Volume Three: Blossoming Together Difficult to Support Alone Chapter Eighteen: The Sanctuary

Yuan Ji and Lang Xian led the Spirit Helm Army, approaching the Zhu Yuan clanspeople who held trays of wine and delicacies. With tears in their eyes, they accepted the offerings and devoured the food ravenously. Old Huang, too, watched them eat in silence, his eyes moist with emotion, smiling as they enjoyed the most sumptuous meal they’d had in many days. Once everyone had rested, Old Huang called Yuan Ji and Lang Xian over. “Gentlemen, was the food to your liking?”

Yuan Ji wiped his mouth and replied, “Yes, yes, it was excellent. This is the best meal we’ve had in months. I’ve always heard the Zhu Yuan are not only masters of poetry and music, but also of the culinary arts—today we’ve truly had the good fortune to taste it. But now that we’ve eaten our fill, might the elder lead us to our business?”

Old Huang stroked his beard and nodded. “I understand your eagerness, but please see that your soldiers are settled before we depart.” He waved his hand, and a middle-aged woman stepped forward, bowed respectfully, and said, “General Huang, I have arranged for those needing lodging as you instructed. All matters are in order.”

Old Huang nodded and addressed Yuan Ji and Lang Xian. “Accommodations have been arranged for everyone. The homes are humble, I hope you won’t mind.”

At this, Yuan Ji quickly waved his hands, “We already feel bad enough eating your food; we can’t impose further upon the villagers.”

Lang Xian added, “That’s right. Your kindness is deeply remembered by the Spirit Helm Army, but we are soldiers, accustomed to sleeping under the sky. The square seems spacious—perhaps we might set up camp there, just for the night?”

Seeing their determination, Old Huang did not press further. “Very well, set up your camp here. If you need anything, speak to Aunt Jiu.” The woman called Aunt Jiu, whose weathered face bore the marks of forty years, bowed deeply to Yuan Ji and Lang Xian. “At your service,” she said.

The Spirit Helm Army was an elite force, handpicked from the most prominent families of Zhu Yuan, and before their own clanspeople, they were eager to show their best. At Yuan Ji’s command to make camp, the square sprang to life; within an hour, a tidy, well-ordered camp stood where there had been none. The onlookers marveled at the soldiers’ speed.

But enough of idle talk. Old Huang, accompanied by his grandson, led Yuan Ji and Lang Xian to inspect the secret passage first. They passed through layers of forest and came to the foot of a low mountain south of the town. In a thicket bristling with thorns, the four stopped. Yuan Ji glanced around, suspicious. “General Huang, are we there?”

Old Huang nodded. Yuan Ji looked again. “But there’s nothing here—just thorns and weeds, mostly trees.”

Lang Xian surveyed the area as well, nodding. “For a secret exit, this is certainly well concealed.”

Old Huang gestured to his grandson, Huang Yu, who nodded, then leapt into the wild grass and vanished from sight. Yuan Ji and Lang Xian started in alarm, rushing forward. They saw Huang Yu working in the tall grass, clearing away camouflaged thorns and earth. Anxious, Yuan Ji jumped in to help.

After about the time it takes half a stick of incense to burn, a large door buried in the ground appeared before them. Yuan Ji and Huang Yu exchanged a smile, then each took a side and heaved the door open. Below, a stairway wide enough for three to walk abreast was revealed. Lang Xian helped Old Huang over the tangled grass to the entrance. Yuan Ji made to jump in, but Huang Yu grabbed his arm. “Wait, General Yuan. This passage has been sealed for a year—the air inside is foul. We must let the currents mingle before we go in.”

Yuan Ji asked, “What would happen if I’d been rash and jumped in just now?”

Lang Xian snorted, “You’d soon feel dizzy and short of breath, collapse, and die.”

Yuan Ji shrank back, startled. “Good thing Brother Huang stopped me, or I’d have been in trouble! How long before we can go in?”

Huang Yu pressed a finger to his lips, bidding silence. He listened at the entrance, then moistened a finger and tested the air. After a while, he turned. “It’s ready. The air is moving—we can go.”

With that, Huang Yu slipped down the steps. Yuan Ji followed, and Lang Xian, supporting Old Huang, came last.

After about ten steps, the passage grew dim. Huang Yu took a tinderbox from his belt, struck it, and a small flame lit the space ahead. Another ten steps down, they reached a stone floor. By the faint light, Huang Yu felt along the wall, found a torch, and lit it with the tinder. Suddenly the space blazed with light. Huang Yu, torch in hand, found Lang Xian and Old Huang. He said proudly, “Grandfather, today I found the torch with only the tinder. Next time, I’ll be able to do it with my eyes closed!”

Old Huang laughed and praised him. “My Yu’er, you are the best. This year, you’ll lead the team to collect the stones.”

Huang Yu beamed. “Is that a promise, Grandfather?”

Old Huang nodded solemnly. “It’s true. Not a word of it is false.”

Huang Yu laughed in delight. “Since Father passed, you’ve had to take charge again. But now I’m grown, I can share your burdens.”

Old Huang patted his shoulder. “Good boy, lead the way.”

Huang Yu cheerfully took the torch and went ahead. The others followed, examining the passage in the torch’s orange glow. The floor was paved with solid blue stone, the walls built from blue bricks, each fitted tightly. Lang Xian tapped the wall and heard a muffled echo, realizing how sturdy it was—perhaps made waterproof outside to ward off the southern floods. Clearly, the ancestors of Zhu Yuan had spent great effort and wealth building this sanctuary and passage.

Yuan Ji sighed. “Our ancestors spent so much building the great Zhu Yuan Sanctuary, only for it to be buried underground, never seeing the sunlight. What a pity.”

Lang Xian echoed his sigh. “In poetry and architecture, the Zhu Yuan clan leads all the Void. But our kings cared only for song and verse, and the people for pleasure; our defenses weakened, and the allied armies found their chance.”

Old Huang nodded. “But we cannot blame our ancestors! The sacred bird Zhu Yuan is by nature peace-loving, or it would not hide year-round in the southern wilds. Unlike the dragons and pythons, who delight in strife—over every trifle they fight to the death.”

After a while, Lang Xian asked, “General Huang, was there some misfortune with your son? I heard Huang Yu say his father passed, and was deeply saddened.”

Old Huang’s face grew somber. “It began fifteen years ago, at the annual Stone Festival—what we call the day the sacred stones appear. That year, as always, at midnight on the festival, Huang Yu’s father led the men through the secret passage to fetch the stones. In previous years, the stones would already be in the sanctuary upon arrival, needing only to be loaded.

“But fifteen years ago, when all arrived in the main hall, there were no stones. Everyone panicked, thinking Heaven had withdrawn its favor, and knelt to beg forgiveness before the great white stone at the hall’s center. But Yu’s father kept his composure. On the opposite side of the hall, where the stones usually appeared, he found a sphere, silvery as mercury—first the size of a fist, then growing to the size of a man.

“He called others to investigate, but they shrank back in fear. Only my son dared approach. He first put his hand in—it felt normal—then, emboldened, he put his head inside. He was gone for half a stick of incense. Everyone thought something had happened, and called his name. He turned and said, ‘Do not fear. I have seen a paradise.’ Then he stepped inside. The others rushed to stop him, but he vanished without a trace. No one dared follow. Soon, stones of all kinds began to fly out from the sphere. After another half stick of incense, the sphere shrank and disappeared.”