Chapter 513: A Storm Threatens

"I... I really can't climb any further."

Though Mount Tai isn't especially tall, making a fatty weighing over two hundred jin climb from the foot to the summit was nothing short of torture. Zhang Cang hadn't even reached the halfway point before he started wailing that he was done for.

Heifu, walking ahead, turned back and pointed at him with a scolding laugh: "All the attendants who can ascend Mount Tai with His Majesty and witness the Son of Heaven's Feng and Shan rites share in the honor — only you, Zhang Zihu, pulled a sour face the moment you heard you were included."

Zhang Cang rolled his eyes: "I'd say His Majesty got sick of me always whispering in his ear that 'Heaven's course is constant; it does not prevail for a Yao nor perish for a Jie,' so he deliberately sent me up here to suffer. Had I known, I'd have jumped into the Confucians' quarrels too, and let His Majesty punish me by ordering me to wait at the foot of the mountain, where I could lie on a couch and read my scrolls in peace. How fine that would have been."

Today was the fifteenth of the eighth month, the day of the Feng and Shan sacrifices on Mount Tai. The grand ceremony proceeded in two stages. The first was the "Feng," which meant building an earthen altar atop Mount Tai to sacrifice to Heaven above and proclaim heavenly merit — this had to be performed at the summit.

Qin Shi Huang had been planning the Feng and Shan for a year already, ordering Jibei and Xue commanderies to cut paths and build roads on the mountain's north and south sides, transforming the old trails into two routes — the sunny slope and the southern slope — wide enough for a sedan chair.

One side effect of this massive project was that the tigers roaming Mount Tai's vicinity were startled into flight and captured by the authorities. They even caught an albino tiger, which was gleefully presented to the Emperor as an auspicious omen.

And the wild folk who, ever since Confucius's time, had hidden year-round in Mount Tai's forests to escape "tyranny fiercer than tigers" could only risk their lives and burrow deeper into the farther hills.

Xue and Jibei commanderies would certainly never allow these suddenly emerging destitute wild folk to disturb the Emperor's Feng and Shan rites, so they scoured the mountain many times, striving to leave not a single straggler in the wilds.

Early that morning, Qin Shi Huang had left the crowd of Confucian scholars behind and taken his key ministers up the sunny slope. He himself rode in a sedan chair, carried in turns by over a dozen court guardsmen at the very front — as effortless as taking a cable car at a scenic spot in later ages, able to enjoy the surrounding scenery. But it was hard on his ministers; whether old or young, fat or thin, they all had to walk on their own two legs.

The party traveled four or five li by horse-drawn carriage, crossing the cliff-like "Heavenly Gate Stream," and reached the middle ridge. From there, the path became stone steps laid with slabs — over seven thousand steps in total, leading straight to the summit. This had been Xue Commandery's largest project over the past few years. Though the yin-yang fangshi criticized it for ruining the feng shui, it made the Emperor's ascent considerably easier.

By now it was noon. The autumn sun shone on Mount Tai, the dense fog shrouding the summit had dispersed, and the wet stone steps had dried considerably — it was the perfect time to climb to the top.

Heifu pointed ahead and said to Zhang Cang: "Chancellors Li and Wang, and Chief Minister Ye, are all past sixty, yet they force themselves along leaning on canes at His Majesty's side. What's more, you and I are in our prime. Get up — do you expect me to carry you?"

"Go ahead." Zhang Cang, as if his rear were glued to the stone slab, shamelessly stretched out a hand: "If you can carry me!"

"You fat lout..."

The Emperor's sedan chair had already gone far ahead. Heifu waved a hand and had two guardsmen come over to hoist Zhang Cang up, forcibly hauling him onward.

In the end, by the time they had trudged and paused their way to the summit, Zhang Cang had recovered, but those two guardsmen were dog-tired.

