Chapter Thirty-Three: The Star Lantern Dimly Flickers, the Way of Heaven Is Unfathomable

The closer one comes to success, the likelier it is to slip away at the last moment. Even the brilliant strategist Zhuge Wuhou, with all his wisdom, could not escape the designs of Heaven and failed at the final hurdle.

For six nights the lamps burned bright, yet suddenly, around the Temple of Heaven, ghostly shadows flickered, the wails of spirits and the cries of foxes rose in a chilling cacophony, disturbing minds and senses alike. Beijing, the seat of the Son of Heaven, was a place where the dragon’s aura suppressed all evil; the Temple of Heaven was the altar for sacrifices to the gods, connecting the Celestial Court above and the common people below. How could such a scene of a hundred ghosts walking the night possibly appear here? These must be illusions, the chaos of a heart beset by inner demons. If it were only himself, he could have steadied his mind, focused his thoughts, and the phantasms would have dissolved on their own. Emperor Hongzhi, however, was startled and nearly stood up. Master Liaochan was a step ahead, addressing the emperor: “Your Majesty, it is but an illusion. Listen—do you hear the clamor of soldiers all around? Only we two see these things. Your Majesty, steady your spirit and calm your mind, and no evil can invade you.” Only then did the emperor regain some composure and say, “I thought I had truly lost all virtue, to the point that the Temple of Heaven, the altar of the state, would be haunted by spirits. How could I face the world?”

On the seventh night, the stars still glittered in the sky, but the flames of the Seven-Star Lamps flickered, on the verge of extinguishing. The will of Heaven—its intent—would be revealed by what transpired this night.

Emperor Hongzhi continued to sit upright before the lamps, silently reciting the mantras to still his mind. Master Liaochan, however, lifted his gaze to the constellation of the Northern Dipper presiding over the northern sky. In a daze, he once again felt as if he were wandering among the stars, surrounded by their radiant brilliance. Yet this time, he no longer wandered aimlessly; he fixed his eyes on the Northern Dipper and pressed forward.

The starlight from the lamps grew dimmer, shrinking to the size of a yellow bean. Seeing this, sweat poured from the emperor’s brow, and he grew increasingly restless. The poise cultivated over nearly two decades as sovereign was all that kept him from leaping to his feet. He glanced at Liaochan, who remained serene, and reassured himself, “In times of crisis, one must maintain composure.” Little did he know that Liaochan’s mind and spirit were no longer present in that place; what would the emperor have thought if he knew?

Liaochan himself did not know how far he was from the Northern Dipper; instinct alone drove him to chase after it, unaware that as he did so, the Seven-Star Lamps were on the verge of going out.

Perhaps it was truly a narrow thread of fate, or perhaps the emperor’s life force had not yet been severed, but at that moment, as Liaochan pursued the stars, he was suddenly seized by a sense of alarm and glanced back. He saw the lamps burning weakly and the emperor fidgeting anxiously. In a cold sweat, Liaochan remembered he was still in the midst of the star-warding ritual and immediately halted. His spirit snapped back to the altar. Fixing his gaze on the nearly extinguished star lamps, he drew from his bag a precious bit of starlight he had long treasured. “Go,” he commanded in a sharp voice. The starlight transformed into a rain of shimmering motes, falling into the star lamps. Instantly, the Seven-Star Lamps flared bright again. Yet Liaochan’s heart bled, for though he still did not know the true use of that starlight, he knew it was a priceless thing drawn from the eternal heavens—and now he had used it as fuel for the lamps.

Liaochan’s complexion was grim. Emperor Hongzhi, seeing the lamps rekindled, felt a wave of relief. This time, he lifted his head to look at Liaochan and, noticing his pallor, understood something had been lost. Though he did not know what the rain of light had been, he was certain it was no ordinary object. Realizing that Liaochan had sacrificed a cherished treasure for his sake, the emperor was overcome with guilt. After all, Liaochan had done this to ward off disaster and prolong his life. With solemnity, he said, “My deepest thanks, Immortal Liaochan. Your kindness I shall never forget.”

