Chapter 99:
The Divine Capital, Luoyang
TWO DAYS LATER, the ship docked at Sanmen Gorge.
With dry land under his feet again, Li Jinglong felt slightly better. Hongjun climbed to a spot high up over the gorge, from which he had a view of the surging waters of the Yellow River in the distance.
He thought of the carp yao’s lifelong dream to jump over the Dragon Gate at Sanmen Gorge and turn into a dragon. Though he knew now that a carp couldn’t become a dragon just by jumping over the Dragon Gate—it also had to accumulate merits—he couldn’t resist taking a look at the place on Zhao Zilong’s behalf. The carp yao had been with him since the day he first bade farewell to Chong Ming and Qing Xiong and left the Taihang Mountains. Thinking back on it, it seemed an eternity ago, especially now that he and Li Jinglong had at last bared their hearts to each other.
Hongjun hadn’t heard a word from Chong Ming since the day they fled Yaojin Palace at the beginning of the year, and even when they’d been there, he’d treated Li Jinglong with hostility. Hongjun sighed as a wave of loneliness washed over him. It seemed he really had no family left.
After his bout of seasickness, Li Jinglong opted not to sail to the He-Luo region from Sanmen Gorge. Traveling merchants passed frequently through here, so they hired a carriage and followed the caravans down to Luoyang instead. Li Jinglong languished in the carriage for a day and a night, until his nausea abated and his desire for Hongjun reignited. Hongjun wasn’t so bold as to attempt such a thing in a moving carriage, and quickly pushed him away.
All of a sudden, Hongjun heard someone outside call, “In the divine capital of Luoyang, thousands of doors open in welcome—”
“We’re here!” Hongjun threw up the curtains and peered outside.
Li Jinglong covered his face with his palm, utterly resigned.
Thousands of years ago, King Wu of Zhou first made this place the capital of his dynasty and named it Luoyi. During the Qin dynasty, the city that was once the center of the nation was made a county and renamed Sanchuan Commandery for the three rivers flowing through it. Emperor Guangwu of Han had once again moved his capital to this city while he reigned, and in the aftermath of the Wei and Jin dynasties and the era of the Sixteen Kingdoms, Emperor Yang of Sui had done the same. With the rise of Great Tang, a new law had decreed that the nation have two capitals. Luoyang was thus crowned the eastern capital, and later became the emperors Li Zhi and Wu Zhao’s long-term residence.
During Wu Zhao’s reign, Luoyang had been dubbed the divine capital. The layout of the city was based on the twenty-eight constellations of the universe, with seven heavenly landmarks that corresponded to the seven stars of the Northern Dipper. Among these grand structures was the Ziwei Palace, named for the Ziwei enclosure—the northernmost of the three celestial enclosures—which sat surrounded by stars in the very center of the sky. Hence it was known as the Central Palace, and because it was where the emperor resided, it was also referred to as the Hall of Enlightenment.
Luoyang during the fourth month was just as Li Longji had described in his poem: The fragrant trees of Luoyang were mirrored in the Tianjin River as freshly grown willow leaves draped along the riverbank.7 Tianjin Bridge spanned the Luo River, whose waters flowed toward the brilliant Milky Way glimmering over the horizon.
Li Jinglong and Hongjun passed through the gates of Luoyang, leading their horses. The eastern capital wasn’t as sprawling as Chang’an, and its bustling population was less diverse, but it was grand in a way unique to the Central Plains.
Leaning over the bridge’s railing, Hongjun looked down at the schools of fish swimming in the Luo River and pondered how Fuxi, the divine ancestor of humankind, had reached enlightenment about the eight trigrams on the banks of this very river before proceeding to create the ancient cosmological map known as the Yellow River Diagram and the Luoshu Square often used alongside it. The Divine Land seemed exceptionally vast at that moment, with so much to see and feel, and Hongjun found himself wondering if he could set foot on every inch of it and see all there was to see in one lifetime.
“Head east,” said Li Jinglong. “Along Dingdingmen Street.”
“Are we staying at an inn?”
Li Jinglong shook his head. He and Hongjun were both leading horses, and the clothes they wore made it obvious they were from Chang’an. A journey to the eastern capital from its western counterpart took only a few days, but the local customs began to diverge just beyond Hangu Pass. The influence of foreign tribes was more pronounced on the citizens of Chang’an, who wore robes with gathered sleeves and favored more casual accessories and hairstyles. Comparatively, the folk of Luoyang were more particular about their appearance. On top of that, Li Jinglong was handsome and Hongjun was bright and spirited, and so the pair attracted many gazes as they wandered through the streets.
