chapter 529 – A Struggle Between Fates, the Emperor’s Mandate - Part 1

Chapter 529 – A Struggle Between Fates, the Emperor’s Mandate - Part 1

The imperial palace was cloaked in gloom. A shaft of sunlight slanted through the high walls, casting half of Ji Hu’s face into shadow, the other half into light.

More than two thousand years ago, the assassin known as Fish Guts had carved a legend into history. Now, he emerged once more from the darkness, dagger in hand, standing protectively before the young Emperor.

Outside the palace gates, chaos thundered.

Bronze armor clanged, iron helmets clashed, and the screech of blades meeting spears rolled in waves, deafening and fierce.

The twang of crossbows echoed like a sudden downpour, relentless and sharp.

This was the forbidden heart of the palace. Yet now, it rang with the sound of battle.

Why? The answer was simple. Someone was attacking the imperial palace.

That someone was Imperial Tutor Gao.

At this moment, General Xie Feng was stationed far to the south in Hanzhou, guarding the path to the capital. Gao Kaiping, another pillar of the court, was also away, holding a critical garrison. Within the palace, the only defense left to the Emperor consisted of a handful of guards too few to be called an army and the assassin Fish Guts.

From the turmoil outside came a rising chorus of accusations.

“Ji Hu is no dragon’s son! He’s the bastard of the Marquis of Freedom! Otherwise, why call him father?”

“Ji Hu! Tyrant!”

“Ji Hu! Meet your death!”

Rumors that the Emperor was the illegitimate child of the Marquis of Freedom had long floated through the empire’s undercurrents, vague, absurd, and widely dismissed. Few had access to the truth, fewer still to the Emperor himself.

But when the Emperor publicly acknowledged the marquis as his foster father, those whispers flared into flame.

Gossip that mixed palace secrets with uncertain truths had a way of spreading like wildfire. The court had once stamped down such talk, but now, in the hands of rebel forces, it was shouted aloud without shame.

Ji Hu sat upon the throne in silence, gazing into the distance.

Fish Guts, who was usually so confident, his words often laced with wry humor, now stood visibly rattled. A nervous tremor ran through his frame.

“Fish Guts, what’s wrong?” Ji Hu asked quietly.

His reply came with chattering teeth. “The Dragon Vein... Something terrible has happened.”

“What happened?”

Fish Guts didn’t answer. Or perhaps he couldn’t. Perhaps he couldn’t believe it himself. Or maybe he was simply too stunned to speak.

As they exchanged words, the sounds of battle crept ever closer. The killing had surrounded Dragon Roar Hall.

The young Emperor glanced at Fish Guts’s pale, shaken face, then stood up alone. He turned a hidden mechanism and disappeared into a secret chamber.

When he returned, he carried a blank kite, one with no inscription, no message.

He didn’t take his place back on the dragon throne. Instead, he sat quietly on the steps below it, holding the kite in his lap with an odd gentleness.

Then he looked up. His expression shifted. His eyes, once soft, now gleamed with something darker, cold and sharp like a beast sensing betrayal.

“Fish Guts,” he said suddenly. “If this really is the end, at least give me a clean one.”

His tears had long since dried. His mother was dead. The warmth he once knew had vanished, if it had ever existed at all.

“But first,” he said, “I want to know why. Why the imperial tutor, and so many of the generals, would choose to betray me.”

He closed his eyes.

Everything had happened too quickly.

His mother had been ambushed when the army left the city. She and the Marquis of Freedom had chosen death by fire.

And now, was it his turn?

This land, this empire, had he ever truly understood it? Had he ever truly seen the web of conspiracies for what they were? What was real? What was false? Had he ever seen clearly?

Just then, Fish Guts let out a sharp, harrowing scream. His hands clutched his head as he dropped to his knees, face pale as paper.

He was a soul bound to the Dragon Vein, a guardian spirit born of its power. And now that the vein was rapidly fracturing, it was tearing him apart.

The young mperor glanced down at him, but his expression remained calm and unshaken.

BOOM!

A thunderous crash erupted at the great doors of Longyin Hall.

A headless corpse burst through, smashing the doors open, its body tumbling grotesquely into the hall.

The floor outside was awash in blood. Standing just beyond the threshold was Imperial Tutor Gao, face still as refined and scholarly as ever. In one hand he held a longsword. His eyes flicked from the young Emperor sitting beneath the dragon throne to Fish Guts writhing on the ground in agony. He smiled faintly, then stepped into the hall and casually shut the doors behind him.

“So,” he said, “the Son of Heaven of the Great Zhou would rather sulk on the steps than die on the throne. How rebellious. Or perhaps I simply failed to teach you properly.”

The words made the young Emperor pause. In that instant, several questions he had meant to ask blurred into uncertain answers. Unbelievable answers. But in this world, where fiends lurked behind every smile, what was too strange to be true?