Only then did Liaochan collect himself, silently scolding his own wavering heart for being so ensnared by worldly things. He quickly composed himself, knowing full well his face must have betrayed his inner turmoil moments before, and said with a hint of embarrassment, “It was only a worldly possession, Your Majesty; think nothing of it.” He then looked at the Seven-Star Lamps and added, “The starlight will not last long. Please remain seated and do not let anything disturb your composure, no matter what occurs. I may need to leave with my spirit for a while—remember this well.”

Without waiting for the emperor to reply, Liaochan sat cross-legged, placed a compass on his lap, and let his spirit depart his body, soaring straight toward the Heavenly Palace.

His cultivation of the Golden Elixir was not yet on par with the earth immortals, and reaching the Heavenly Palace was a struggle. Gripping the compass to fix his position among the stars, he braved the ninefold celestial winds, nearly shattering his soul in the process. Once through the winds, the path was clear. He put away the compass and headed toward the palace of the Northern Dipper.

Mist and clouds swirled; jade towers and celestial halls gleamed. This was the Celestial Court. Liaochan had imagined the Heavenly Palace countless times, yet the reality left him awestruck. Spirit cranes danced in flight, flowers bloomed in perpetual spring. In the distance, pavilions rose on foundations of white jade, their roofs of emerald green. Golden light shimmered, colors dazzled. Liaochan stood outside the Star Palace, mouth agape, looking utterly foolish. Immortal men and women came and went from the palace; some smiled at his wonder, others regarded him with disdain. Unbeknownst to him, within the palace, a man robed in the imperial vestments of Donghua now wore a face dark as ink, wishing he could slap this shameful fool of a grand-disciple to death.

“Don’t be angry, Lord. It’s not surprising that a mortal visiting such a place for the first time would be overwhelmed,” said Yaoguang Star Lord, kindly attempting to comfort the immortal who was fuming at his disciple’s embarrassing display. Yet his words were accompanied by a faint smile, betraying his true feelings.

“That’s right. With the immortal path nearly severed in the mortal world and spiritual energy all but gone, for your disciple to reach such a level is a marvel in itself. You ought to feel proud. Among all the mortal lineages, he is the only one to set foot in the Heavenly Palace. You should rejoice that your teaching endures,” said Kaiyang Star Lord, unable to keep silent any longer.

“If not for that, I would have long since washed my hands of him. Fools are plentiful in the world, but only he would dare to alter fate, to meddle with the destiny of an emperor and the dragon’s aura itself. Such things cannot be changed at whim. A single thread pulls the whole web. The consequences are vast—how could he invite such boundless karmic entanglements?” The Lord of Donghua spoke with lingering indignation.

“Indeed, the current of Heaven can be followed but not defied. This is a most difficult matter,” the Star Lords sighed in unison.

While the Star Lords lamented, Liaochan finally regained his composure, mortified by his earlier lapse. The looks from the heavenly guards at the palace gates made his cheeks burn with shame. Forcing himself to appear calm, he approached and announced, “Disciple Liaochan of Xuanguang Temple on Jing Mountain, Lake Daming, seeks audience with the Star Lords. I humbly request that you announce my arrival.”

The heavenly guard glanced at him and said, “If you have no position in the Celestial Court, the Star Lords are busy with official duties and cannot receive you. Please return.”

“Ah?” Liaochan was stunned, at a loss for what to do. Perhaps because his earlier antics had amused the guard, there was a trace of kindness in his tone as he added, “If you have a master of some renown, exceptions might be made?” Enlightenment dawned on Liaochan—connections mattered even in the Celestial Court. He mentally reviewed his lineage; apart from Lü Dongbin, famed among the Eight Immortals, none of his masters held much sway here. But then—of course! His master Zhong Quanli had learned the immortal arts from the Lord of Donghua himself. Did that not make him a distant disciple of the Lord of Donghua? The Lord of Donghua presided over the eastern heavens, the foremost of all male immortals—surely his name carried great weight. Surely the Lord would not mind if a disciple invoked his name. “Disciple of the Lord of Donghua, requests audience with the Star Lords,” Liaochan declared without hesitation, borrowing the most prestigious name he could. Privately, he prayed the Lord would not hold it against him.

He did not realize that the Lord of Donghua, upon hearing this presumptuous disciple invoke his name, was left momentarily speechless. He had half expected Liaochan to borrow the name of Lü Dongbin at most, but who could have guessed the man would dare to pull out the mightiest name of all?