…
His exclamation was loud, yet at this moment, no one paid him any heed.
Almost every gaze tilted upward, staring at the sky that had darkened so suddenly. In the pupils of countless imperial citizens was reflected the sight of storm clouds rolling in from every direction, converging above Kyoto.
A moment ago, it had been cloudless and clear.
In the blink of an eye, the heavens were blanketed in darkness.
How could such a scene not shock, not terrify?
"Rumble!!"
Just as the cries of alarm rang out, a sound—like a great peal drawn from the vault of the stars—descended without warning.
The sound was heavy, majestic.
In that instant, it rolled across three hundred thousand square kilometers of land.
Not only Kyoto, but the empire's entire territory—countless prefectures and counties, millions of subjects—all were shaken by the strange thunder.
One after another, people lifted their heads, their expressions a mix of awe and confusion.
In certain regions, some even witnessed the bizarre sight of clouds from their skies rushing toward the heart of the empire.
"What's happening?"
"The storm clouds… they're drifting away!"
Confusion abounded, yet none could give an answer.
In Kyoto—the source of the thunder—the sense of awe was even clearer.
Only a fraction of the population had gone to the Western Garden to witness the grand ceremony.
Most were simply carrying on with their lives.
But now, the vast city fell still.
On the streets, passersby halted in their tracks. From inns and homes, countless faces peered out, all eyes drawn upward.
By the banks of the Peach River, a dancer in festive dress clutched her empty flower basket. Lifting her face to the sky, she stared at the suddenly darkened firmament and the boiling mass of clouds, terror filling her eyes.
"Plip."
Suddenly, a drop moistened her brow. Startled, she touched it with her fingers and whispered, "Rain…?"
…
There had been no forecast of rain for Kyoto this day.
But clouds gathered in mass become rain.
Dragged together by Lin Tuo's will, the drifting clouds pressed heavy and black over the city, swelling with water vapor. Soon, raindrops began to fall, dappling the Peach River with endless ripples.
…
"Looks like I overdid it."
In the old training hall of Lishan, Lin Tuo stood over the Evolution Sand Table, watching the mass of dark clouds, the flicker of lightning within, and the unsettled city below.
"Better not make it a downpour, or I'll end up scattering the emperor and his court."
With that thought, he quickly withdrew his arms, waving away a portion of the cloud mass, dissipating the threat of a storm.
Then, he turned his focus once more to the Western Garden.
…
In the Western Garden, though Lin Tuo had dispersed the heavier rains, the sky was still thick with storm clouds.
Bolts of lightning cracked across the heavens, thunder rolled in succession.
A fine drizzle fell upon the garden, stirred by fierce winds that sent banners flapping and trees bending.
All was silent. None dared speak, the air still reverberating with divine might.
"Look! The flag is out!"
The silence broke with a horrified shout.
All eyes turned to the altar, where the bronze cauldron's flag had curled in the rain. The ritual flames, once blazing, sputtered and then died out.
Smoke curled weakly into the air.
Silence.
Oppression.
The extinguished fire in the ritual cauldron, coupled with the sudden shift in the heavens—everything spoke of ominous portent.
"Could it be… the gods are angered?"
The thought blossomed in every heart, draining faces of color.
"Spare us, O Heaven!"
Suddenly, one of the officiating priests broke down, his cry trembling as he fell to his knees.
The spell broke—officials and commoners alike, tens of thousands, collapsed in waves of prostration.
Even the emperor himself knelt.
To them, this was no accident. The only explanation was divine wrath.
Yet unlike his quivering officials, the young emperor lifted his head amidst the storm, his eyes fearful yet resolute:
"If we have offended the gods, let Heaven declare our fault!"
He could not comprehend.
Since ascending the throne, he had not been perfect, but he had been diligent—mending corruption, restoring order, striving to revive the empire's vigor.
Why then would the heavens descend in anger?
His voice was not loud, nearly lost in the wind and rain. Even if Lin Tuo wished to hear, he could not.
But Lin Tuo, as the "god," had no need of mortal ears.
…
In the training hall, Lin Tuo did not even glance at the altar. Instead, he lowered his gaze to the cloud mass, and after a moment of silence, picked up the brush he had prepared.
Dipping it in ink, he spread out his palm and carefully wrote a few characters.
They were the words of the Daichi Empire.
The "Tongue of Understanding" had not only granted him fluency in this realm's speech but also mastery of its script.
His handwriting was not flawless, but it was neat—thanks to the relentless drills forced upon him by his grandfather in childhood.
Blowing gently to dry the ink, Lin Tuo murmured:
"My body may be invisible in the Sand Table, but the words on my hand should manifest."
With that, he pressed his palm toward the blackened heavens over Kyoto.
…
At the altar, the drizzle dampened robes and banners alike.
Yet the emperor, his dragon robe clinging wet, still held his head high, staring steadfastly at the sky.
Even lightning itself could not bend his will.
He sought only to know why.
"Your Majesty…"
An old minister at last broke the silence, his voice trembling.
But his words were drowned by a sudden uproar.
"Ah! Look!"
"What is that?!"
"The god manifests! The divine manifests!"
The cries rippled through the garden like wildfire.
"What…?"
The officials lifted their heads—and what they saw silenced all thought.
The storm clouds churned violently, as though boiling.
From within, shafts of golden light split the heavens, illuminating the earth.
The light was not blinding but traced out an immense and uncanny shape.
And within that shape… four colossal characters, spanning heaven and earth.
…
By the Peach River, the golden rays spilled across the banks, sending petals of peach blossoms swirling into the sky.
But none admired the scene.
Every eye was fixed upon the heavens, upon those massive characters that seemed written by an immortal hand.
Many collapsed where they stood, bowing low.
"What… what does it say?" asked those who could not read, their voices trembling.
One man, pale with shock, answered haltingly:
"'A Saint… shall rise… in the Southeast!'"
Kyoto erupted.
…
In the Western Garden, when the characters blazed across the heavens, the chief minister read them aloud, his voice shaking, his beard whipping in the storm:
"A Saint shall rise in the Southeast!"
The high priest cried the words next, his voice cracking with ecstasy.
Another minister shouted them again, his face alight with zeal:
"Your Majesty! This is no wrath! It is revelation—the gods have granted us their decree!"
At the altar's center, the emperor trembled as he stared at the radiant words. His heart thundered. Then clarity struck—
Yes.
The entire rite was meant to seek divine guidance.
And now guidance had come.
"'A Saint shall rise in the Southeast'… a holy one… Heaven decrees that a sage shall be born in my empire?"
His voice shook.
A saint!
Ancient lore declared:
When calamity strikes, a saint shall emerge.
When prosperity peaks, a saint shall emerge.
The empire had known peace for a century. Could this decree signal the dawn of a golden age?
The emperor could no longer contain himself. He leapt to his feet, his eyes blazing toward the southeast.
"Divine decree! Heaven blesses Daichi! Imperial Guard, prepare the carriage—by my command, we ride southeast to seek the saint!"
"Yes, Your Majesty!"
Banners whipped in the storm, steel glinted like a forest.
None noticed that, among the sea of kneeling subjects below the altar, a young man with a faint smile had vanished.
…
Log of Events:
Spring, Year 561 of the Daichi Dynasty: At the Grand Sacrifice, the divine manifests. Storms scatter blossoms across the city.
The next day, the emperor proclaims the decree. The realm is shaken.
(End of Chapter)