…
Passing through the towering gates, blending into the crowd of carts and travelers, Lin Tuo left the earlier encounter behind him and began observing this world with deep interest.
It was his first time stepping into the Chi Empire's capital—everything was new to him.
Fortunately, many first-time visitors to the imperial city wore the same wide-eyed expression. And, having secured a set of local clothing before entering, he did not stand out too much.
Especially now—
With the festival at hand, outsiders flooded the capital, making him appear even less conspicuous.
…
"So this is the Chi Empire."
Walking through the streets and alleys, Lin Tuo admired the storefronts and architecture on both sides. By now, the sun had risen, and the entire city was lively.
Crowds grew on the avenues, and the conversations he overheard provided him with much useful information.
The word that appeared most frequently was "Great Festival of the Gods."
"My luck… First time entering, and I happen to run into a festival?" After piecing together its meaning, Lin Tuo was left speechless, then intrigued.
And soon, he realized—this might be the opportunity he was looking for.
Yes.
He had no intention of breaking into the imperial palace directly. He could do it if he wished, but there was no need.
Just as he had told the gate officer: his purpose here was simply to see the mortal world.
…
"Look! The imperial carriage!"
Wandering aimlessly, Lin Tuo found himself by the Peach River, which cut across Kyoto. The riverbanks bloomed with peach blossoms, and painted boats drifted lazily across the water.
Suddenly, people on the boats rushed to the railings, pointing toward the distant bridge.
The Chi Empire was relatively open in custom and culture. Even here in the capital, laws were solemn but not overly rigid. So this scene of commoners pointing at imperial processions was not unusual.
"The imperial carriage?" Lin Tuo followed their gaze. A grand procession of ornate carriages moved slowly forward, accompanied by music.
At its head was a carriage with no rider, bearing instead a tall standard—the imperial banner of the Chi Empire, emblazoned with its ancient totem, fluttering in the spring breeze.
"This is part of the Great Festival," a local explained proudly to the curious crowd. "The imperial carriage and banner tour the city before heading to the Western Garden. His Majesty and the ministers are already there. The real ceremony won't begin until the afternoon."
"The Emperor isn't in that procession?"
"How could he be?" the local scoffed. "The tour lasts for hours. If the sovereign followed it the whole way, he'd have no strength left for the rites. Besides, with so many commoners around, the risk would be too great."
"…Makes sense."
"Shame, though. I wanted to see the Emperor."
"Then wait till this afternoon at the Western Garden. But with the crowds there, you won't catch a glimpse either."
By the Peach River, discussions buzzed.
Lin Tuo stood quietly among them, then let his consciousness slip back to his body outside the Sand Table. Looking down from above, he found the location of the Western Garden.
"Yes, this grove should be it," he murmured inside the old martial hall, leaning over the Sand Table to study the west of Kyoto, where people were already gathering.
"The Great Festival… It might truly be the perfect chance."
He rose, watching the drifting clouds above the miniature landscape, lost in thought.
…
Because he had set the Sand Table's time ratio to 1:1, Lin Tuo would have to wait patiently until the afternoon to witness the ceremony.
That was fine. He used the time to observe the capital itself.
After all, a nation's capital revealed much about its spirit and its society.
In Lin Tuo's eyes, this era resembled something between the Han and Tang dynasties.
Though the Chi Empire had endured wars during its 500-year history, most were internal struggles among the royal bloodline. The dynasty's name had never changed.
The current emperor had reigned for several years, much like his ancestor—sweeping away corruption, ruling with diligence, bringing stability and reform.
Among the people, his reputation was decent. By all appearances, he was a ruler of ambition.
Lin Tuo approved.
Yet, despite his vigor, fundamental problems remained unsolvable, shackled by the inefficiency of the era's productivity. True reform was impossible—only patches and adjustments.
"Still, the will to reform is enough. If not for that, I'd have to delay my plans by decades."
Kneeling at the Peach River's edge, Lin Tuo scooped up a drifting lantern, his gaze glimmering.
…
By noon he had stepped out to eat. When his awareness returned to his avatar, the streets were even busier, streams of people all heading west.
Clearly, they were going to the Western Garden.
Some wore plain clothes, others were dusty from travel. Scattered among them were dancers in bright crimson, soft pink, or pale yellow gowns, heavily painted and striking among the throng—beautiful as peach blossoms themselves.
