CG Chapter 172: The One Rightful Emperor
He who postures with head held high. He who proclaims himself the Arbitrator of Harmony and Order. It is he who waves the banner of false salvation, only to become the catalyst of true destruction.
No matter what skin the serpent wears, it remains a snake. Even the wisest and most uncorrupted of emperors will fall once the crown has been truly worn.
He who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster. And if you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you.
For once the crown is worn, all promises become nothing but forgotten thorns.
A tale that has been told once is destined to repeat itself. Years might pass, and the anguish of old might be forgotten, but a mark left once is yet to come. Or it might be as short as the time it takes a weeping mother to bury her courageous sons, honoring the new harmony they assisted in obtaining.
Far away from Aretius and his schemes and plots, distant from Wei Ji Village's tentacles and the abnormalities it once held within.
In the capital of the Great Empire of Wu, a single "gracious man" sat atop the lifeless remains of the royal family of the once-great Han Dynasty. This man was none other than Wu Wuqing, formerly known as the Heartless Sword of Han.
He sat on his throne, adorned in an elongated imperial robe. His long black hair was tied into a bun covered by a brilliant golden crown bearing the engraving of a dragon. Nevertheless, this wasn't any ordinary dragon, as it had an unnaturally lifelike, murderous pupil; some courtiers swore that it seemed as if it dug deep into their souls.
Yet, this crown wasn't that of the previous Han Dynasty. Once he had secured his seat on the imperial throne, Wu Wuqing ordered the destruction and remolding of anything and everything that held the slightest connection to the fallen Han Dynasty.
Around him, stretching as far as the throne room could hold, innumerable exquisite dancers and dazzling concubines danced with all they had. They strained to ingratiate themselves, desperate for even a single glance from the "Vermilion-Pupilled Dragon" of Wu, derided by the peasants from the two neighboring empires as the "Gluttonous Idol."
Seated below him at low tables of fragrant sandalwood, the courtiers were lost in their own world, merrily draining porcelain cups of the empire's finest liquor.
In the current mainland, Wu Wuqing was considered the mightiest of the rising stars. He wasn't a mere scholar, but a mighty general who led his troops and slew countless adversaries of the Great Han. Foes would fall hearing the reverberations of his sword before even hearing his name.
As an emperor, Wu Wuqing ensured that each of his loyal servants got a warm meal, yet for those who dared to disobey his orders, bloodshed and the slaughter of their entire families were the results that followed.
The peasants, far away from the capital, however, weren't lucky enough to be graced by his gaze. There was a famous saying that bandits and border troops alike would use:
"The Mountains are high, and the Emperor is far away.
Sweep the floors of the mortal world, but dare not touch the canopies of celestials;
Dally with the jade-like beauties, but when the masters come, you must give face and let them play;
The Rivers of the empire are long, and the Sovereign has already been led astray.
Daze his gaze, and let your soul wander into the Great Dao."
These, however, weren't the only ones hiding away from the gaze of His Majesty.
...
At the far southern border of the capital of Great Wu stood a thin, scrawny elder who would otherwise look entirely unremarkable, except for his twin pupils.
His pupils appeared as if they stretched to harbor the Heavens within. If one dared to peek into them, they could not help but be drawn in, as if they were gazing into the starry sky.
He was staring into the distance from atop the mountain before suddenly smiling as he ordered one of the young boys next to him in a tranquil tone:
"Prepare to receive our esteemed guest. Remember to treat him with care; he has come here from afar and has gone through a lot to reach us."
The young, snotty-nosed boy squinted into the distance as he tried to find the visitor, but he wasn't able to see anyone.
Despite this, he didn't question how the old master saw any guest from all the way over here, as he scampered toward the entrance.
In the middle of his sprint, he heard the voice of the old man calling to him: "Bring him a new set of clothes and let him wash before coming to meet me."
The boy nodded twice. As he turned, his eyes darted for a second, and seeing no one around, he used the edge of his robe to wipe away his snot.
From his place, the old master shook his head, laughing, yet his face twisted into a serious expression as he seemed to recall something.
Beneath the towering Tianxing Peak, below the fog and hard stones, a lone boy ran with all of his remaining strength, glancing behind him every now and then.
A pitch-black robe hugged his head and body; however, if one held it, their hands would be covered in black matter as the fabric turned white.
This robe was akin to that of the Black and White Impermanence. Darkness on one side and light on the other, so closely entangled as to be one.
As for the young man? His fate was long sealed, and the garments he wore today were but a story of what was to come.