Chapter 248: Heaven-Earth Sacrifice

At noon, Xie Jinhuan arrived at the Heaven-Earth Altar with the envoy delegation.

The Heaven-Earth Altar was a temple of the Worship Sect, not dedicated to various deities, but to Father Heaven and Mother Earth; it contained no statues or idols, only a nine-tiered white stone circular platform.

Below the altar, offerings had already been laid out: pigs, oxen, and sheep—all three sacrificial animals—while over a hundred shamans dressed in bizarre robes and wearing demonic masks prepared their rites.

On the outer viewing stands sat envoys from the Western Regions and Mobei; among them were envoys from a few fickle small states, one of whom Xie Jinhuan had even met at Empress He’s birthday banquet, and the braided foreign envoy he’d encountered on the way—after a little inquiry, he learned was the state’s high priest, Tuoba Zhe.

Though the title “high priest” sounded imposing, Tuoba Zhe’s state, Shajie, was merely a minor nation with fewer than a million people, and among the envoys, he was practically invisible.

Daqian and Beizhou were evenly matched in power, their viewing positions placed in the center, while Beizhou’s Minister of Rites, Fang Anguo, was currently explaining to the foreign envoys:

“This Heaven-Earth Altar was built after the First Emperor unified the realm; the first Grand Sacrificer was the Witch Ancestor Zhu Man. Over the following millennia, though rebuilt and renovated several times, its location and layout have remained unchanged—where we stand now is precisely where the ancient Emperor once observed the rites…”

Zhao Ling, serving as diplomatic envoy in her capacity as Princess Imperial, was dressed far more opulently than usual: in a pale gold palace gown with vermilion hairpins, her face, radiant with peace and prosperity, perfectly embodied the demeanor befitting a princess of a golden age.

Since this was merely a ceremonial formality, Zhao Ling paid no heed to Beizhou officials’ tedious lectures on imperial heritage; standing beside Xie Jinhuan, she asked curiously:

“What’s wrong with Qingmo?”

Linghu Qingmo had come along too, but she wasn’t standing nearby—instead, she stood with Feiji, Yang Dabiao, and other attendants, observing and waiting beyond the ritual platform.

Xie Jinhuan suspected it was because earlier on the way, he’d walked with MoMo, and in the freezing winter weather, he’d kindly offered to warm her hands—scaring her away from getting close. In response to his landlady’s question, he merely said:

“Maybe she’s afraid people will mistake us for a couple since we’re wearing the same color.”

“Sigh…”

Zhao Ling had no words for this useless friend; after a moment’s thought, she decided to prod this silent fool. She leaned close to Xie Jinhuan and began recounting the fun of last night’s party:

“You missed out last night—I invited Wang He to drink with me, and Zisu was there too. I made them play ‘Flying Petals,’ and whoever lost had to take off one piece of clothing…”

“Huh?!”

Xie Jinhuan had been half-listening, but hearing this, his gaze snapped over:

“You played that big? Who lost?”

“They were evenly matched—finally, both stripped completely. The scene was… intense.”

They whispered to each other.

Outside the viewing stand, Linghu Qingmo stood guard with her sword, her peripheral vision catching her friend and boyfriend close together, laughing and chatting intimately. Her expression turned strange; she gazed curiously from afar, trying to eavesdrop—but the distance was too great, she heard nothing, so she gave up.

??

Zhao Ling saw this and froze, thinking—so laid-back? You don’t even fight for your man? You really want to be the baby of the group, huh…

Seeing her friend showed zero initiative, Zhao Ling abandoned her provocation. As they chatted idly, the Heaven-Earth Altar’s ritual was now fully prepared: a shaman wearing a firebird mask stood atop the altar and struck a great drum; the assisting shamans below began chanting in unison.

“Dong dong dong…”

“Wu a wa~~…”

Xie Jinhuan had witnessed the Wu Sect’s musical mastery in Luojing; he felt his emotions stirred, producing solemnity and even tears in his eyes—yet he wasn’t surprised.

But as the ritual continued, the clear sky gradually stirred with a light breeze, then white mist began gathering above the Heaven-Earth Altar, faintly forming a mirage.

The mirage showed towering celestial palaces, vast beyond human scale, with auspicious beasts and spirit birds darting within; at its center, a structure piercing the heavens bore the faint characters “Beiming.”

Xie Jinhuan gazed upward at the mirage, sensing it could not be a real place; he wondered:

“How is this done?”

Ye Hongshang, holding her small umbrella beside him, glanced up and replied casually:

“The Wu Sect is the oldest sect in the world, its lineage unbroken since ancient times; its specialty is divine invocation. The Poison Sect’s individual illusions are merely a branch of the Worship Sect’s divine invocation. This sky image isn’t a mirage—it’s an illusion. Using a vast-scale illusion technique, they make the people believe they’ve seen the Immortal Realm; on battlefields, they can make both allies and enemies see thousands of heavenly soldiers, terrifying foes and boosting their own morale…”

“Oh…”

Xie Jinhuan nodded slightly upon realizing it was illusion—now he merely watched the Worship Sect’s magic show.

But the tribal envoys from the northern steppes, seeing the legendary “Beiming Immortal Palace,” felt as if their ancestral gods had manifested; many immediately knelt on the spot to honor their ancestors and the Beiming deity.

The soldiers guarding the perimeter and the accompanying clerks, mostly believers in divine oversight, regarded the Worship Sect priests as divine messengers; seeing the magnificent spectacle above, their eyes filled with awe.

Normally, such rituals lasted two quarters of an hour, during which the sky would display illusions of the Beiming Immortal Palace, the Beiming deity, and auspicious omens foretelling bountiful harvests and national peace.