“We’re going to the Heavenly Hall,” Li Jinglong said. “I heard a long time ago that the original headquarters of the Department of Exorcism were located there.”
It was Wu Zhao who’d built the Heavenly Hall, a towering structure devoted to worshiping the Buddha, which later became the headquarters of the Department of Exorcism helmed by Di Renjie. When Emperor Zhongzong, Li Xian, moved the capital to Chang’an, the department had followed. The department’s plaque had been removed and the site deserted, though the premises were still clean and in good repair, thanks to the novice monks who took care of it.
The sun shone brightly on this beautiful late-spring day, and an unruly group of children were playing cuju and kicking jianzi on the large drill grounds at the foot of the tower.
Li Jinglong pushed the door open and smiled. “Isn’t it strange? The department headquarters in Chang’an were derelict when we arrived, but the Luoyang headquarters are so clean even though no one’s here.”
“But doesn’t it look like someone’s stayed here recently?” Hongjun asked, spotting a clay tea set on the table.
“Yongsi stayed overnight when he came to Luoyang to investigate that case of the brain-eating yao,” Li Jinglong explained as they unpacked their bags.
Only then did Hongjun recall Qiu Yongsi’s adventure and realize he must have told Li Jinglong about his stay at the department’s former headquarters.
Li Jinglong dug out a few copper coins—old currency from the previous dynasty—and called to one of the kids kicking jianzi outside. He handed the boy a bit of money and said, “Please deliver one of these coins to a man named Sheshe in Yunlai Ward, east of the main avenue, and the other to Lao-Wu in Siwen Alley, off Kuixing Street.”
The boy scampered off, and Li Jinglong and Hongjun sat down in the erstwhile department headquarters to drink tea as they waited. Just like in their headquarters in Chang’an, murals of Acalanatha adorned the walls; as Hongjun ran his eyes over them, the image of his parents’ murderer—a war god clad in golden armor—surfaced in his mind. It struck him then that the man in his memory must have been the reincarnation of Acalanatha’s true form.
Hongjun stood before the murals, looking up at each image of Acalanatha and the six artifacts he wielded. The sword, which appeared more often than any other, was the same Sword of Wisdom that Li Jinglong always carried with him.
“Qing Xiong told me Mara can only be slain, and the demon seed purified, by one who wields all six artifacts. Is that true?”
“That’s just a legend.” Li Jinglong brewed tea as he listened. After some consideration, he continued, “I asked Yongsi about it once too, and we studied quite a few of the historical materials Duke Di left behind. The legends say that if Mara returns and gains the full extent of its power, it can only be killed when the six artifacts of Acalanatha are merged into one. Only then will the malign energies within it return to the heavens.”
“Malign energies are born from all living things in the mortal world; they can never be completely destroyed,” Hongjun said. “It’s only the demon seed that’s killed.”
“Mm.” Li Jinglong saw what Hongjun meant. If the six artifacts of Acalanatha were ever gathered, it would be for one purpose only: to destroy the demon seed inside Hongjun’s heart.
“Did you ever try searching for the other five artifacts over the years?” Hongjun asked, studying the artifacts in the murals.
“There’s no point,” Li Jinglong said. “They’ve been lost for almost a thousand years. It’s been so long since Mara’s previous reincarnation—where would I even begin to look?”
“When was the last time Mara reincarnated?”
“When the Qin dynasty lost the throne, all under the heavens sought it for themselves,” Li Jinglong answered. “Countless people died as the Qin dynasty conquered new lands, and the butcher general Bai Qi buried four hundred thousand surrendering soldiers alive. When the second emperor of Qin passed, the continent once again fell into chaos and bloodshed, birthing malign energies so potent they were beyond what the heavenly and earthly meridians could absorb. Thus, Mara was born into the mortal world… Come over here.”
Hongjun knew Li Jinglong had studied history carefully since he was made chief of the Department of Exorcism; he didn’t doubt it was just as he said. “If Mara really does reincarnate…”
“It won’t. I promise you,” Li Jinglong said seriously. “It’s not time yet, Hongjun.”