No, it wasn't a dream. Last night, he had felt the searing warmth of an embrace. He had meticulously measured the Ministry of Works' blueprints on pristine scrolls of xuan paper. Beneath the faint glow of lanterns, he had searched through the leftover timber for beams to support the eaves. He remembered clearly how, blow after blow, he hammered the brackets into place beneath the pillars. Now it was all gone—not because he hadn't done the work, but because someone had destroyed his efforts before the emperor arrived.
Li Ce clenched his fists within his sleeves, but there was nowhere to vent his rage. He only knew one thing: he must not panic. Even if Mount Tai crumbled before him, he must remain composed, striving with all his might to prevent the collapse of the wooden canopy and ensure the safety of the people.
Atop the towering Round Altar, seven divine tablets had been set in place. Alongside the plaque of the Supreme Heaven were those for the Sun, Moon, Stars, Clouds, Rain, Wind, and Thunder. Temporary sacred canopies made of sky-blue satin stood in orderly rows. Offerings and ritual vessels were laid solemnly before each deity, forming a spectacle of reverent grandeur.
Officials of the Court of Imperial Sacrifices stood before the sacrificial furnace, casting in pine branches and reeds to roast the offerings and summon the gods. Around the Round Altar, twelve massive drums had been erected. Under direct command, drummers struck with full force, their thunderous sound like mountains collapsing and seas surging.
When the auspicious hour arrived, the Chief Ritual Officer, clad in ceremonial robes, would descend the altar and kneel to welcome the emperor's ascent for worship. If the canopy were to collapse, it would surely happen before that moment. But why would it collapse?
Li Ce's mind raced. His gaze darted across the surroundings, searching, calculating, deducing—until finally, it landed on a four-legged bronze cauldron near the Round Altar. It was one of three such cauldrons, massive enough for three men to encircle. Inside lay sacrificial ox, sheep, and pig. After the gods were welcomed and before the emperor offered sacrifice, the officials would carry the cauldrons before the wooden canopy—symbolizing the Son of Heaven's tribute to the heavens.
Each bronze cauldron weighed over a hundred jin, and with the livestock inside, the burden reached several hundred. The impact of setting them down could shake the earth, and that tremor might cause the carved eaves above to collapse. Such a meticulously crafted scheme.
Realizing this, Li Ce began walking backward. His steps were small, but in the stillness among the royal sons, they drew attention.
"Ninth Brother?" Li Jing called softly, stepping forward, only to be stopped at the pillar by Li Chen, who, with a solemn gaze, motioned him not to breach protocol. Li Jing snorted in mild defiance.
Fortunately, Li Ce returned swiftly. Meanwhile, the Chief Ritual Officer shouted from the altar, "Bring forth the sacrificial vessels—"
This command signaled the presentation of offerings. Guards from the Ritual Directorate hoisted the cauldrons and approached the canopy. Four men bore each one, their steps heavy despite their training.
The emperor stood beside the ritual table beneath the intricately carved Nine-Dragon Eaves, his expression both reverent and majestic—a sovereign preparing to commune with the heavens, yet with a trace of joy at being out in the open.
Prince Jin, Li Zhang, stood just behind the emperor. Though his face remained calm, the tension in his eyes betrayed him. He watched the cauldron-bearers closely. He remembered last year's jolt when they set down the vessels, despite their caution. His own men had calculated: a single drop before the canopy could crack the brackets supporting the overhanging eaves. Even if the mortise-and-tenon joints held, the eaves would teeter, startling the emperor. Then, he would leap forward to shield the sovereign and earn the noble reputation of selfless devotion.
Baili Xi had once said the emperor admired Li Ce's cleverness and praised Li Chen's filial piety. Yet clever Li Ce couldn't even oversee a wooden canopy properly, and as for the filial Li Chen—he would stand idly by while his father was nearly crushed.
Li Zhang found his scheme exquisite—until the moment the cauldron-bearers bypassed the canopy and carried the vessel straight to the Round Altar.
