The stars dimmed as the sky shifted from indigo to azure. In the far eastern sky, a stretch of orange-hued auspicious clouds unfurled slowly, coiling and swirling with ever-changing forms, yet lingering tenaciously without dispersing.
A quarter of an hour later, as the sonorous and resonant bell of Chang'an rang out across the city, those gazing at the heavens discovered that red and yellow clouds had joined the orange, painting a brilliant triad in the sky. The common folk stared in awe, marveling at the rare celestial sign heralding a propitious day.
Meanwhile, the Grand Astrologer and the officials from the Directorate of Astronomy and the Ministry of Divination halted in their tracks, casting calculating glances skyward, fingers moving in silent divination. After all, the auspicious day of the investiture ceremony had been chosen by them. If two more colors were to appear, completing the full spectrum of five, it would become "The Five-Colored Auspicious Clouds," a heavenly omen known as Qingyun—an auspicious phenomenon of great significance.
To behold such a sign was to witness divine favor. The Emperor and the Crown Prince would both be overjoyed, and those who had chosen the date would bask in reflected glory.
Regrettably, the anticipated phenomenon failed to materialize.
Instead, behind the streak of crimson, the Grand Astrologer glimpsed a faint thread of black cloud drifting ominously in the distance.
Black clouds—symbols of armor and soldiers, portents of war, harbingers of ill.
Startled, he rubbed his eyes and looked again, only to find the trace vanished. He shook his head and muttered inwardly—it must be old age clouding his sight.
Despite the absence of Qingyun, the day was clear and bright, untouched by rain or the threat of storm. As far as omens went, he, a mere court official, had not erred too gravely—his position remained secure.
At that moment, Prince Jin, Li Zhang, also withdrew his gaze from the sky.
"Auspicious clouds," murmured a palace official respectfully behind him.
Li Zhang remained impassive, a flicker of disdain in his eyes. Whether omens appeared or not was immaterial—nothing could obstruct today's grand ceremony of his investiture.
From the moment he first learned to read, he had been told that he was the legitimate imperial heir, the destined ruler of the realm.
And now, at thirty-four, he finally stood here, to be crowned Crown Prince.
It had taken too long—so long that resentment had once seeped into his heart, casting doubt on his father's intentions.
The Princess Consort of Jin stepped forward to inspect his ceremonial robes once more. Today, he wore the full crown prince regalia—an elaborate black robe adorned with emblems of dragon, mountain, fire, mythical beast, and ancestral vessel.
A diadem of nine white pearl beaded strands hung both front and back; blue silk cords fastened jade ear pendants; a rhinoceros horn hairpin bound his hair. His lower garments, crimson gauze, were embroidered with motifs of algae, powdered rice, and the ancient "fu" and "fu" patterns.
Nine emblems, nine beaded strands—nine, the most exalted of numbers, symbolic of pure yang, sacred to emperors, and echoed in the nine tripods and nine ministers of the imperial court.
The princess smoothed the apron embroidered with fire and mountain patterns, fingers brushing the multicolored silk sash woven of red, white, blue, and black. Her gaze swept past the jade-hilted sword, the twin jade pendants, and the ornamental jade dart at his waist.
This was her husband—handsome, noble, stately, and impeccable. The Crown Prince of the Great Tang.
She rose with satisfaction and said softly, "It is done."
"Thank you."
Li Zhang took her hand gently. She smiled, but his hand had already withdrawn.
"It's time, isn't it? Are the stewards in place?"
A palace attendant stepped forward to remind him.
The Crown Prince's ceremonial procession had been ready since before dawn. Now, all that remained was to ascend the royal carriage, receive the ceremonial reins, and proceed to the Xuanzheng Hall to pay homage to the Emperor and accept the official edict and regalia.
The royal carriage—a symbol of the Crown Prince's identity—awaited.
Sure enough, the Grand Master of Ceremonies stepped forth, knelt, and intoned: "Your Highness, it is time to depart."
