Volume One: The King's Command Chapter Forty-Four: The Tornado Rain Prayer Ceremony

“Light the Lanterns of Dawn! Let music and joy fill every household!”

Thousands of lanterns, each with a unique design, were kindled among the crowds, illuminating the streets and alleys. Drums and zithers sounded in harmony, painting a majestic scene. The Rain Prayer Festival commenced at the ceremonial platform on the banks of the Clear Water River, stretching all the way through the entire Eighteen Mile Fort.

Those clad in red and green were the wealthy patrons of the city, seated with dignity upon wooden viewing platforms, savoring tonight’s grand spectacle. The bustling throngs crowded along the riverside promenade, pausing to admire the view.

Meanwhile, the calls of street vendors rang out ceaselessly, forming a lively night market just a street away—a sight to rival the ceremony itself. All manner of snacks, acrobatics, performances, and fine silks and satins could be bought; whatever one wished for could be found in this marketplace.

The best window seats facing the street had long been reserved with wooden signs by the waiters, tables booked in advance for feasting and merriment well into the night.

The first day of the Rain Prayer Festival was akin to an opening ceremony. The old priest would summon his ritual implements, followed by a succession of song and dance performances. Local celebrities from miles around had been specially invited. After all, free performances like these were rare throughout the year.

Thanks to the old priest, Liu Xiaoyi was seated in the front row of the viewing platform, able to see the events on stage with perfect clarity. Most around him were paunchy landlords and rural gentry; few his age could be found among them.

Soon, groups of young gentlemen, similar in years, gathered together. On seeing Liu Xiaoyi in his Taoist robes, they mistook him for an insider of the Rain Prayer Festival, and someone stepped forward to greet him.

“Master Taoist, may I ask what magic your esteemed master will perform tonight? My name is Guo Shuda. I have had the honor of meeting the venerable master on a few occasions.”

A scholarly youth squeezed up from the back row, about seventeen or eighteen, with fair features and arched brows, stature matching Liu Xiaoyi’s, and dressed in the fashion of the Heavenly King Sect.

Liu Xiaoyi returned his greeting. “I have no relation to him…” He had barely finished his words when he saw Meng Qiaoqiao below the stage, calling out to him, arms full of ritual instruments and struggling to hold them.

Guo Shuda gestured politely, the two exchanged awkward smiles, and Liu Xiaoyi hurried off the platform to help.

He thought to himself, so this must be the Guo Shuda the old priest mentioned. He seemed much friendlier than the other disciples of the Heavenly King Sect Liu Xiaoyi had met earlier, his manner free of any air of violence.

After arranging the chests of ritual implements in their proper places, Liu Xiaoyi’s arms felt numb. The sword within was as heavy as sunken iron from the deep sea.

“Don’t bother with Guo Shuda,” Meng Qiaoqiao whispered from behind the ceremonial platform, “he’s terribly annoying—just loves to ask endless questions!”

He was someone they’d met by chance on the road to the festival, so enamored with the Tao that he had trailed along, asking about everything under the sun.

Most astonishing was that he hadn’t even noticed the old priest’s beautiful disciple, Meng Qiaoqiao; Guo Shuda’s eyes saw only the Tao and those battered ritual implements.

When they returned to the viewing platform, Guo Shuda was even more respectful, and another slightly shorter gentleman had joined him. “This is the most renowned Taoist in the area, Li Jue.”

Li Jue greeted them with a bow and a smile. “Li Jue pays his respects, Master Taoist. May I ask your name?”

Below the stage, the old priest balanced two lanterns in his hands and had begun to dance, chanting sonorously. The surrounding noise drowned out Liu Xiaoyi’s reply as all eyes were drawn to the dazzling light from the two lanterns.

“My Taoist name is Yiting. Today I come to Eighteen Mile Fort to invite the River God! Lords of the Twenty-Eight Mansions, heed my command—let wind and cloud arise!”

The old priest’s name was Bai Yiting. He had cultivated the Tao for over sixty years, and his skill in summoning the immortals was unmatched. He tossed the two lanterns high into the air, formed a sword-finger gesture, and shouted, “Swift!”

The lantern flames flared, transforming into two fiery warriors who hovered at either side of the platform. Then he produced a peachwood table and flung it skyward, where it grew in size and was caught firmly by the fire spirits.

Meng Qiaoqiao, seeing this, threw the prepared offerings up into the air, and the table, as if magnetic, drew them all to its surface.

This was the first step of the ritual—to let the River God know the time had come, with melons and fruits serving as appetizers.

This feat alone drew rounds of applause and admiration from the crowd. Guo Shuda’s eyes shone with excitement, and he exclaimed continually, “Masters, that magic is truly divine! Only with sixty years of cultivation could one achieve such wonders!”

Li Jue nodded, noncommittal, his gaze lingering on Liu Xiaoyi with a look of contemplation.

With the offerings to the River God prepared, it was time to summon the ritual implements. The old priest’s tools included, apart from the sword, a cloth pouch, and the sword too was made of peachwood. This time, he used pure river water, which transformed into two auspicious qilin beasts that struggled to lift the sword from the chest.

The old priest’s expression grew solemn as he took up a cinnabar brush and inscribed mysterious symbols onto talisman paper in bold, flowing script. He exhaled a breath of white energy onto the talisman, and immediately the paper turned into a graceful white crane, which took the cloth pouch in its beak and soared into the sky.

With a qilin on the left and a crane on the right, the spectators were dazzled and dumbfounded. Even those who attended the festival year after year marveled; each time felt more wondrous than the last.

Ordinary folk simply cheered, but a select few, who could discern the secrets, stared wide-eyed, for Bai Yiting was wielding the most profound arts of Taoism.

The Taoists had always been shrouded in mystery; even their rankings were different from others, divided into sixteen stages, each requiring great perseverance to attain. Li Jue was not like Guo Shuda—he understood these hidden truths.

In earlier times, the Li family had been a great clan among Taoists, but their family arts attracted the greed of villains, and after years of conflict, the family declined. Now, Li Jue was the last of his line.

As the old priest’s movements quickened, the sword flashed with brilliance, spinning twice in the air before slicing through the river’s surface. The crane, still clutching the pouch, scattered pellets into the water below.

Soon after, a thunderous rumbling came from beneath the surface. First appeared a jade-green dragon horn, then a three-clawed azure dragon emerged, gulping down the pellets one by one and sweeping the altar offerings away with a flick of its tail.

“River God! Bai Yiting of the Taoist Bai clan greets the honored River God!” The old priest bowed deeply, and all the people around the platform followed suit.

To have the River God appear in person and consume the offerings on the first night was a most auspicious sign. The old priest’s face relaxed into a serene smile.

The azure dragon surveyed the crowd, exhaling a breath toward the old priest, moistening the air. In seven days, when the festival ended, rain would surely fall from the heavens.

Just as the dragon was about to return to the Clear Water River, the clash of arms suddenly rang out from the opposite bank. The old priest, thinking his ears were deceiving him, had no time to cast another spell before a gray, misty army formed in midair, surrounding the azure dragon!