Heifu couldn't help mocking him: "Alas, carrying Zhang Cang up the mountain is more exhausting than donning a triple-layered suit of armor, wielding a two-dan crossbow, bearing fifty arrows with a halberd set upon them, wearing a helmet and carrying a sword, and marching a hundred li by midday with three days' rations."

It was now afternoon. Since autumn had just begun, there was no sight of pale mountains capped with snow or a bright candle lighting the southern sky. One saw only that the mountain was mostly rock, with little soil; the rocks were a dark grayish color, mostly square and flat, with few rounded ones. There were few mixed trees, but many pines, struggling to survive in the crevices of the stone.

There were no magnificent waterfalls, and few traces of birds or beasts. In short, it was utterly ordinary scenery.

When Heifu turned to look back, he found the view below the mountain was perhaps even better. The evening sun shone on the traveling palace; the Wen River and Culai Mountain were like a painting. And the halfway point they had just passed was now shrouded in mist again, like a dancing ribbon.

Ahead, Qin Shi Huang, dressed in his black court robes and crown, had already descended from his sedan chair. He too was standing with hands clasped behind his back, surveying the scenery above and below Mount Tai, his expression stern — no one knew what he was thinking.

What followed was a hurried yet orderly ceremony. According to the procedure the Chamberlain for Ceremonials had rehearsed many times, Qin Shi Huang and the assembled ministers all wore solemn ritual garments. Heifu and the others donned leather caps, tucked their tablets into their sashes, and assisted the Emperor in performing the rite of shooting the ox and presenting the Three Sacrifices.

Next came the even more elaborate rite of piling the feng earth. Since all the half-baked ideas of the Confucians had been rejected, the ritual procedure was identical to the suburban sacrifice to the Heavenly Thearch back in Xianyang. Qin Shi Huang took the wooden spade offered by the ritual officer and personally began to work, while the ministers assisted at the sides.

Everyone worked with great zeal — especially an old hand at farm work like Heifu, who even earned the Emperor's praise.

They looked just like leaders personally going up a mountain to plant trees on Arbor Day, except that the wide ceremonial robes were truly ill-suited for manual labor.

In the end, the piled feng earth was one zhang and two chi wide and nine chi high. Qin Shi Huang also buried a jade tablet book personally written by him within it. The contents of the writing were secret, known to no one, for this was a private dialogue between Qin Shi Huang and the Lord of Heaven.

The assembled ministers all wore solemn expressions, following behind the Emperor. At the ritual officer's calls, they bowed and prostrated themselves again and again toward the feng mound, reporting the completion to Heaven.

But at that moment, a curiosity arose in Heifu's heart.

"What exactly is written in that jade tablet book buried beneath the feng earth? Is it a rigid, formal proclamation, or some words from the Emperor's heart?"

Just as he suppressed his curiosity and was about to witness the second task — "erecting a stone and engraving the inscription" — the Fifth Rank Grand Master beside him, Qin Gongsun Ying (Ziying), who was slightly younger than Heifu, raised his head and let out a surprised "Huh?"

"Junior Upper Maker, look — why has the sky turned overcast?"

Heifu immediately looked up and only then realized that the sky, which moments ago had been dotted with white clouds and brilliant sunshine, had suddenly seen a great mass of gloomy clouds drift over from the east...

"Look, look at the summit of Mount Tai!"

While the Feng and Shan ceremony was underway on the mountain, the Confucians at the foot, though they grumbled about the Emperor's obstinacy, were nonetheless watching every move above with keen attention.

Now, seeing the wind and clouds suddenly shift in the sky, quite a few Confucians who harbored resentment because Qin Shi Huang had rejected them began to clamor.

"Judging by the time, they've only just finished the rite of piling the feng earth." The Confucian of the Yuezheng school lowered his head and counted on his fingers.

"They reported completion to Heaven, and the result is dense, dark clouds — what does this signify?" The Confucian of the Qidiao school suddenly turned earnestly studious, looking left and right as he posed the question.