“You’re not Imperial Tutor Gao. Who are you really?” he asked quietly.

The man didn’t reply. His gaze flicked to Fish Guts, still crying out in pain. Then, with a flick of his wrist, his sword gave a clear, metallic ring as it flew through the air.

The blade howled as it streaked toward Fish Guts.

A weapon like this wouldn’t have stood a chance against the legendary assassin in his prime. But in the next breath, steel flashed and blood sprayed. Fish Guts’s head was gone.

And it didn’t stop there.

The man curled two fingers slightly. Swordlight burst into a net of blades, tearing the rest of Fish Guts’s body into minced flesh within moments.

Even if there were a way for him to return, it would take ages, if it were possible at all.

Just like that, the assassin who had once haunted the records of history was reduced to a pool of unrecognizable meat.

The blood from his remains was lifeless. It didn’t pulse, didn’t bind together to reassemble his form. It simply oozed limply onto the floor.

It was a sign. Fish Guts, the immortal assassin, might truly be gone forever.

The man, formerly known as Imperial Tutor Gao, watched the pile of flesh for a moment, cautious. Only after confirming it was no threat did he turn back to the Emperor, offering a small smile.

“Well then,” he said, “you are, after all, the last emperor of this age. A poor soul shackled to the throne.”

He sounded almost amused. Now that the tide had turned in his favor, he was in the mood to talk.

And the way he addressed himself was...curious.

“I am Xia She, the last ruler of the Xia Dynasty.” He gave a slight nod, as if humoring an old student. “The lessons I taught you, they weren't useless. That was real knowledge. The true path of kingship. Shame you’ll never get to use it.”

Ji Hu’s expression didn’t change. He simply stared at the man calmly.

This only encouraged Xia She. He spoke with a new spark of enthusiasm.

A young monarch who could keep his composure in such a moment, he was worth talking to.

“You must be wondering,” Xia She said lightly, “I was Imperial Tutor Gao, wasn't I? My history is clean, my life traceable, every part of me accounted for. So how did I suddenly become the last emperor of Xia?”

“The reason is simple,” he said, as if sharing a bedtime story. “There are real sages in this world, true saints. But they’re not what people imagine them to be. They’re not detached, aloof beings who ignore the mortal world. No...they’re just like us. They have desires. Of course,

sages...

that’s merely what we call them. They call themselves... Starkin.”

“Starkin?”

The words stirred Ji Hu’s curiosity.

Xia She nodded. “Yes. But unfortunately, there isn’t just one Starkin. There are several. And only one of them can rule this land. That one becomes the Archon Star.”

“The Archon Star blazes alone, high above the heavens, its light casting dominion over the world.”

“The rest...are the

Outerborn or Outerstars

.”

“The struggle between the Archon Star and the Outerstars,” he said, “has gone on since time immemorial.”

“So what? What does it matter if one is a Archon Star or a Outer Star?” Ji Hu asked.

Xia She pointed toward the remnants of Fish Guts.

“The Dragon Vein is like a breath of the Archon Star's power. Every soul that dies on this land is, in some way, preserved by the Dragon Vein. But even with all its strength, it can only support a handful of loyal souls to walk again. Do you know why?

Ji Hu took a deep breath and replied, “Because of the Outer Stars. Their pull drains the Dragon Vein’s power. When a tiger is beset by a pack of wolves, it doesn’t matter how strong it is, constant attrition will wear it down. The empire rises, the empire falls. Unity follows chaos, and chaos follows unity. That rhythm never ends.”

“And the Archon Star,” he added quietly, “surely takes its turns too. Today favor is granted to one ruler, tomorrow another. Today the Dragon Vein favors Zhou. But yesterday, perhaps it didn’t.”

Xia She smiled, clearly pleased. “Good. You extrapolate well.

“The Great Zhou has its own Dragon Vein. But so did my Great Xia. I was preserved by its power, and when the time came, I descended into this world, taking up residence in Imperial Tutor Gao’s body. I replaced his karma, took up his role, and stirred this storm from within.

“Between Xia and Zhou, there was Shang. In the early days, Shang still carried the torch of Xia’s World Emperor. But in the latter half, it was the Dragon Vein that upheld the Shang.”

At last, Ji Hu’s eyes widened in shock.

Xia She simply smiled.

For a brief moment, they no longer seemed like enemies. The air between them was almost peaceful, like it had been in the imperial study, with master and student exchanging questions and answers.

But that brief illusion faded quickly. The lesson was over. And the answer was plain.

The emperors of the mortal world were nothing more than puppets of the Archon Star. When the Archon Star chose to shift dynasties, the dynasty shifted. That was all.

Even Xia, so what? In the end, the Xia fell and gave way to the Shang.

And the Shang, what of it? It became the Zhou in its turn.