No, not as if.
Lin Tuo soon realized that nearly everyone—regardless of dress—carried in their hands a branch adorned with peach blossoms.
It seemed to be a ritual custom of the festival.
The fragrance filled the air as they moved.
"Blessings upon the Chi Empire!"
At one corner, a dancer—whether assigned by the court or simply acting on her own—plucked a branch from a large basket and offered it to Lin Tuo, her voice gentle.
"Thank you," Lin Tuo replied, accepting it with a faint start. In that moment, he finally felt the spirit of the festival.
After centuries, the Great Festival had evolved beyond a royal rite—it had become a celebration for the entire empire.
…
At last, the crowd surged into the Western Garden.
The grove was thick, and ahead, the imperial guards blocked the path. Beyond them rose a vast circular altar, high above the ground.
The altar was already decorated with banners. The Emperor of Chi stood below with his ministers, while attendants bustled about. The Great Festival was about to begin.
Lin Tuo, hidden among the masses, remained still. There was no need to push closer. With his dual consciousness, he could watch everything from above whenever he wished.
Dong!
Dong!
Dong!
Suddenly, drums thundered around the altar.
At once, the chattering of tens of thousands fell silent. Even the outsiders hushed.
All eyes turned to the altar.
"Silence! Revere the gods! The ceremony begins!"
The officiating priest shouted, and the ritual unfolded in strict order.
The first step, the second step…
The guards patrolled the crowd to prevent disturbance.
Lin Tuo watched with mild interest at first, but soon his attention wandered.
By now, he understood the entire sequence.
When the preliminary rites ended, the Emperor would ascend the altar, recount the empire's deeds of the past year, then pray and request divine will.
In truth, the latter was empty theater—the priests reciting scripted "heavenly decrees." No one had ever seen a god. Whatever was proclaimed as divine words was nothing but fabrication.
Upon learning this, Lin Tuo formed a plan.
He lifted his gaze skyward.
The day was bright and cloudless, only a few wisps drifting lazily. The blazing sun beat down, making the crowd swelter, and the Emperor and ministers suffered most under their heavy robes.
"They must be sweating in those layers," a man nearby muttered.
Lin Tuo chuckled softly and said under his breath, "I think it might be cloudy soon."
"Impossible…" the man replied, skeptical.
Lin Tuo offered no explanation—just waited.
Half an hour later, music rose.
Upon the altar, a figure in yellow robes stepped forth—the Emperor himself.
"The Emperor!"
"That's His Majesty!"
"He's here, he's here!"
Excited voices rippled through the crowd, though guards quickly restored order.
All eyes fixed on the sovereign standing above.
No one noticed the young man among them whose gaze suddenly went blank, whose expression froze like a puppet.
…
Back in the old martial hall, Lin Tuo awoke abruptly from his chair. He stood, looking down at the Sand Table, at the Western Garden. A smile tugged at his lips.
"At last. You've kept me waiting."
Murmuring, he bent forward, spreading his arms into the Sand Table. High above, he grasped the very sky.
Slowly, he drew his hands together.
At once, the scattered clouds across the empire were forced together, pulled inexorably toward Kyoto!
And then, leaning his head just beneath the cloud layer, he coughed.
A single, deliberate cough.
…
Meanwhile, at the Western Garden altar—
The Emperor of Chi, drenched in sweat, stood before several great bronze cauldrons.
From the largest rose a tall pole bearing the imperial totem. Across its yellow surface, inscriptions covered every inch—the prayer written earlier by the chief minister.
Its message was simple:
A plea for divine guidance and peace for the realm.
Not that anyone truly expected a god to answer. It was only tradition.
When the Emperor finished reading the words, a minister cast an object into the cauldron. Flames roared up, consuming the totem.
This was the heart of the ceremony: burning the offering so that "heaven" might respond.
Everyone watched calmly.
No one expected anything unusual.
The ritual had been repeated countless times.
And yet—
On this day, in this moment—
As the fire blazed and thousands of citizens stared silently—
The scorching sun vanished.
…
In the crowd—
The skeptical local blinked in shock, staring at the sky that had been clear just a heartbeat before.
His face froze, then he cried out in disbelief:
"The sky… it's really clouded over!!!"
(End of Chapter)