What? Who had altered the ritual procedure, undermining his entire plan?
He had never considered that the cauldron could be placed elsewhere. As long as the bearers endured, no one would stop them. Li Zhang stared in disbelief as the cauldrons moved away. The emperor began to step forward, exiting the canopy. Li Zhang had no choice but to feign calm and follow.
But just then—A cry rang out behind them. Someone clutched a side pillar and crashed to the ground.
"Ah!" A hushed exclamation came from Prince Zhao, Li Jing.
The emperor turned back to see Li Jing sprawled on the ground. In his fall, he had tripped Li Chen, who also fell and hit the pillar.
Li Ce did not help his brothers. Instead, he dashed through the crowd—straight toward the emperor.
Crack.
A faint, ominous sound spread from above.
"Father, look out!" Li Ce and Li Zhang shouted in unison. Li Zhang shielded the emperor, while Li Ce leapt onto the ritual table, arms raised high, catching a segment of the falling bracket beneath the beam.
It all happened in an instant.
In the emperor's eyes, Li Jing and Li Chen had struck the pillar, Li Zhang had rushed to protect him, and Li Ce had climbed onto the ritual table, supporting the carved Nine-Dragon Eaves with his bare hands.
The emperor was furious. In such a solemn ceremony, how could decorum be disrupted like this? The wooden canopy had been under repair for months—could a mere collision bring it down?
The noise had summoned the imperial guards and startled both the court officials and foreign envoys, all of whom knelt in alarm.
Yet the canopy remained unmoved. The emperor chose to ignore Li Ce, who had positioned himself as a human pillar. Adjusting his robes, he turned to begin the heavenly rite.
But just then—a gust of wind swept through, and with a thunderous crack, the eaves came crashing down, striking Li Ce's shoulder.
"Quickly!" the emperor shouted, startled. Vice Commander Yan Congzheng of the Imperial Guard leapt forward, catching the eaves with both hands. More guards surged forth to steady the swaying structure.
"Are you all right?" the emperor called from outside the canopy.
Li Ce stood on the ritual table, face pale, teeth clenched. Though injured, he continued to support the eaves with grim determination.
"Your son is unharmed. Please… proceed with the ceremony," he said in a low voice.
It was he who had overseen the canopy's repair. It was he who had failed to evade the hidden traps. Though the conspirators had nearly succeeded, he would not allow the eaves to fall and harm a single soul.
From beginning to end, Li Ce feared imperial wrath, but far more, he feared harm befalling the emperor, the court officials beneath the canopy, or the foreign emissaries in attendance. These were the empire's pillars, its peacekeepers. The rivalries among princes should not come at their expense, nor endanger the innocent.
The emperor trembled with rage, barely restraining it. The Grand Sacrifice was of the utmost importance—errors were punished with severity. Thus, every official, every courtier, moved with anxious caution. Yet his sons—one had fallen, another had been struck by a collapsing eave. And the canopy's overseer? His own son.
Still, watching Li Ce grit his teeth and bleed at the lips, the emperor felt a flicker of emotion. He turned and ascended the altar.
There would be time for reckoning later. The ceremony could not wait.
The emperor of Great Tang climbed the Round Altar, performing the Three Kneelings and Nine Prostrations. The "Song of Peace and Purity" was played. He presented offerings of jade and silk to the gods. Then the princes followed in the rites of initial, secondary, and final offerings.
At last, the sacrifices were sent to the furnace to be burned. The emperor stood throughout, observing the smoke—this was the ritual of "Watching the Flame."
Yet the emperor's mood was ruined. As the smoke billowed upward, his thoughts were scattered. His gaze kept drifting toward the wooden canopy below.
Then, something in the distance caught his eye.
In the far southern sky, multicolored clouds had appeared—at first faint, then rapidly spreading, rolling toward the capital. Golden brilliance, crimson flame, and radiant yellow hues surged forth—not merely carried by the wind, but seemingly commanding it...