Li Zhang ascended the carriage. The royal vehicle moved. The Three Masters rode alongside to instruct, the Three Young Lords followed to assist, accompanied by the sound of bronze bells. Civil and military officials all followed in stately procession.
Inside the carriage, Li Zhang sat upright, nine white pearl strands swaying softly in the warm morning breeze.
He knew he was leaving the Jin Prince's manor ever farther behind and drawing closer to the Xuanzheng Hall.
The investiture had nothing to do with Ye Jiao.
As a minor fifth-rank official of the Ministry of War, she had neither the rank to accompany the Crown Prince to court nor the privilege to receive the Emperor's admonition or offer sacrifices in the ancestral temple.
So she had slept in.
By the time the palace's ceremonial bells rang at midmorning, she was just stirring.
After washing up, Ye Jiao donned her official robes, picked up the unfamiliar blade she'd forged the day before, and headed straight for the Arsenal Bureau.
Supervisor Wang, of middling rank himself, sat lazily at his desk flipping through documents. Upon seeing her enter, he raised his eyes and sneered, "Word is, Master Ye hasn't shown up at roll call for days. Found yourself with some free time at last?"
His tone was condescending, his voice laced with mockery.
Ye Jiao didn't bother with niceties. She lifted her hand and tossed the blade across the room.
With a sharp crack, the unfamiliar blade landed squarely on his desk, scattering papers everywhere.
Arms folded, she said coolly, "Supervisor Wang, the unfamiliar blade is complete. Please test it."
His anger flared, but her words caught him short. His face twisted in disbelief. "What? It's finished?"
"You'll know soon enough," Ye Jiao replied.
The Arsenal Bureau had a dedicated testing ground for weapons. Word that the blade had finally been reforged spread quickly, drawing craftsmen and officials alike to witness the event.
With a grim face, Wang handed the blade to the guards and ordered tests following Ministry protocol—measuring weight, length, hardness, and flexibility.
Ye Jiao waited patiently, silent.
At last, the final test was passed.
Cheers erupted; tension dissolved. Supervisor Wang's expression eased. He approached Ye Jiao, both sheepish and respectful, rubbing his face awkwardly.
"Well then… how exactly did you manage it? I'd appreciate your instruction."
Ye Jiao didn't withhold the answer.
"The clay. The clay you used to cover the blade during tempering was flawed."
"Impossible!" Wang's face changed. "We've used the same clay all along."
Originally intending to report to the ministry and be done with it, Ye Jiao changed her mind.
"Oh? Then let's try forging again—with my clay this time."
"It hasn't changed!" another staffer chimed in. "We reorganized the storehouse after New Year, and no one ever cared much for the clay—it's just common dirt, left to the wind and rain. But after the Bureau of Astronomy predicted wind disasters this spring, we moved the clay indoors to avoid dust storms. One move. That's all."
"Could it be a feng shui issue?" someone muttered.
Wang kicked him, snarling, "Don't spout superstitious nonsense!"
Then he turned back to Ye Jiao with a more agreeable tone. "Master Ye, if you would be so kind, let's take a look together."
They proceeded to the storeroom.
The moment the doors opened, a breeze carried the scent of dust and damp clay. Pale-colored clay piled high in the room. Ye Jiao waved a handkerchief before her face but didn't cover her mouth or nose.
"I don't know exactly what changed," she said, "but this clay either lacks permeability or conducts heat too well. Let's test and find out."
Wang nodded, thoughtful. A small iron furnace was brought to the entrance.
"Shouldn't we test it in the forging area, my lord?" a subordinate suggested.
"There's wind outside," Wang replied. "I want to see for myself. We'll test each batch of clay, top to bottom, inside and out."
He scooped a portion himself, ordered it mixed and applied to a blade. Then a comparison was made with Ye Jiao's clay.
The blades were placed into the furnace. Once heated, they would be quenched in cold water to test for flexibility.
Ye Jiao, long familiar with the procedure, stood quietly in the room, waiting.
Nearby, officials murmured among themselves.
"So the ceremony's over, yes?""By now they're probably at the ancestral temple.""Tomorrow, when we see His Highness, we must remember to…"