Author: Priest

Translators: Golden Pavilion, SassyStrawberry, Yog

Editor: Val

 

Prologue—The Crimson Abyss

 

Late Autumn. Year 21 of the Qizheng era. The Great Qi Empire.

 

A cavalry galloped down the road, both men and horses worn from travel. Suddenly, the young man at the head of the group shouted, “We’ve arrived at the boundary stele!”

 

Not far ahead stood a stone monument greater than a man in height, etched with vivid crimson calligraphy. The imposing sign read: Here lies the Crimson Abyss, beyond which the living shall not pass, lest ye perish. Beside it, a middle-aged general and a line of soldiers stood waiting. Armour clanging, the guards knelt in unison.

 

“Greetings to Your Royal Highness, the Crown Prince.”

 

The young soldier leading the cavalry leapt down from his steed before it could come to a halt, causing him to stumble. The welcoming general rushed to help him. “Are you all right, Your Highness?”

 

“I’m fine.” The young man waved his hand and asked, “Where is my un… Imperial Father?”

 

He’d barely finished speaking when he heard his pet name called from a short distance away. “Tong’er, this way.”

 

The young heir turned to find a lone black-clad man, his back to the soldiers, standing past the boundary stele that promised death to all trespassers. The prince glanced at the crimson letters carved into the stele and, without hesitation, crossed into where even gods feared to tread. He knelt before the man.

 

“Your Maj—”

 

The man extended a hand to dismiss the gesture. “Rise.”

 

His words and actions were steady and unhurried, demonstrating great poise. Though he appeared aged from behind, his face was surprisingly untouched by time, presenting an unsettling contrast. His eyebrows were as sharp and decisive as blades, yet the crescents of his eyes dipped downward at the corners, implying a touch of gentleness. Looking at his handsome face alone, it was hard to believe that this man was Sheng Xiao, Emperor Wu of Great Qi, sovereign for twenty-one years.

 

The prince rose and called out softly, “Uncle.”

 

The emperor had no children of his own; his heir was the orphan he had adopted after his late brother’s passing. Because Sheng Xiao was cold and distant by nature, the prince referred to him as “Imperial Father” in public for the sake of decorum. But privately, the two still called each other nephew and uncle.

 

“Would it scare you to walk on this side of the stele with me?” Sheng Xiao asked.

 

“Of course not, Uncle! As a young man, you restored the land to its former glory by bringing peace to the Abyss, suppressing the evil yao race, and slaying millions of ghost soldiers. I cannot hope to compare myself to your existence, but I dare even less to speak of fear, lest it tarnish your reputation.”

 

“Reputation? Do you mean my infamy?” Sheng Xiao chuckled nonchalantly and walked forth. “Do you hear it?”

 

The prince listened intently, but only the wind made itself known. “I don’t hear a thing.”

The emperor smiled. “Precisely. Nothing remains.”

 

The prince took a moment to recall the legends he had heard as a child. It was said that millions of vengeful souls had been sealed in the fires of the Abyss, their resentment so strong that a fiery gale blew incessantly through the canyon. That standing before the boundary stele, one could hear agonising wails from the other side. Yet now that he walked safely within the boundary, with only stifling silence and scorching heat for company, he came to a single conclusion: Folklore and legends are indeed filled with rumours and exaggerations.

 

They had barely advanced two hundred steps past the boundary when they were met with a wave of scalding air. It was late autumn, and though the prince wore only a thinly lined robe, it had been soaked through. Beads of sweat trickled down his forehead. Stealing a glance at his uncle, he ultimately resisted the urge to wipe them away.

 

Emperor Wu had a bad reputation. Stories of how he was a temperamental madman, born from a pool of his father’s and brothers’ blood, circulated among the folk performers of the land. They claimed that he’d killed his mother and teacher, burnt books, and limited public rhetoric. That he favoured sycophants, exploited his army to wage reckless wars, and even slaughtered his loyal subjects. But to the young prince, this man was his only family. Rain or shine, his uncle was always gentle and calm, never speaking harshly or appearing unkempt. The prince had looked up to him his whole life. Even now, as an eighteen-year-old with the strength to draw the heaviest bow and the knowledge and poise to govern a state, he found himself looking to his uncle, chasing his back as he had always done.

 

When the two had advanced a mile past the boundary, Sheng Xiao stopped. The smell of sulphur began to fill their noses, and the prince found himself short of breath.

 

“Let us stop here this year. You will be burned if we go any further.”

 

The prince was perplexed. “This year?”

“Yes. This year.” Sheng Xiao turned around and drew his nephew’s sword. A protective ward was engraved into the metal, and the symbols glowed red as the scalding winds of the Abyss swept along the blade’s length. He stabbed the sword into the ground. “This is the first and most important task I have for you. I’ve spent my whole life tackling the Abyss, and I’m finally seeing results. By my estimate, this sword can advance five miles each year. In less than a decade, the Austral Flames will be extinguished completely. Once the sword reaches the edge, and the canyon is windless, you may station someone from the Bureau of Peace here.”

