Chapter Thirty-Three: Sit Down!

“Is it this time?” Zhou Tian felt a vague premonition stirring within him.

“That’s right. Three years ago, word spread from the Fools that the ‘Mandate of Heaven’ from the Ninth Province is about to emerge!”

“The major powers of the Eight Provinces don’t actually have much need for the Mandate at this time, but they don’t want to stand by and watch someone else claim it either. So, they’ve decided to set the Mandate of Heaven as the ultimate prize for this event!”

“No matter how you fare in the earlier stages, whoever wins the Mandate of Heaven this time shall be first— the Mandate itself is the reward,” Zhou Zui explained slowly. It had shocked him too when their father first told him.

“What a grand gesture!” Zhou Tian was silent for a long time before sighing. Then, after a moment’s thought, he added, “Isn’t this all prepared for me?”

“Pfft…” Zhou Zui spat out his fish, staring at Zhou Tian in disbelief.

“Brother, you’re just a mor— well, maybe not exactly…” Zhou Zui had intended to mock him, but recalling how Zhou Tian had come back to life twice right in front of him recently, he swallowed the word “mortal.”

Just then, a resonant bell rang out, echoing through the void, passing through many sound-proofing formations and ringing in their ears.

Zhou Zui and Zhou Tian exchanged glances and said at the same time, “The Heaven-Stabilizing Bell!”

The Heaven-Stabilizing Bell was a royal artifact, only rung for momentous occasions. Its toll signaled the banquet was about to commence.

“All right, the banquet’s about to start. Time to go home and change,” Zhou Tian said, rising. He turned to Zhou Zui, adding, “Sit.”

“???”

Zhou Zui was utterly confused. What on earth?

Zhou Tian repeated, “Sit.”

“What do you mean?” Zhou Zui was at a loss. Sit? Sit here? Why? On what grounds?

Zhou Tian sighed and said once more, “Sit.”

A mysterious force descended, though Zhou Zui remained completely unaware, his face blank.

A smile played on Zhou Tian’s lips as he took Tianling’s hand and walked out. Little trickster… You thought I wouldn’t catch your sarcasm just because you swallowed the word “mortal”?

As they left, Tianling looked up at Zhou Tian with a puzzled, innocent expression. “Zhou Tian, why did you tell him to sit three times in a row?”

“Because… Important things must be said three times,” Zhou Tian replied with a chuckle, though Tianling clearly didn’t understand.

Inside the room, Zhou Zui finally recovered, shaking his head with a wry smile. He thought his friend was getting more eccentric by the day. Sit?

“Hm…?” Zhou Zui tried to stand up, but couldn’t. A flicker of confusion crossed his face.

A faint iridescent glow shimmered around his body. He tried again—still couldn’t rise. It felt as if some force pinned him in place.

Zhou Zui’s brow furrowed deeply. What was happening here?

“Heh!” With a low shout, energy surged through him. Runes flashed, blood roared, and a scroll-like phantom appeared behind him—his Dharma form. Chanting echoed, ink-wash air appeared, a hundred sages blessed him, the void trembled with power…

The visual spectacle was impressive, but he still didn’t rise.

The Dharma form faded away. Zhou Zui gave a bitter laugh.

“My dear brother, you truly grow more unfathomable by the day.”

He understood now—his predicament was Zhou Tian’s doing.

“To seal a Dharma Form cultivator in place with just three words… If you were a mere mortal, what would I do with you?”

Zhou Zui wasn’t worried Zhou Tian might harm him. If Zhou Tian had intended ill, he wouldn’t have said “sit”—he’d have said “die.”

Indeed, Zhou Tian had just used his newly acquired skill, “Holy Word,” to lock Zhou Zui in place. After two failed attempts, he had to expend one of his resurrection charges to succeed—not that he needed them.

As for how long it would last, that was as uncertain as the spell’s success rate. It was left to fate.

Leaving the Dancing Heaven Pavilion, Zhou Tian climbed into a carriage and headed straight for the Prince of Qin’s manor.

Back at the manor, he changed into formal attire: a white robe embroidered with golden dragons, his hair bound in a purple-gold crown, boots with cloud patterns that seemed to step on the sky, and a belt adorned with a python and a dragon. Only after dressing did Zhou Tian realize just how striking he could look.

Tianling too changed into a ceremonial gown—a long purple dress patterned with phoenixes, her flowing hair tied back to reveal a delicate collarbone. Even without makeup, she was a peerless beauty.

The maids of the Prince of Qin’s manor had been well trained. The two of them, dressed impeccably, looked every bit a golden boy and jade girl.

A look of astonished admiration crossed Zhou Tian’s face. He exaggerated his praise:

“Which celestial maiden has descended to earth?”

“Oh, it’s nothing…” Tianling replied shyly, though she couldn’t hide her smile.

Ready at last, they boarded the carriage again—this time, not to the palace, but to the city gates.

The banquet was to be held in the evening; for now, they were to welcome back the warriors returning from the front.

The main gate was under strict guard. The city walls of the Celestial Qin Imperial Capital soared nearly ten thousand feet high, forming a natural barrier. Built from gray stone blocks, they were stained with blood, the roars of beast souls echoing along their mass—grim and imposing.

Beneath the wall was a transmission array, allowing direct teleportation to the gate tower. A few golden-armored guards—members of the Imperial Guard—stood watch. Zhou Tian and Tianling showed their credentials and were transported to the gate tower.

The wall was a hundred yards wide, vast and imposing. Every so often, a military tent was pitched for the wall’s defenders. The gate tower itself was magnificent—several massive pillars reached for the heavens, not ordinary stone but stained with golden blood that, though countless years had passed, had never dried.

A crowd had already gathered below. At the forefront stood the Emperor of Qin, robed in imperial splendor, his aura blazing like the midday sun. Behind him were the highest ministers of state: his father, the Prince of Qin; the Carefree King; Prime Minister Liu; the Censor-in-Chief; the National Preceptor; several generals—all pillars of the court. Zhou Tian recognized only a few; most were strangers to him.

“Your humble servant greets Your Majesty!” Zhou Tian bowed with Ling’er before the Emperor, as his father had warned him—if he didn’t want the censors to tear him apart, he had best mind his manners in public.

“Rise,” the Emperor replied with a wave.

Zhou Tian and Tianling stepped aside to where the younger generation stood together, apart from the ministers. Here were Zhou Xunchuan, Liu Yan, Gu Feng, Li Xuanyi, and a few unfamiliar faces. When Zhou Tian arrived, Zhou Xunchuan greeted him with a smile.

“The Prince of Qin’s heir has finally come—kept us waiting,” he jested.

The others nodded politely; no one looked down on him for being a mere mortal—at least, not openly.

“Third Prince, you jest. I am not the last to arrive,” Zhou Tian replied, hinting at something.

“That’s true—Carefree King’s heir still isn’t here,” Zhou Xunchuan said, then glanced at Zhou Tian. “Do you know where he is?”

“Hmph, where else could he be? Surely at the Dancing Heaven Pavilion!” Liu Yan, standing nearby, snorted, her lovely face tinged with anger, crimson flames flickering in her eyes, raising the surrounding temperature by several degrees.

Her animosity with Zhou Zui was well known, their stories the subject of much speculation—so much so that someone in the capital had written a novel based on their quarrels and made a fortune, though the names were all changed. Still, the book disappeared before long.