113 The Thunderclap of Five Thunders

On the eighth day of the sixth month in the seventh year of the Guanghe era of the Great Han, a thick, dark mass of clouds rolled in from the south, shrouding the entire sky over Licheng County.

From the early morning, families across Licheng took to the streets. The inns, both within the city and beyond the walls, were packed, as travelers from various towns and districts of Jinan Kingdom joined the surging, restless throngs. Their destination was the same: Mount Li.

This gathering was not for a mountain fair or any festive celebration. Three days prior, the Church had posted notices at every city gate, announcing that the High Priest would perform an act of divine retribution atop Mount Li, executing the utterly wicked Zhu Ying. The people of Jinan were stirred to their core; many had arrived days in advance, luggage in hand, securing lodging while awaiting the moment of execution.

Among the bustling crowd, some were filled with righteous indignation. These were the elders of Jinan, families who had lived on this land for generations. Over the past twenty years, when Zhu Ying served as the Chief Clerk of Jinan, he had brought them endless suffering, ruining countless homes and leaving them too terrified to voice their grievances. Now, witnessing this demon meet his end, they wept tears of joy. Others were newcomers to the region—people who had moved to Jinan after Zhu Ying’s downfall and Luan Yi’s rise to power. Having no personal experience of Zhu Ying’s crimes, they were merely spectators drawn by the spectacle.

Finally, there were those who had recently been captured: the former Yellow Turban soldiers. Though they were now part of the Jinan Kingdom, deep down they harbored lingering fantasies of the Yellow Turban Rebellion. They had even secretly yearned for the movement to rise again to wash away the shame of their defeat. Thus, standing beneath Mount Li, their hearts were conflicted—torn between despair and melancholy. They gazed toward the massive cross atop Mount Li and the lifeless figure pinned upon it, exhaling long, heavy sighs. Once, this Commander Zhu Ying had been a man of immense influence; to think he would end up in such a state.

Halfway up the mountain, guards of the Church formed a human wall, preventing the onlookers from ascending to the summit. Not far behind this barrier stood a newly constructed high platform. Luan Yi stood upon it.

He was not dressed in military armor, but in the newly tailored vestments of the High Priest. The robe was as white as cream, with an image of the Holy Mother embroidered in blood-red thread upon the chest by Cui’er. The May weather was stifling, and he had specially retrieved a lotus-patterned folding fan from his trunk to hold in his hand. The early summer breeze caught his long robes, causing them to ripple and snap—a figure of effortless, dashing elegance.

Luan Yi glanced at the swirling, turbulent sky, sniffing the humidity in the air. He turned his gaze to a glass fishbowl nearby; seeing the carp within growing agitated and breaking the surface to gasp for air, he knew the time for the execution had arrived. Standing tall upon the platform, he raised his hands and pressed them downward in the air.

Thousands of guards below roared in unison, their voices echoing in a long, drawn-out cry: "SI-LENCE!"

The chaotic crowd below Mount Li fell instantly silent. Luan Yi cleared his throat and addressed the gathered masses in a resonant voice: "People of Jinan, brothers and sisters of the Holy Mother Church! The rebel Zhu Ying is steeped in wickedness. Twenty years ago, he tyrannized Jinan, brutalizing the people, monopolizing trade, and aiding the warlock Yang Mou in sorcerous practices. He plundered wealth, seized lands, and abducted women—there was no evil he did not commit. The Holy Mother, in her mercy, could not bear to see the people of Jinan drown in such misery. She commanded me to uphold the Heavenly Way, to honor the Divine Will, and to establish this Holy Church in Jinan to enlighten the masses and cast out evil. I have not failed the Holy Mother’s mandate; with the help of the good people of Jinan, I have thoroughly eradicated Zhu Ying’s rebel faction. Only Zhu Ying himself, cunning as he was, initially escaped the reach of the law. Yet, this brute knew no repentance; he stubbornly returned to the evil path of the Taiping sect, leading an army to bring calamity upon our land. Such crimes are abhorrent to both man and god; death alone cannot satisfy the hatred in our hearts. Today, I, the High Priest, shall act on behalf of Heaven to execute this demon, ensuring his body and soul are utterly destroyed, leaving him no path to Heaven and no refuge in the Earth."

As Luan Yi finished his declaration, the tens of thousands of people watching from afar felt a stir of curiosity at the phrase "act on behalf of Heaven." They had witnessed many executions—beheadings, dismemberment, and bifurcation—but "acting on behalf of Heaven" was a concept entirely unknown to them. Instinctively, they focused their eyes on the peak of Mount Li, watching intently for what would come next.