 

The prince was stunned by these words. A sinking feeling filled his heart. “Unc… Imperial Father, wha…”

 

“My Prince,” Sheng Xiao said impassively, “Zhen hereby pass unto thee the Throne of Great Qi.”

 

The prince fell to his knees. Twice this year, Emperor Wu had left the capital to inspect the empire and suppress dissent across the realm, allowing the prince to oversee the state’s affairs. The emperor had gradually relinquished control of internal governance, carefully paving the way for the incoming ruler. The young heir had been preparing himself for this day as these changes unfolded, but no amount of preparation could have allowed him to accept this reality so easily.

 

“I’ve taught you everything that needed to be taught,” Sheng Xiao went on, barely sparing him a glance. “As for the rest… Zhang Bo and Kong Yu will both make fine subjects. Zhao Kuan is still imprisoned under false charges. Release him and offer compensation to his clan. He will devote his entire being to serving you. A son does not speak of his father’s faults, so when you find it troubling to speak ill of me in the future, push Yang Dong out as a sycophant who will bring calamity to the country. That man is no paragon of virtue, and he’s been eating his mind dull and his gut full for years. Consider him my gift to you.”

 

The prince crumpled over, pressing his forehead to the ground. “Imperial Father, you are at the peak of your reign.”

 

Sheng Xiao looked amused by his nephew’s reaction. “What, do you expect me to work until I’m old and frail—or in a coffin? I’ve been toiling for the empire for decades. Have pity on me, won’t you? Zhang Bo and Feng Chun both possess a copy of the edict. Feng was a close friend of your father’s when he was alive, so don’t worry. He will look after you.”

 

The young man’s eyes reddened.

 

Sheng Xiao looked towards the Abyss, his hands clasped behind his back. “Do you remember how your birth parents met their end?”

 

“This dutiful son dares not forget for even a day.”

 

“Good.” Sheng Xiao nodded approvingly. “You’ve grown up. You know the path that you must walk. Now go; the Austral Flames will one day be extinguished, but the heat still remains. Staying any longer will harm you.”

 

“Then, what about…”

 

“I shall stay for a few days more.” Sheng Xiao waved his hand and did not elaborate. “A country cannot be without a ruler. There is much to do in the capital, so hasten back.”

The prince knew that the emperor’s words were final, and he dared not disobey. Reluctantly, he turned and left. When he reached the boundary stele, he couldn’t help but look back at the man once more. His uncle was seated on the ground in front of the sword. The unspoken farewell weighed heavily like a stone in the prince’s heart. He shook his head but found himself growing dizzy from the heat. Kneeling before the stele, he prostrated himself to the black-robed man before rushing back to the capital overnight, speeding down the road towards his destiny.

 

After sending the prince away, Sheng Xiao ordered the imperial guards to await orders at their posts, leaving behind a single personal bodyguard.

 

As night descended, the lone guard approached Sheng Xiao. After making sure they were alone, he knelt and hunched over. His armour fell away, and his clothes crumpled to the ground. A chick no bigger than a palm wriggled out from under the pile and perched next to Sheng Xiao.

 

“Oh, that’s right…” Sheng Xiao scratched its neck and pulled out a fine golden thread from between its feathers. “Almost forgot about you.”

 

Complex inscriptions flowed over the golden thread, which appeared as if it were part of the bird’s neck. Sheng Xiao lightly pinched the thread, and it shattered at his fingertips. Immediately, the chick grew to more than ten times its original size. It swiftly unfolded its wings and raised its head, letting out a cry that stirred the stars in the southern sky—it turned out to be a young firebird known as a bifang.

 

Sheng Xiao stood up. “You no longer have to watch over me or serve me. From now on, we are both free.”

 

The bifang took a hesitant step forward and tugged timidly at his robe. When the man met the bird’s gaze, it flinched and meekly let go.

 

Sheng Xiao removed his diadem and placed it askew on the bird’s head. Then he discarded his seal, thumb ring, jade pendants, and other accessories. Finally, he unfastened his necklace—a jade pendant shaped like a man. He gave it one last glance before casually tossing it aside.

The pendant was clearly important. The bifang leapt after it in panic, carefully catching it in its beak. By the time it turned around, the man had begun walking towards the Abyss, his hair loose and dishevelled. The firebird chirped anxiously. Forgetting the pendant, it flapped its wings to give chase.

 

The Abyss spanned a thousand miles, and violently hot magma flowed within. When the bifang was two hundred steps from the cliff, its wings suddenly erupted into black flames. It screeched and tumbled to the ground. Having nearly become roast poultry, it knew it could go no further.