But halfway through the ritual, the sky suddenly changed.

Xie Jinhuan had been watching the mirage above, when he noticed the drifting clouds gradually turning blood-red; a chilling wind rose, and the solemn atmosphere of the altar turned dark and oppressive.

The mirage’s image swiftly shifted from magnificent palaces to ruins engulfed in flames; then, a phantom of a red-haired female demon appeared above the Heaven-Earth Altar.

The red-haired demon had a human face and a serpent’s body, drenched in blood, radiating overwhelming demonic energy—but her face was unmistakably that of Empress Dowager Guo; she clawed at the sky, laughing with a chilling cackle:

“Hahaha…”

“?” The sudden shift stunned everyone at the altar for an instant.

Zhao Ling, who had been intently watching, now saw a demonic god suddenly appear—bearing Empress Dowager Guo’s face—and she frowned, whispering to her side:

“What’s this? Intimidating us?”

Xie Jinhuan thought this self-destructive tactic wasn’t intimidation—it was a live broadcast disaster.

As expected, before the envoys could react, Vice Minister of Rites Fang Anguo rushed forward, frantic and furious:

“What are you doing?! Stop it immediately…”

The shamans atop and below the altar clearly sensed something was wrong, but the chief sacrificer had already ceased his incantation and looked around in confusion—the sky illusion persisted.

Tuoba Zhe, the Shajie envoy, and several other steppe envoys turned pale with terror, shouting:

“This is a divine omen—a revelation from Beiming God…”

“The state will fall in crimson; a demon shall come to Beizhou soil—this must anger Beiming God…”

Meanwhile, the soldiers and attendants waiting outside, witnessing this horrifying anomaly, erupted into chaos:

“There’s a demon…”

“Run!”

…

With a few leading the panic, the hundred-odd envoys and surrounding crowd erupted into turmoil—horses reared, people scattered, and the entire Heaven-Earth Altar descended into pandemonium.

Xie Jinhuan instantly realized someone was secretly sabotaging the ritual, smearing Empress Dowager Guo.

Though merely a propaganda attack, the imperial sacrifice to Heaven and Earth, witnessed by foreign envoys, had suffered a grave incident—the Worship Sect and Empress Dowager Guo would bear the blame, and rumors would spread across Beizhou.

If handled calmly and swiftly, the situation couldn’t be reversed—but it wouldn’t worsen.

But Beizhou’s crisis response was pure incompetence. Fang Anguo, the lead diplomat, should have remained calm under pressure—but now he abandoned the foreign envoys, rushing to the altar’s base shouting wildly, giving no orders to his subordinates, leaving his staff like headless flies.

The Beiming Sect shamans, unable to suppress the celestial illusion, sought the culprit, yet had to explain to the Ministry of Rites—overwhelmed and unprepared.

Soon, the entire Heaven-Earth Altar became a chaotic mess, and under the guidance of hidden hands, it turned into an irreversible stampede.

Linghu Qingmo and Yang Dabiao, initially puzzled by the sky anomaly, now saw the surrounding chaos and immediately led their group toward the viewing stand to protect Zhao Ling—but were blocked by the panicked crowd, unable to reach her.

Realizing the danger, Xie Jinhuan immediately wrapped his arm around Zhao Ling’s shoulder and pushed through the fleeing crowd:

“Someone is sabotaging this—get back to the carriage team. I’ll find the culprit.”

Zhao Ling, herself a martial cultivator, had received the Divine Soldier’s Blessing and taken a Vitality Pill; though weaker than Xie Jinhuan, she was no fragile noblewoman. She didn’t panic, merely followed him out:

“Let them panic—it’s Guo’s problem. Why are you getting involved?”

Xie Jinhuan couldn’t explain that Empress Dowager Guo’s matter was his matter, so he simply said:

“This might be the Crimson Wu Sect’s doing—it’s certainly connected to the Li Mountain incident…”

As they spoke, Ye Hongshang, hovering beside them, traced the illusion’s flow and pinpointed a three-story watchtower on the northeast side of the altar:

“The person is inside the watchtower.”

Xie Jinhuan immediately glanced toward the indicated spot—only to realize the person had been watching him all along!

The instant he turned his head, the red-haired demon, staining half the sky, vanished—Ye Hongshang’s whisper followed:

“Gone.”

“Damn…”

Xie Jinhuan knew the chance was fleeting—he scooped up his landlady and leapt over the heads of the fleeing crowd toward the watchtower.

Zhao Ling, puzzled, nonetheless snatched a sword from a nearby soldier:

“He’s over there?”

“Yes—he’s trying to escape…”

Xie Jinhuan sprinted full speed toward the watchtower, but after advancing several zhang, he saw a window burst open—a shadow leapt down and vanished into the countryside; he accelerated.

Yet Fang Anguo, the Minister of Rites, still in chaos, now regained his wits as the illusion faded—he shouted from afar:

“Everyone, remain calm! Return to the viewing stands! All soldiers and shamans, protect the foreign envoys! Await reinforcements from the Ministry of Rituals… Princess Imperial, return immediately—over there is dangerous… Quickly, stop him! Don’t let anything happen!”

The chief shaman and the military officers finally heard correct orders—they found direction, and rushed to protect the panicked envoys, chasing after Xie Jinhuan and Zhao Ling:

“Princess Imperial, there are traitors here—your noble life is precious, do not risk yourself…”

Xie Jinhuan had barely rushed out when Beizhou officials surrounded him from all sides, trying to protect him—he was speechless.

But everyone’s reactions seemed normal—he couldn’t tell who was secretly controlling the situation—so he dodged the imperial officers and pursued the man fleeing from the watchtower…

(End of Chapter)