Chapter Thirty-Six: Successful Fusion

"Is such color the result of the goddess Iris gilding the celestial spectrum upon it?" An elder, his hand trembling slightly, reached to touch the orange-red leather jacket resting in the golden tray.

Another elder gazed intently at the blue autumn trousers in the silver tray. "What marvelous hues! As blue as the sky, as beautiful as gemstones... Ah... and so soft? Like the delicate skin of a maiden, like lamb’s wool?" His fingers brushed the white fleece lining inside the "fleece trousers."

The fleece, naturally, was exceedingly soft.

This elder, already well over sixty and aged, was one of the famed disciples of the Greek lyric poet Simonides. His expression was rapturous as he caressed the autumn trousers with his withered hands. "The Muse Aoide has inspired me. I shall write a poem for these—are they called autumn trousers?"

"Ah! The azure sky, the snowy white clouds of fleece—I cut a piece and fashion autumn trousers, wear them on my body, warmth fills my heart."

Greek poetry was known for its brevity, its closeness to everyday life, and its direct expression of emotion—some verses read almost like modern colloquial poems, such as Simonides’ famous “Thermopylae Remembrance.” The elder’s poem was considered outstanding by his peers, and immediately the chamber echoed with enthusiastic applause.

Pericles, the archon, appeared aged as well, with thick curly hair and beard, clad in a pure white chiton. In this era, colored dyes were rare; Greeks most commonly wore white, followed by brown and blue. The colors of the leather jacket and autumn trousers were so vivid that they would attract anyone’s attention. He reached out to touch the jacket, then the trousers.

"The material is entirely different from our leather armor and garments! Hmm?"

The chief general of Athens, the archon of the Senate, focused on the label of the leather jacket. The metal-embellished tag bore unfamiliar letters and reliefs, exquisitely crafted beyond imagination! Greek and Persian armor was, at best, decorated with iron plates or studded with bronze rivets.

He drew a sharp breath.

As one of the most distinguished statesmen of ancient Greece, he could discern the level of technological sophistication from this piece of armor. The autumn trousers seemed to be perfectly woven from wool and hemp, softer and warmer than anyone could have imagined.

"Who are those three envoys, and what country do they come from? And how did they end up at the Korita camp?"

Young Daifos was soon brought in by the guards. Seeing so many elders and the chief general, he was quite nervous, stammering through his account.

"The three come from an eastern nation, called Huaxia? Such a strange name..."

"Their ship was wrecked by storms at sea? They came to Greece to promote Huaxia culture? To spread civilization? Greece is the center of civilization, and Athens is the heart of that center! What, the envoy was so arrogant he called Greeks barbarians? Uncivilized?"

At that, the entire Senate erupted.

The mood was fervent. Most of the elders were men over fifty, and many, inflamed with anger, flushed. Civilization was the greatest source of pride; a nation may perish, its people may die, but civilization meant legacy! To be called "barbarians" was a disgrace—a total, utter disgrace!

"Alex, Okolo, Yasistes, and Gedeus were killed trying to seize the foreigners’ armor and weapons? Damn it, they’ve shamed the Greeks before the envoys... Those four weren’t Athenian citizens, right?" an elder asked.

"No, Captain Alex was from Pharsala; the others were from Thessaly, Lucalia, and Kersonia."

At this point, Pericles had already removed his chiton. People of this era wore no undergarments—Greeks admired the nude and cared little about exposing themselves before others. The archon’s aging, hairy body was revealed as he donned the autumn trousers to cover his leg hair, then slipped on the leather jacket.

Medieval European men favored tight trousers, and autumn trousers were much the same, displaying the contours of the legs. With the vivid orange-red jacket adorned with golden tags, this ensemble in the 400s BC was astonishingly "fashionable."

Pericles raised his arm and spun around several times. The elders watched, their eyes shining or faces full of envy—Spring and Autumn armor, Warring States trousers, it seemed none would have a share.

"From this armor and attire alone, it’s clear that so-called Huaxia is a highly advanced civilization. But Greece will never be outdone by any nation in matters of civilization! Even Persia, to us, is a rabble of savages!"

The chief general reached for the archon's golden scepter.

Red leather jacket, blue autumn trousers, golden scepter—seeing this, young Daifos was so awestruck his knees buckled and he knelt.

"Have I seen Zeus?" he murmured.

Pericles burst into proud laughter.

"Elders, I propose we issue a citizen notice today, have Athens prepare tomorrow, and receive these envoys from Huaxia the morning after. Any nation capable of crafting such exquisite armor and fine autumn trousers must be a civilized land."

"But no nation has the right to call Greeks barbarians!"

"Let these envoys witness, the day after tomorrow, the civilization of Athens—the most democratic and prosperous city-state in Greece! Let them see that Athens is the noblest place in this world! Make them bow in the Temple of Zeus and atone for their words!"

"Hurrah!"

Each elder’s face was flushed with anger and eager anticipation. Greece had just defeated Persia and was at its zenith. Athens’ production relied entirely on slaves; citizens devoted most of their time to art, philosophy, poetry, and fitness. The arrival of a few self-proclaimed civilizing foreigners was a novelty for the whole city.

When Daifos left Athens and returned to the Korita camp, bringing news that the archon had granted the three permission to enter the Acropolis the morning after next, Wang Dongwei was sewing with a bone needle.

Beside him lay white and blue linen scavenged from the camp.

"The day after tomorrow? Good." He breathed a sigh of relief. "If it were tomorrow, we wouldn’t have time. Luckily, it’s the day after."

"Say," Zhu Xiaoyong remarked in Mandarin, helpless, "aren’t Yanluo’s jeans and black-and-white striped shirt stylish enough? Our clothes are unique in this era, why bother making Hanfu? The Han dynasty hasn’t even appeared yet."

"You don’t understand. Hanfu isn’t the clothing of the Han dynasty, but the attire of the Han people."

"The beauty of ceremonial dress is called ‘Hua’; the greatness of etiquette is called ‘Xia.’"

Wang Dongwei put down the bone needle, his expression solemn. "Now we’ve set ourselves as envoys and spoken of Huaxia, representing not only ourselves but our civilization! Even if this is only the inner world, even if our goal is to participate in the Olympics, as Han people, descendants of Yan and Huang, we must not disgrace the name of Huaxia."

"Can jeans, suit pants, shorts, and shirts represent our identity? Can they represent our nation?"

"Wear Han attire, revive the land of etiquette."

Yanluo listened quietly nearby, kneeling with legs folded beneath him as Wang Dongwei had instructed last night—this was the 'ritual': kneeling, also called ‘proper sitting,’ upright, hands resting on knees. His consciousness was immersed in the Mindless Puppet.

From yesterday to now, the emotional points had finally reached their maximum—100 in total: 20 greed, 20 shock, 60 fear.

"Fusion!"

Three beams of light converged in his mind, gradually sketching out the contours of a mask in the radiance. This time, there was no sound of shattering; the fusion of the three emotions succeeded! A mask of white, yellow, and black was fully formed.