 

Sheng Xiao, however, had reached the cliff’s edge, his robes and boots scorched by the heat. It was here that his stoic mask finally cracked, revealing madness and elation.

 

It was better to be mortal. A mortal life lasted for but a moment. Bitterness or joy, both spanned a few fleeting decades. The pain a mortal shell experienced was always limited. Often, one would be released from torment before even feeling it. As for Sheng Xiao… Well, he might have to suffer a little.

 

The bird released a screeching cry as Sheng Xiao threw himself into the sea of flames. Searing heat consumed him. Everything it touched immediately burned black. His hair disintegrated, his flesh peeling off layer by layer. Blood vessels burst through charred muscle. His blood boiled, and every last meridian was severed. He coughed up a mouthful of ash that might have been his heart or his lungs. Then, his body crashed into the hard crust above the molten rock. His body proved far sturdier; despite having fallen from a lofty height, it didn’t shatter against the surface. His spine snapped in half and pierced through the igneous shell, sending flames high into the sky like a war banner. Magma hot enough to melt gold and crack jade swallowed him whole.

 

Even then, he still wasn’t dead.

 

If one could experience the sensation of having their bones pulverised to dust and scattered to the winds, then every memory and experience that had been so profoundly etched into their existence be rendered to nothing more than dust on stone. The narrative of Sheng Xiao’s life, encompassing all of its ups and downs, its joys and sorrows, become one with his melting consciousness in that great fire.

 

Incessant laughter echoed through the Crimson Abyss that day. It persisted until the stubborn remnants that would not be reduced to ash gradually sank, returning the disturbed magma to stillness.

 

 

 

Sheng Xiao, Emperor Wu of Great Qi.

 

Following the death of King Ping in the Crimson Abyss at the hands of the yao, his youngest son, Sheng Xiao, succeeded the throne. Rising from a tumultuous time, he slew the King of the Yao beneath the walls of Yong’an at the age of three-and-twenty and proclaimed it the start of the Qizheng era. He restored the empire and pacified the borders, a deed that rivalled those of the Five Great Emperors, but with cruelty and bloodlust, he corrupted both principle and virtue. He ruled for one-and-twenty years before taking his own life in the Austral Fires of the Abyss, leaving no remains. A decade after the ascension of Emperor Wen, the fires subsided, and peace came upon the Abyss. Emperor Wen withdrew the boundary stele and erected a mausoleum in the name of Emperor Wu.

 

 

 

The blue sea turned into mulberry fields; over a thousand autumns, a vast forest grew on the ashes of the fire. The primaeval forest of the Crimson Canyon became a top-ranked tourist attraction of national interest.

 

 

 

Deep within the earth, a tremor emerged, followed by indistinct, unsettling mutterings. The noises grew louder and louder, enshrouded in an unfamiliar ritual. Like sharp needles, they pierced into “his” chaotic consciousness.

 

What… is that noise? Who dares to cause a commotion?

 

 

 

“I will sacrifice everything…”

 

“With my body… as a medium…”

 

“May the gods above and the demons below…”

 

“Demon…”

 

 

 

The sudden clamour left him bewildered.

 

Before he could gather his bearings, he was bombarded by stimuli. Senses that had been dormant for millennia abruptly awoke and greedily extended their tendrils outward, taking in every vibrant detail. The noisy world outside crashed into him, boring into his consciousness—the texture of the soil and its musky smell, the sound of the wind and rustling leaves, footsteps, voices…

 

“Who dares disturb my slumber?” The loss of control roused his fury. Ominous black clouds emerged from the depths of his mind, manifesting as sharp claws, and lashed out at the voice that had so audaciously disturbed him. “Insolent fool!”

 

But amid the chaos in his mind, his newly awakened senses detected a presence—faint, but somehow familiar. The storm immediately subsided, and his heart, which had lain still for millennia, trembled.

 

What… was that?

 

His hostility dissipated, but before he could catch hold of that familiar presence, it was gone.

 

Wait, no… Don’t go.

 

He couldn’t remember who he was or where he found himself, but he had an undeniable urge to latch onto that wisp. The noise around him fell away to that one desire. He began to struggle. Desperately.

 

Suddenly, his consciousness shook, and he could sense his body once more. Then he heard a crack. Feeling wind blow past his face, he opened his eyes. Tears welled up as long-absent sunshine dazzled him. He found himself lying in the debris of a coffin, a cluster of delicate, fiery-red fluff (he wouldn’t even consider it feathers) nestled in his arms. It was completely dried up after being buried underground for who-knows-how-long, preserved from decay by a weak trace of spiritual energy from an unknown source. At his touch, the small tufts disintegrated into dust, scattering in the wind.

 

He curled his fingers and gazed down at his empty palm. After a long while, he looked up, squinting at the dusty air.

 

The mortal realm… Have I been brought back to life?