"I'd say a sudden downpour is coming. His Majesty and the ministers are probably about to get drenched." The Confucian of the Zizhang school gloated.

"Remember the words of Confucius? 'Does Mount Tai not even match Lin Fang? How could Mount Tai not match Lin Fang?'" Someone recalled their discussion from the day before.

"Exactly. Mount Tai has a spirit, and the azure Heaven has feeling. It will never accept rites not in accordance with propriety, nor will it accept... the Feng and Shan of a ruler of meager virtue."

The latter half of the sentence was as faint as a mosquito's buzz; no one dared to say it aloud.

But everyone's eyes were fixed on the dark clouds atop Mount Tai. In the depths of their hearts, they cheered them on, hoping they would gather larger and larger, then unleash an unprecedented torrential rain that would utterly wreck the Feng and Shan ceremony on the mountain and drench that obstinate, insufferably arrogant Qin Shi Huang like a drowned chicken!

"Let him know that Heaven is supremely clear-sighted and cannot be deceived!"

The gray, murky clouds blotted out the sun, their enormous shadow swallowing the light atop Mount Tai inch by inch.

What it swallowed along with it was Qin Shi Huang's good mood...

His tall figure stood at the peak of Mount Tai, head raised to gaze at the dense overcast sky, his beard and hair flaring wildly in the blowing wind.

Qin Shi Huang remembered what he had written in the jade tablet book buried beneath the feng earth:

"Heaven protects the people below, making for them a ruler, making for them a teacher, that he may assist the Lord on High, to cherish and pacify the four quarters."

"I, the little child Zheng, Qin Shi Huang, having pacified the realm, have not slacked in governance. I have already slaughtered the Xiongnu nation, trampled the strongholds of the Di and Qiang, subjugated the cities of Qiongdu, and breached the walls of Hexi. The near took no more than ten days or a month of campaigning; the far took no more than two seasons of toil. I have firmly plowed their courtyards and swept their village gates, established commanderies and counties there, and swept through like clouds, so that their descendants shall have no further calamity."

"Now that external threats are quelled, I, the little child, wish to cultivate internal governance, rising early and retiring late, building lasting benefits. I perform the Feng and Shan to unify all under Heaven, to make the people's hearts turn to Qin, so that the six directions share the same customs and the nine provinces share the same thread. I look to Heaven for protection..."

The dialogue between the Son of Heaven and Heaven was like a son taking his report card and making an account to his father. In the final analysis, the Emperor wanted to show Heaven his proudest works:

"Look! Who from ancient times to the present could surpass me? Have you ever had such a fine son?"

But who could have expected such a result? The weather had been perfectly fine, yet in an instant, dark clouds gathered thickly, and a storm threatened.

In the unseen realm, it was as if some supreme existence truly was manipulating the shifting winds and clouds, toying with Qin Shi Huang, paying no heed whatsoever to his proclamation.

The Shang dynasty regarded Heaven as a father, and the Zhou people also revered and feared the azure Heaven, while Qin had inherited the beliefs of both Shang and Zhou. And over the past few years, whether Confucians, fangshi, or shamans and invocators, all had repeatedly told the Emperor: "Heaven is supremely clear-sighted and cannot be deceived. The changes of wind, rain, and the four seasons are the August Heaven's warnings of the ruler's faults, just as a stern father's clear admonition."

An ordinary son, when his father puts on a sour face, would tremble with fear, not know what to do, and might even kneel to admit his fault.

"Your son was wrong. Your son will change. Your son will never dare do it again!"

But Qin Shi Huang was different.

The flames of fury blazed in the eyes of this mortal emperor who desired nothing more than immortality!

In this moment, Qin Shi Huang even wanted to cast all caution aside — to unsheathe the Tai'e Treasure Sword, raise it skyward, and directly demand an answer from the boundless, infinite heavens!

"Heavens! What grievance do you hold against Us for all that We have done!?"

(End of Chapter)