So the Emperor, too, was a creature of fate, a man with no say in his own path.

And when two such souls met, two men born to suffer, there would always be a few more words to share.

But now, the words were finished.

Xia She lifted his hand. Between his splayed fingers, a spirit sword rose into the air with a sharp hum, vibrating with power.

“There is no personal grudge between us,” he said. “Maybe you could’ve been a good emperor. Maybe...someday in the future, someone will summon your soul again. But I doubt it. You have no power. No wisdom. You haven’t finished growing. Still, your time is up. As your teacher, I’ll see you off.”

He raised his hand.

But Ji Hu, faced with death, felt no fear. He simply looked down at the kite in his lap. Then, softly, he asked, “Teacher...was the kite real?”

At this, Xia She’s body gave a visible jolt. He paused. And then, with solemn clarity, he answered, “Yes. It was real.”

The moment that word left his lips, Ji Hu let out a long, slow breath, as though some heavy burden had finally lifted.

Then, he smiled.

It was a radiant, unrestrained smile. Pure joy burst from deep within him, a joy that felt like it had been sealed away for far too long. It came rushing out like a long-dormant volcano finally erupting.

He closed his eyes, pressed the kite down gently, and then, with a sudden motion, grabbed the sword at his side.

He rose to his feet.

And in that instant, the weakened aura around him surged like wildfire. His presence blazed to life, fierce and unstoppable. It was as if he had been set ablaze.

“Want to die in a more heroic pose?” Xie She asked.

“I’m simply living by the path he once spoke of,” Ji Hu replied calmly.

Xia She scoffed, mocking him, “The path of striving ceaselessly?”

But Ji Hu didn’t answer again.

As Emperor, he had access to the best of everything, training, cultivation, and the royal arts passed down by loyal souls preserved in the Dragon Vein. But for the same reason, his attention was always pulled in too many directions. At this point, he was still only at the sixth rank.

Xia She burst into laughter. “And where did that get you? If striving mattered, then why are we both just puppets in the hands of those so-called sages?”

As he stepped forward, the spirit sword that had been floating beside him suddenly split into dozens of swords, circling him in a deadly orbit, gleaming like ice under the sun.

He was laughing because he no longer believed.

He shouted because once, he

had

believed.

“They say live, so you live. They say die, and you die. They want your dynasty wiped out? It’s gone. What can you

do

? What do you even

understand

? You’re just a newborn calf. That’s the only reason you’re still clinging to your naive delusions.” Xia She laughed wildly.

Ji Hu stood firm, both hands gripping his sword. Outside, the roar of war surged like waves crashing against a fragile shore. Fire and heat licked at the walls of the Dragon Roar Hall, coiling around it like a furious serpent.

But the boy Emperor’s gaze was unwavering. His voice rang out across the flames.

“I, Ji Hu, Son of Heaven of the Great Zhou, vow to protect this land, to unify its people. Even if I stand alone, I will not retreat.”

That man once told him to be self-reliant, never to yield.

Then this, to protect the rivers and mountains, to unify the realm,

this

was Ji Hu’s way of honoring those words.

To follow this path meant to hold fast, for as long as he lived.

His grip tightened. His eyes burned brighter. And though his appearance was crooked and rough...at this moment, Ji Hu radiated the aura of a true Emperor.

Xia She looked at him and sighed. “Shame no one will ever see you like this. The history books won’t record this moment.”

He shook his head with faint regret and raised his hand to strike.

“Loneliness is the fate of the lone Emperor. What does it matter if no one remembers?” Ji Hu smiled as he said it, then surged forward, sword raised, charging with the strength of a sixth-rank cultivator straight toward a fifth-rank foe.

In that instant, the final emperors of two fading dynasties collided with brutal force.

Ji Hu was sent flying, blood spraying across his torn robes. But he forced himself to his feet almost instantly. His eyes burned like those of a cornered beast, mad but defiant. His movements were wild yet instinctive like a tiger's first roar in the mountain forest.

He slapped the ground and launched forward again, blood energy wrapping around him like armor.

Fight. Fight. Fight until nothing’s left, not breath, not thought, not life.

“Fight!” The boy Emperor, battered and bleeding, roared his defiance.

From deep beneath the earth, a strange dragon’s cry suddenly echoed upward.

But that cry slowly morphed into a weary, ancient sigh.

𝗳𝚛𝚎𝚎𝘄𝕖𝕓𝕟𝕠𝚟𝚎𝕝.𝗰𝕠𝐦

As though some invisible elder, seated at the center of the world, had just placed a single piece upon the board.

Then, from the core of the land, a flood of golden light burst forth. It surged upward, thread by glowing thread, seeping into the soil, binding with the rivers and mountains, and even the lives of those who dwelled upon them.

Something vast and unfathomable was beginning.