Chapter 83: Blown Out of Proportion

According to later Tang historical records, during the Zhenguan era, a fireball once soared over Chang’an, drifting across more than ten miles. Qin Huaiyu and his two companions, as they had wished, would be immortalized in history, yet at this moment, none of them felt the least bit exuberant. Instead, they were overcome by a sense of impending disaster.

Their original plan was simple: first, they would use a large black sheep to test the safety of their hot air balloon. If all went well, they would bring it down. Only once they had confirmed there was no danger would they invite the scions of Chang’an’s nobility to witness their ascent and bask in their admiration.

Who could have foreseen that everything would proceed smoothly, the black sheep bleating energetically, brimming with life—until the tether snapped unexpectedly!

The four of them stared in shock as the balloon rose ever higher, swaying with the trailing end of the broken rope, while the black sheep, sensing the growing peril, bleated with even greater desperation. Even from such a height, its shrill cries rang out clearly.

“How much charcoal did you add?” Qin Huaiyu demanded, for adding the charcoal had been Yuchi Jingde’s responsibility.

“I filled it up!” Yuchi Jingde replied guiltily. In truth, he had wanted the balloon to fly longer and had added more than necessary.

As the group observed the balloon’s drifting path, they realized with horror that it was heading straight for the heart of Chang’an.

“This is bad!”

The three of them were alarmed at last, understanding the source of their dread. They knew what a hot air balloon was, and how it worked, but the citizens of Chang’an had no such knowledge! To see such a massive object floating in the sky, accompanied by the eerie wails of a black sheep—how could anyone not find it sinister?

“Hurry, after it!” Mo Dun shouted, jolting the three from their stupor.

Thunderously, four swift horses dashed off, galloping in pursuit of the drifting balloon.

The black sheep, sensing its situation growing ever more dire and refusing to accept its fate, bleated even more mournfully.

“Where is that bleating coming from?” wondered a mutton vendor, whose ears were especially attuned to the cries of sheep, having heard them countless times before slaughtering them. This time, though intermittent, the sheep’s cry was far more tragic than any he had ever heard, surpassing even those of sheep at the very brink of death.

“Could it be a ghost sheep?” The vendor shuddered, glancing nervously around.

“It’s broad daylight—what ghosts could there be?” he chided himself, amused at his own cowardice. He sliced the mutton and handed it to a customer, only to find the man standing rigid, staring up at the sky.

Not only this customer, but everyone nearby—vendors and patrons alike—had frozen, all gazing skyward.

“What’s going on?” The mutton vendor felt a chill run through him, finding the situation increasingly uncanny.

Following their gaze, the vendor looked up to see a massive sphere passing overhead, flickering with faint firelight, accompanied by the chilling cries of a sheep.

With a series of thuds, customers dropped their mutton to the ground.

Clang—the vendor’s boning knife slipped from his grasp.

A cascade of objects crashed to the earth, yet no one even noticed; all stood transfixed, staring at the giant orb in the sky.

Hearing the sheep’s harrowing bleats, the vendor felt as if its very soul was ascending to heaven, striking terror into his heart.

“The Sheep Immortal!” he stammered in fear.

The elderly customer, a man of seventy, dropped to his knees without hesitation. “O Sheep Immortal, I only eat mutton out of fondness. If you seek revenge, take it from this butcher instead—spare this old man!” he pleaded, sacrificing the vendor without a second thought.

But the vendor cared nothing for the betrayal, falling to his knees in terror. “O Sheep Immortal, I only slaughter sheep to make a living. Please understand! From now on, I swear to reform and never kill another sheep. I will make daily offerings to you, O Sheep Immortal.”

He was nearly in tears—was it really necessary to invoke the gods over a single sheep?

The surrounding crowd was equally stricken; mutton was a prized delicacy in Tang Chang’an—who among them had not eaten it?

Many were about to beg forgiveness from the Sheep Immortal when suddenly a rider galloped past.

“Make way! Make way! That’s my family’s sky lantern up there! Has anyone seen where it went?” cried a youthful horseman, bright-eyed and dashing, yet provoked the people’s ire—none other than Qin Huaiyu.

Following Mo Dun’s advice, he spread the word that it was merely a sky lantern, hoping to quell panic among Chang’an’s citizens.

“A sky lantern?” The vendor was dumbfounded; so was the old man.

Everyone on the street was stupefied. Sky lanterns were no rarity in the Tang era, and from a distance, the object did indeed resemble one.

But ordinary lanterns were scarcely a foot across, with a slip of paper bearing a wish attached. This one, by contrast, was the size of two rooms combined—and it carried with it the agonized cries of a sheep!

“Our sheep at home is mischievous—it ran inside the lantern!” Qin Huaiyu replied with an awkward laugh.

Everyone nearly spat blood at the absurdity of the excuse.

Qin Huaiyu dared not linger and quickly rode off in pursuit of the drifting “sky lantern,” calling all the way, “Make way! My family’s lantern has taken our sheep with it!”

As he sped away like the wind, the vendor and the old man exchanged bewildered glances. After making such oaths, could they ever eat or sell mutton again?

Not only Qin Huaiyu, but Cheng Chumo, Yuchi Baolin, Mo Dun, Tie An, and even the elderly Lu Ding had all joined in spreading the explanation. Yet their efforts were but a drop in the ocean compared to the commotion they had caused.

The legend of the Sheep Immortal grew ever more sensational throughout Chang’an, with crowds pouring from their homes to chase after the “sky lantern.”

When the four friends finally regrouped, they had chased the hot air balloon halfway across Chang’an, and still it showed no sign of coming down.

“Doesn’t this place look familiar?” Yuchi Baolin asked uneasily.

Qin Huaiyu wiped the sweat from his brow, glanced around, and exclaimed in alarm, “This is Taiping Ward!”

“Taiping Ward!” That was a place they frequented—they knew all too well that only two streets separated it from the Imperial City.

“It mustn’t go any farther!”

“Sheep Immortal, please, let it end here!”

Even Qin Huaiyu and his friends began to wonder if the Sheep Immortal truly existed and was playing tricks on them.

“Amitabha, Jade Emperor, Lord Lao of Heaven…” Cheng Chumo invoked every deity he could recall, desperate to escape disaster.

But neither the Sheep Immortal nor any celestial being heard their prayers. The hot air balloon drifted on, undaunted, swaying gently southwest toward the Imperial City.

The four of them looked ashen—this time, they had caused a catastrophe.