Suddenly, a large bird took flight from the summit. Upon closer inspection, it was no bird at all, but a giant paper crane. Constructed from a bamboo frame covered in fine, ritualistic paper, it bore a massive portrait of Zhu Ying. It was a kite. Guards then fastened the tethering line to Zhu Ying, who was nailed to the cross, before scrambling down the mountain as if possessed. The onlookers were puzzled—why run? Was there anything to fear from a man already dying on a cross?

Just then, the dark clouds in the sky grew denser. The bright day turned as dark as midnight. A gust of wind, heavy with moisture, swept across the mountain, causing the trees to rustle with a crisp, dry sound, like the melody of approaching death. The clouds churned, as if brewing with a concentrated, explosive fury. A sudden, thunderous crack shook the air, and a massive bolt of lightning descended from the heavens, striking a tree on a nearby peak, splitting the century-old trunk in two and setting it ablaze.

The crowd was thrown into a panic. Someone shouted, "It’s raining! Lightning! Run!" Thousands of people shielded their faces, turning to flee, yet their curiosity about Zhu Ying’s fate kept them lingering. As they glanced back, they saw another bolt of lightning plummet from the clouds. This one struck the kite flying above Mount Li with unerring precision. A blinding flash of light erupted, racing down the tethering line toward the cross and the body of Zhu Ying.

Only then did the roar of thunder follow. When they looked at Zhu Ying again, he was charred black and wreathed in smoke; were it not for his body remaining pinned to the cross, the onlookers would never have recognized him. A gasp rippled through the crowd. Even the strategists—Dian Wei, Guan Yu, Zhang Fei, Zhao Yun, Huang Zhong, Xu Chu, Taishi Ci, Xu Shu, and Mao Jie—were stunned. They had not understood Luan Yi’s plans, assuming he merely intended to execute Zhu Ying on the hill. Now, witnessing this, they actually believed the Holy Mother had manifested her power to punish the wicked.

Amidst the shock, another bolt of lightning fell. The paper crane was incinerated, and the lightning, no longer guided by the kite, struck Zhu Ying directly. "BOOM!"

The effect was even more terrifying than before. Zhu Ying’s body, hot and saturated, saw its fluids and blood instantly vaporize; the internal pressure caused his remains to burst apart, scattering charred flesh everywhere until nothing remained of his body or bone.

"Good heavens!"

Even then, the "Holy Mother" seemed unsatisfied. Two more thunderclaps followed, shattering the cross into dust and leaving a smoking crater in the solid rock of the summit.

The people watching from above and below were struck dumb with awe. They fell to their knees in unison, crying out, "Holy Mother, calm your wrath!"

As the plea left their lips, the thunder ceased as if on command. A light, drizzling rain began to fall, "pitter-patter," extinguishing the fires on the mountain and seeping into the hearts of the people. The rain grew heavier, a torrential downpour that snapped the onlookers out of their stupor.

Someone counted the lightning strikes—excluding the one that "missed," there were exactly five. "This... this was the Five Thunders Striking the Crown."

"Indeed, exactly five!"

"Heaven! The Holy Mother has truly manifested!"

Most shocked of all were the surrendered Yellow Turban soldiers. They had heard tales of the General of Heaven summoning wind and rain, but dismissed them as mere folklore. Yet, they had just witnessed true command over the elements. And the one who performed it was not the General of Heaven, but the High Priest of the Holy Mother Church.

In their eyes, Luan Yi’s figure grew instantly larger. In their daze, they imagined his white robes radiating a holy light. Coupled with the rumors in the streets, they became convinced that the High Priest was no mortal, but a divine being sent from above. If the High Priest was divine, then the religion he represented was surely true, and the Holy Mother truly existed—for just moments ago, she had manifested her wrath to strike Zhu Ying into nothingness.

As the High Priest put it, he was "utterly destroyed in body and spirit."

Five thunders striking the crown, body and soul destroyed!

They did not know that this was no divine manifestation, but Luan Yi’s clever application of a rudimentary lightning rod—using the cross as a conductor to draw the bolt to Zhu Ying, with the kite serving as an additional attractor to ensure the desired effect.

However, the result had perfectly deceived everyone present. Thousands of people knelt in perfect order, faces filled with reverence, excitement, and humility, bowing repeatedly and chanting: "The Holy Mother is merciful, her power is boundless!"

Luan Yi looked on with satisfaction. He was certain that after this, the followers of the Holy Mother in Jinan Kingdom would be more loyal than ever, and those who had not yet converted would soon seek the embrace of the Holy Mother.