Chapter Sixty-Eight: Discussion
A hundred miles beyond the resplendent, iridescent palace of glass and light, encircled by coral reefs, there lay a mountain on the ocean floor, shaped like an ancient turtle lying prone.
Seaweeds and algae grew in profusion across the mountain, and at its foothills stood mangrove trees nearly twenty feet tall. Among their roots, clusters of red algae thrived, and vibrant fish and scarlet shrimp darted by from time to time. In the half-light above, ghostly jellyfish floated, glowing with a cool, ethereal radiance.
Following the slope upward, one could see corals of every shape and hue jutting from the cliffs at odd angles. Now and then, a blue-ringed octopus or a spider crab would dart out, vanishing into the silent, fathomless depths.
High on the cliff, concealed by veils of coral and seaweed, a cave mouth pulsed with a sudden flash of blood-red light.
“So this is the Dragon Palace? It doesn’t quite look the part,” Duan Lingqi muttered, drawing in a deep breath. He sensed no trace of dragon’s qi, nor did any water rush into his nostrils, yet the current here was rich and invigorating, making him feel unexpectedly comfortable.
So comfortable, in fact, that his scales began to unfurl, and even his human form threatened to dissolve, revealing his true nature as a fierce water serpent.
“It’s too cramped,” Su Yuanbai remarked calmly, lightly patting Duan Lingqi’s head.
If Duan Lingqi took his true shape here, this seemingly spacious cave would become unbearably crowded in an instant—and worse, there was the risk of being discovered by the patrolling shrimp and crab soldiers.
Startled by Su Yuanbai’s touch, Duan Lingqi managed to restrain himself, holding back the transformation.
“There’s a formation here as well? And this one’s centered on a fish-patterned shell—completely different from the ones above. It seems to have been laid by another hand,” Xi Chunxue observed, her gaze fixed on the white-lined array beneath their feet. The formation, anchored by the shell at its center, kept the cave isolated from the surrounding currents.
“Are there crystal veins under the sea as well?” Qu Hanchen asked curiously, glancing about. The cave walls on either side bristled with crystals, within which silvery waterlines flowed, casting radiant light that made the humble cavern glow with splendor.
“Though people often speak of heaven, earth, and man as three realms, there are strange places that constitute worlds unto themselves. The Azure Sea is surely one such. It may not be a blessed land with its own sun and moon and cosmos, but all things that belong to the world can be found beneath the waves,” Xie Miu’an replied with a faint cough.
“You have an affinity for water. Go outside first and see what’s happening. If you meet anyone, hide—don’t provoke a fight,” Su Yuanbai said, glancing sidelong at Duan Lingqi in warning.
The depths of the Azure Sea were nothing like the underworld. In the netherworld, Su Yuanbai could rely on his hazy recollections to steer clear of the sinister, shadowed mountains, and use spells to travel safely to the northern city of the dead.
But now, none of the arts he had employed in the underworld would serve him, and not a shred of memory remained to guide him through the Dragon Palace of the Azure Sea.
So now, every step required utmost caution.
“I shall obey your command,” Duan Lingqi replied respectfully, bowing his head to Su Yuanbai. He moved to the cave’s entrance, parted the tangled seaweed, lowered himself to the ground, and slunk out through a gap in the coral.
“When that wicked serpent first entered the prison three centuries ago, he was wild and defiant. Who would have thought you could school him in such human courtesy?” Xie Miu’an said, marveling at Duan Lingqi’s obedience.
“Is it not possible the credit belongs to the Monster-Taming Institute?” Su Yuanbai replied evenly.
“If the Monster-Taming Institute were truly so effective, these spirits who descend into the mortal world wouldn’t be so quick to rebel. When His Majesty first established the institute, perhaps he truly wished for harmony between humans and demons. But now, the original intent has long been forgotten.
The current emperor’s proliferation of demon prisons across the twelve provinces is, in part, the Institute’s ‘contribution’ as well,” Xie Miu’an said with a derisive shake of his head.
“The Institute merely instructs those spirits of keen intelligence—the ones who refuse to while away their years cultivating in the wild—in the etiquette and laws of the mortal world. Even if the original purpose has been lost and the work is done perfunctorily, it’s not nearly as grave as you make it seem,” Xi Chunxue replied, frowning in confusion.
“You were born into the Xi clan of Baigu City in Shanqing Prefecture, if I recall correctly. For centuries, your family has been among the city’s great houses, and once produced a prime minister for the court.
From childhood, before you ever left your home, you had already gone to Mount Wuliang to cultivate. Had you not suffered disaster this time, you would know nothing of the hardships of the world,” Xie Miu’an said with a gentle sigh.
“I do know something of suffering...” Xi Chunxue answered softly after a moment’s silence.
“You know of it from books. Is it as piercing as seeing it with your own eyes? You have read of the wrongfully accused, but do you know what it is to live through their misery?
Only when you yourself have suffered injustice do you understand how bitter and maddening it is, how it clouds the mind,” Xie Miu’an replied, shaking his head.
Xi Chunxue fell silent.
“The Monster-Taming Institute now serves only to train mounts and demon retainers for the powerful and the noble. The Ancient Qin has stood in the twelve provinces for far too long. All things in this world rise and fall in turn, yet under the protection of the Divine Emperor, the Ancient Qin has endured for five thousand years.
Do you know why, nine hundred years ago, the rebellion of the feudal prince broke out in Yunhai Province?” Xie Miu’an asked, looking at Xi Chunxue.
“It was because the emperor of Ancient Qin at that time sought to curtail the power of the princes. Prince Su of Yunhai refused to relinquish his control, and so he boldly proclaimed himself the true heir of the Divine Emperor in all twelve provinces, and rose in revolt.
But his uprising was swiftly crushed. Prince Su was executed, his wife and children imprisoned and exiled five thousand miles to the southern wilds,” Xi Chunxue replied slowly.
“Though Prince Su was eliminated, the emperor’s policy of weakening the princes was never carried further. Not only because the emperor was aged and near death, but more importantly, because the princes of the other eleven provinces would not permit it.
Each of them held real power in their domains. Even though there were governors and prefects, they wielded less authority than these princes.
If not for the lingering might of the Divine Emperor and his command over the gods and spirits of the sacred mountains and rivers, the princes would have long since claimed their provinces as independent realms.
The rebellion in Yunhai Province had another cause besides what you mentioned: the other princes deliberately incited Prince Su, who was easily swayed, in order to test the emperor’s authority and the will of the people,” Xie Miu’an said, shaking his head. He had lived too long and seen too much. Even sequestered on Sangyu Island, he knew more than a few secrets others dared not ask gods or heaven.
“So the rampant demons in the southern wilds, the ghosts in the northern wastes, and the chaos of the western frontier—these are not the result of neglect by generations of emperors?
But rather the deliberate actions of the princes?” Xi Chunxue suddenly realized, turning to Xie Miu’an with a quiet question.
“These are things you must see for yourself, to know whether it is the emperors who have turned away, or the princes who have schemed, or perhaps that all beings act out of necessity,” Xie Miu’an replied, not answering directly. His clouded gaze dropped, and he coughed softly as he spoke.