Mandate of Heaven

Ji Ningzhao stayed with Chi Zhaoxi for several days, during which the little dragon, for reasons unknown, seemed to have taken a mutual dislike to Chi Zhaoxi and became even more attached to Ji Ningzhao. When the time came for Ji Ningzhao to leave, the little dragon was visibly delighted, batting a luminous pearl—it had spirited away from Chi Zhaoxi’s home the day before—back and forth with its tail as if it were a toy ball.

Chi Zhaoxi emerged from the cave, her tail materializing once more. Standing at the entrance, she extended her hand to Ji Ningzhao and said, “Liebi, come, let me take you up.”

Ji Ningzhao tucked the little dragon back into her sleeve, stepped outside, and took Chi Zhaoxi’s hand.

Chi Zhaoxi pressed a box into Ji Ningzhao’s arms. “Some time ago, I found a sunken ship in the trench. Inside, I came across a particularly beautiful jade cup. I thought you’d like it, so I brought it for you.”

Ji Ningzhao blinked at her with a smile and accepted the gift with grace.

After handing over the box, Chi Zhaoxi’s expression grew serious. “Liebi, you should be more cautious these days. I can sense a subtle shift in the atmosphere on land, though I can’t say whether it’s for better or worse.”

As a spirit, Chi Zhaoxi was far more sensitive to such indefinable changes than Ji Ningzhao.

Ji Ningzhao was silent for a moment, then nodded to show she understood.

It was nighttime when she came ashore. As soon as Ji Ningzhao stepped from the water, her clothes dried instantly. Chi Zhaoxi did not bid her farewell; a flash of her silver-white tail shimmered on the ocean’s surface before disappearing beneath the waves.

Port Two remained cleared out, and Ji Ningzhao’s car was still parked outside. She called the Special Division from her car, informing them that the matter here was resolved and Port Two could resume operations.

With new game consoles and cartridges to keep her entertained, Chi Zhaoxi would likely stay away from the surface for quite some time.

After hanging up, Ji Ningzhao made no move to start the car. She sat in the driver’s seat, her gaze shadowed and uncertain.

In truth, she had sensed the changes Chi Zhaoxi spoke of, if only faintly. It was as if a vast web of conspiracy was slowly descending, yet she had no idea who was weaving it, nor what they aimed to ensnare.

Just as Ji Ningzhao was about to start the car, Zhong Yanbei called. He had only just seen the message she had sent.

“I don’t know either,” Zhong Yanbei’s voice was hoarse on the line. “There’s no precedent for this. Maybe the strand of divine soul you’ve nurtured with your heart’s blood all these years is finally showing its effect. But perhaps this is all it can do.”

Zhong Yanbei was always forthright, never one to soften his words for anyone’s comfort.

Ji Ningzhao seemed unsurprised, her expression calm as ever. She simply acknowledged his words, then told him what Chi Zhaoxi had said to her.

Though he had watched over the base of Mount Yanmen for years, Zhong Yanbei existed beyond the five elements. Even if something truly did change in the world of mortals, he could no longer intervene, so his perception was even duller than Chi Zhaoxi’s.

After a long silence, he said, “If you’re truly worried, you could try divining. You know the heavens owe you a debt—should you glimpse a sliver of fate, no harm will come.”

But Ji Ningzhao suddenly laughed, replying, “Do you really think the reason I haven’t divined anything all these years is because I fear retribution?”

Zhong Yanbei said nothing, only sighed deeply, his tone uncharacteristically solemn. “Ningzhao, after all these years, why put yourself through this?”

Ji Ningzhao did not answer. She quietly hung up.

She rolled down the window and gazed outside. Tonight, the sky above the port was unusually clear—a sea of stars seldom seen in Hang City.

Ji Ningzhao had studied the art of reading the stars to divine fortune and fate since she first learned to read. She was gifted, had the guidance of renowned teachers, and possessed a keen mind. What was abstruse and arduous for others—planchette divination, astrological calculations—came naturally to her.

While she was still learning at the Stargazing Terrace, she often overheard people remark, “No wonder she’s destined to be the next Grand Shaman—she was born with heaven’s mandate.”

Her exalted status in the Imperial Palace was not solely due to her mother being the Queen of Chu. More importantly, in Chu, where the shamanic tradition ran deep, the reigning Grand Shaman had foretold before her birth that she would become the next Grand Shaman of Chu.

Thus, her gifts and wisdom were seen as nothing less than heaven’s favor.

But after that fateful night in the twenty-ninth year of Great Chu, Ji Ningzhao never again used the art of stargazing or any form of divination to seek her own future or the answers she yearned for.

Zhong Yanbei had been the first to reach Ji Ningzhao after the incident, and was now the only one who understood all that had transpired.

Yet even he had underestimated Ji Ningzhao’s resolve. By the time he hurried down from Mount Yanmen, Ji Ningzhao had already completed the forbidden ritual.

When he saw her, she was so weakened by the use of her heart’s blood to activate the forbidden art that she could barely rise from her bed.

At that time, the young Princess of Chu looked far more delicate than she did now—her face was white as a sheet, her whole body curled upon the couch, yet in her eyes, it was as though a flame burned upon a placid lake.

Though he had never understood the seven emotions, at that moment Zhong Yanbei sensed keenly that something within Ji Ningzhao had changed.

Or perhaps, the true Ji Ningzhao, long concealed beneath a life of ease, had been awakened by this great upheaval.

He recalled the instructions left to him by Ying Chongyun, who had visited him especially for that purpose. So he tucked the blanket around Ji Ningzhao and, with a rare hint of pity in his gaze, said, “You are the greatest shaman of Chu. You should have divined—”

In Zhong Yanbei’s eyes, Ji Ningzhao, despite being his elder by lineage, was still just a young girl who knew little of the world. It was not unusual for her to lose her way when disaster struck.

A decade or so of human life was but a fleeting moment to beings like them, whose lives spanned hundreds of thousands of years.

“I did not divine,” Ji Ningzhao interrupted, her voice so weak she had to gasp for breath between words. “And I never will again.”

She forced herself to sit up, reopening the wound on her chest, which quickly stained the white nightgown with blood. Yet she seemed oblivious to the pain.

Everyone knew how vital heart’s blood was to a cultivator. But to cast the forbidden art, Ji Ningzhao had nearly drained herself dry. That she survived at all was due to the scale Ying Chongyun had left behind.

Zhong Yanbei’s brow furrowed as he met her gaze, but Ji Ningzhao held his eyes without flinching. In response to his disapproval, she softly declared, “I will never divine again.”

“Because I will not let the will of heaven toy with me so wantonly ever again.”