Chapter 0: Prologue to the Romance of Lingao

Author: Unknown, a work from the Tieba forums

Song:

Mountain peaks crowd like guests at court; waves crash in endless fury, Upon the road through Tongguan, where river and range stand eternal guard.

I gaze toward the western capital, and my heart churns with grief.

How it wounds me to pass through these lands where once Qin and Han held sway— Ten thousand palaces, now all returned to dust.

When empires rise, the common folk suffer; When empires fall, the common folk suffer still.

In those days, the Yuan Emperor had given himself over to folly, and the realm convulsed in chaos. The people could scarcely survive; their officials flayed them to the bone. Spring and autumn brought ceaseless exactions, endless warfare. Refugees wandered every road. Throughout the breadth of China, banditry flourished and heresies multiplied beyond counting. To this misery were added strange portents never before witnessed: a white rainbow that pierced the sun, thunder that boomed like war-drums in the depths of winter, serpents and flood-dragons surfacing amid black rains, wolves prowling alongside swarms of locusts. Floods ravaged the south while drought withered the north—all living things were devastated beyond measure. What pen could describe such suffering as the mortal realm endured?

A great famine descended upon the passes of Guanzhong, and the people seethed with anguish. Master Yunzhuang received appointment as Censor-in-Chief of the Shaanxi Circuit to govern the northwest. From the day he assumed office, he never once sat within his yamen. Instead, he drove his cart through the countryside, distributing what food he could wherever he encountered the starving. He exhausted his entire family fortune—yet it proved insufficient to help even one soul in ten thousand. He witnessed villages where not a single chicken or dog could be heard, where all trace of human habitation had ceased to exist. Worse still, he learned that among the common people, there were those who had killed their own children to feed their aged mothers, and others who exchanged children with their neighbors so they might bear to eat at all. Unable to contain his grief, he composed this song.

The voice of this song rang fierce and mighty, its spirit unquenchable. By chance, it reached the ears of a certain Immortal. This Immortal had cultivated the Dao since the days of the Tang, and had long since ceased to trouble himself over the rise and fall of mortal affairs or the endless waste and ruin of the Central Plains. Yet upon hearing this verse, a deep melancholy stirred within him. He could not help but cast the hexagrams of King Wen to divine the heavenly mandate. Ten days later, his furrowed brow eased into relief, and he laughed aloud: "Never mind, never mind—I see I have worried for nothing. A great transformation of all under heaven approaches, within a mere decade."

His disciple asked, "Master, what do you mean?"

The Immortal replied, "You have trained under me for several years. Just now, as I cast the divination, I learned that you too have a destiny ordained by heaven. Pack your belongings and journey to the lands south of the Yangtze."

Puzzled, the disciple asked, "What am I to do in Jiangnan?"

The Immortal said, "Ask no more questions. The rise and fall of dynasties is at hand. In Jiangnan, a rough-hewn emperor shall seek you out—the founder of a coming dynasty, whose house will command the fate of all China. Your destiny lies entwined with his. Go now. Go!"

Within the span of a few years, all order rotted away entirely. Beacon fires blazed in every direction, worse than ever before. One band of heroes—resolute, brave, and fierce—fought their way from south to north. Beneath their banners marched elite soldiers numberless as the sea, and fierce generals massed like thunderheads. With counselors and adepts to guide them, they swept across the realm and brought peace to all within the four corners. No emperor of any previous dynasty had ever risen from such humble origins. They established their capital at Nanjing, named their dynasty the "Great Ming," and thereby laid three centuries of magnificent foundation.

Yet the momentum of all under heaven follows an ancient pattern: what has been united must one day divide. After that rough-hewn emperor departed the mortal world, generation after generation of his descendants proved unworthy of their inheritance. Within not even a century, the realm had already slipped into decline. The Immortal shook his head: "If such is the nation's fate, what can be done?"

Another hundred years passed. One night, the Immortal observed the heavens: the purple aura scattered eastward in disarray; baleful Mars hung askew; the Daylight Star blazed with ill portent. He watched the southern sector's ruling mansion fall vacant, and the Daylight Star shatter. He watched the Polar Star surge northward as the surrounding constellations dimmed. The Wolf Star pierced the sky; the Vermillion Bird transgressed its celestial boundaries. Such conflicting configurations had not been witnessed in a thousand years. Inwardly, the Immortal trembled with dread, and his spirit grew haggard. Unable to perceive the true nature of the heavenly Dao, he spoke in quiet terror: "The celestial court writhes in chaos beyond all precedent. Within five hundred years there must come cataclysmic change—and I fear it bodes ill for our kind. If I am to transcend through cultivation and refinement, I must begin my preparations now."

Thereafter, the Immortal paid no heed to worldly matters. He dismissed his disciples and devoted himself entirely to solitary cultivation. Yet before even sixty years had passed, still haunted by that vision of cataclysm, he calmed himself and computed the numbers of heaven once more. In an instant his expression cleared, and he murmured, "Ah, so it is merely another change of masters in the Central Plains—another era of chaos like the Five Barbarians or the Mongol Yuan. The Polar Star waxes strong and advances from the east; this dynasty's mandate should grant me perhaps two or three hundred years more."

Just as he sat musing upon these calculations, in a single instant every star in the firmament lost its light, and the universe plunged into absolute darkness.

Then the stars burst into flame, and the very vault of heaven burned.

The purple aura scattered and gathered by turns, coalescing into the shape of a great celestial sword. The Heavenly Leader's Palace and the Earthly Palace both split asunder. The Literary Star and the Martial Star flickered wildly—now vanishing, now blazing brilliant trails across the sky. The Star of Nobility and the Star of Longevity fell silent as the void one moment, then swelled and exploded the next. All the surrounding constellations churned like boiling water cast upon snow, or like willow catkins scattered by a violent wind—and vanished without a trace.

Amid that chaos, more than five hundred stars of generals and emperors blazed forth and flew, searing eyes and ears alike. Where the celestial court had once stood, now blazed a radiance as if the sun hung at high noon. Beneath the heavens there remained no place of shadow. Even the farthest reaches of east and west were dazzlingly, impossibly bright. Every ancient constellation and every measure of heaven had been devoured; every celestial configuration had been shattered utterly.

The Immortal, struck with terror, trembled and shook. His liver and gall split with fear; his soul and spirit scattered. He computed upon his fingers again, examined the heavenly signs, extrapolated the numbers of fate—and once more, all appeared exactly as it had always been, unchanged.

Still in shock, the Immortal whispered to himself: "So it seems the cataclysm is already upon us. I fear the land of the Divine Province shall, from this moment forth, be overturned entirely. The Dao of antiquity shall be subverted beyond recognition. Hereafter, there will be no method by which our kind may cultivate, nor any ground upon which we may stand. If I remain in this world, I fear only heavenly punishment awaits."

With that, the Immortal ascended and departed from this mortal realm.

(End of Chapter)