Chapter Seventy: The Great Ke Tripod

Li Zisheng took note of the nine-section staff. Its presence in this place confirmed that Le City held something craved by the shadowy figures lurking in the dark. That he had arrived here by chance and remained undetected by them felt like a heaven-sent opportunity.

Even if it were dangerous, he felt compelled to investigate further; otherwise, he would never have such a chance again.

Li Zisheng and his companion reached the eighth pavilion. Unlike what Li Zisheng had imagined—expecting a departure from the previous styles or a wealth of information—this eighth pavilion was remarkably ordinary, as calm as if it were sheltered from wind and rain.

As Li Zisheng stepped inside, although there was nothing visually unique, he felt an unusual atmosphere. He sensed a strange, heavy, and profound presence.

He scanned the interior, searching for the source of this unsettling feeling. Upon closer inspection, he discovered the secret: thin, intricate grooves lined the floor around the pavilion, and within them flowed a silvery, liquid substance.

Li Zisheng recognized it immediately as mercury—the same lead-mercury concoction used by alchemists in the Tang Dynasty for refining elixirs. It circled the entire pavilion.

The liquid had clearly been flowing there for a long time; it was not a recent addition. Li Zisheng watched it closely and quickly realized something extraordinary: the mercury moved in a specific, continuous, and cyclical flow. He could not fathom what mechanism drove this perpetual motion without any external power source; it was a marvel that even a man from the future like himself could not explain.

Finding no other anomalies in the eighth pavilion, Li Zisheng left with Baliang.

When they reached the ninth pavilion, Li Zisheng was struck dumb. Standing there, solemn and imposing, was a massive bronze tripod.

The vessel appeared ancient. Even at a glance, its intricate patterns suggested it was no ordinary artifact. It rested upon a raised platform of high-quality stone, as if the surrounding structure were built specifically to protect it. This piqued Li Zisheng’s curiosity.

He searched his memory for ancient Chinese tripods, trying to match it to a historical model. Given the connection to Zhang Jue and the recurring seal script he had encountered, he focused his thoughts on the era of the late Zhou dynasty.

Li Zisheng observed the details: the tripod had large, upright twin ears, a slightly constricted mouth, a square lip with a wide rim, and a belly that curved gracefully—the classic shape of a Zhou-era tripod used for ceremonial offerings. The ears were decorated with opposing dragon motifs. The structure was majestic and primitive, with the three legs at the base showing the transition toward the beast-hoof shape typical of the late Western Zhou period, lending it a sense of stability and strength. The body featured three sets of symmetrical, stylized kui-dragon patterns and wide, swirling patterns with bold, flowing lines. It was unmistakably a relic of the Western Zhou, the era of the Rites of Zhou.

Li Zisheng’s familiarity with such artifacts stemmed from his mentor, Cheng Zhongliang, a renowned scholar of ritual studies who held the Zhou rites in high esteem. He had seen descriptions of similar tripods in his mentor’s library.

The tripod’s feet were slightly wider at the point of contact than at the top, their center of gravity leaning slightly outward—a definitive example of the transition from the column-like legs of the Shang Dynasty to the hoof-shaped legs of the Zhou. Suddenly, a name flashed in his mind: the Da Ke Ding. It was a legendary vessel used for the ritual meals of the Son of Heaven—an object that only an emperor could possess.

The patterns on the neck—three sets of symmetrical, deformed taotie masks separated by prominent ridges—matched the vessel perfectly. It was, without a doubt, the Da Ke Ding.

As Li Zisheng circled the tripod, a faint realization dawned on him. This vessel was imbued with imperial aura. Emperor Xuanzong’s upcoming sacrifice at Mount Tai was a supreme act of state, reserved only for an emperor whose virtue moved the heavens. It was a perilous undertaking; the slightest error could lead to catastrophe. Could it be that the objects hidden in these nine pavilions were tied to the Emperor’s sacrificial rites?

Once this thought took root, his mind grew cold and clear. The first question was: who would want to prevent Xuanzong’s sacrifice? The answer was obvious—neighboring foreign powers who feared a strong and prosperous Tang Dynasty.

As a man of the future, Li Zisheng knew that prosperity often precedes decline. Though the Tang under Xuanzong had not yet begun its descent, the seeds of ruin were already sown behind the facade of grandeur. This hidden malice might well be the root of a future calamity.

He recalled the old man who had granted him the "Heavenly Destiny Sacrifice," claiming Li Zisheng was a fated individual predicted by the Heavenly Bureau, capable of swaying the tides of history. Li Zisheng had found such claims difficult to reconcile with his scientific worldview, but he could only smile to himself. His very presence in the Tang Dynasty was an inexplicable mystery, let alone the prophecies of the Heavenly Bureau.