Volume 1, Chapter 2: Historical Fact? The Imperial Aura!
In 1046 BCE, King Wu of Zhou launched a campaign against the Shang dynasty.
Above the grand palace of King Zhou of Shang, crows circled incessantly. Countless soldiers’ bodies lay scattered before the palace steps, providing resting spots for the birds.
An elderly figure, stooped and frail, slowly approached from outside the palace. His gaunt face made his already diminutive frame appear even smaller.
In his hand, he gripped a tall cane, atop which perched a vulture that showed no intention of flying away despite the old man’s movements.
The elder stopped before the stone steps leading to the palace and looked up at the imposing figure of King Zhou of Shang inside. With a sinister smile, he said, “King Zhou, surrender. You cannot defy Heaven.”
“Hmph,” King Zhou sneered. “Whether I can defeat you is something I know well. What brings you here? Have you sent only a mere envoy of the Heavenly Clan to negotiate with me?”
The emissary of the Heavenly Clan shook his head, a faint smile curling on his withered lips, as if mocking the last human emperor’s delusions.
“You claim to abide by the will of the Heavenly Clan, demanding a thousand human tributes each year. How could there be droughts, how could the people suffer so? You see things too narrowly; why not consider all living beings under heaven?”
“Ha! Narrow-minded? You call me narrow-minded?” King Zhou laughed heartily, covering his face with trembling hands.
In the next moment, his expression turned fierce as he glared down at the envoy beneath the steps, eyes burning with murderous intent.
“This land of the human emperor is not yours to command! From the first human emperor onward, Heaven, Earth, and Man have stood as equals. Why should we heed decrees demanding sacrifices? Why should the lives of all beings be subject to Heaven’s whims?”
With that, King Zhou stretched out his palm, transforming it into a tiger’s claw. The envoy’s face instantly changed; he tried to flee but seemed paralyzed, as invisible handprints constricted his neck.
“You are unworthy to speak to me! The great destiny bestowed upon the human race means that I shall sit alongside Heaven and drink with Earth. If you want us to submit to the Heavenly Clan, then first remove the destiny of the human emperor!”
With those words, the envoy’s head exploded.
King Zhou strode out of the palace, his strong figure seeming small beneath the heavy, dark clouds. Drawing his bronze sword, he pointed it toward the sky.
“Since the Heavenly Clan wishes to subjugate my people, I shall fight Heaven itself. Using the great destiny of mankind, I will play this game with you—marching armies against Heaven, sitting alongside it, even surpassing it. If you seek to steal our destiny and make us your vassals, then I shall wash the heavens red with blood!”
King Zhou roared, standing alone as a proud human emperor defying the vast sky. At his words, a flash of lightning suddenly appeared in the heavens, as if responding to his defiance.
He looked up, then draped over his shoulders a fox fur cloak—not just any cloak, but the very form assumed by the thousand-year-old demon fox, Daji.
---
“King Zhou, only a few days remain until the sacrifice at the Deer Terrace. We must hurry,” Daji’s voice whispered in his ear. He nodded, weapon in hand, descending the steps and heading toward Deer Terrace.
Along the way, King Zhou gazed upon the blood-soaked palace and the surrounding lands where corpses lay everywhere. His heart ached, yet he was powerless.
In the beginning, the three sovereigns of Heaven, Earth, and Man stood together, their powers equal. The human emperor’s strength rivaled the other two. But as time wore on and lifespans waned, the human emperor’s power gradually faded. By the dawn of the Shang dynasty, the Heavenly Emperor seized the opportunity, conquering the human lands by force, gradually stripping away their power and demanding tributes to align with the Heavenly Way.
Shang Tang was powerless to resist and submitted to the Heavenly Emperor’s rule.
Yet, over five centuries, secret plans were laid. By King Zhou’s time, all was ready: a forest of wine and meat, constructed from animal carcasses, nourished by the essence of Heaven and Earth’s blood and flesh to restore the human emperor’s might.
The thousand-year-old demon fox Daji served as a supernatural catalyst, boosting the emperor’s strength. Bi Gan’s heart, with its seven orifices and exquisite craftsmanship, was embedded within him, granting King Zhou some measure of resistance.
But years passed, and humanity had long forgotten the Heavenly Clan’s power. How could the chaotic force be restored in mere centuries? Coupled with the rebellion led by King Wu of Zhou, who claimed the mandate of destiny, sparking the Battle of Muye, all five centuries of preparation ended in defeat. The destiny of humanity began to be stolen by the Heavenly Clan.
After their crushing loss at Muye, King Zhou fled to Deer Terrace, accompanied by Daji in her human guise.
The Deer Terrace stood firm. Beneath it, ministers bowed their heads, unwilling acceptance etched on every face. The bitter defeat weighed heavily on all.
They knew that with King Zhou’s fall, humanity would be enslaved forever by the Heavenly Clan. There would be no more human emperors; the Heavenly Clan would no longer serve Heaven but would instead press down on mankind, their sovereign seat claiming the highest destiny.
Before the terrace, North Earl Chong Houhu wept freely, his voice quivering with emotion.
“Gentlemen, let us bid farewell to the last human emperor!”
As his voice died away, the sound of war drums echoed beneath Deer Terrace, resonating in the ears of Chen Yan and the others. It was the final, proud cry amid the darkness.
The bonfire grew ever larger, until the small flame Chen Yan had first noticed filled the entire Deer Terrace.
He stared in astonishment at the raging fire, watching as countless dark clouds slowly descended from above the terrace, halting only when they touched the flames’ apex.
Whirlwinds pulled at the fire, which seemed alive, struggling fiercely, yet all in vain. When they converged, the storm clouds crackled with lightning, absorbing the flames, which dyed the clouds a fiery red, resembling a swirling firestorm.
“Is this the tyrant King Zhou? Is this what history holds?” Chen Yan’s eyes filled with terror, for in his memory, it was the tyrannical rule of King Zhou that brought about the Shang dynasty’s downfall. Yet now, witnessing firsthand, this Zhou was fighting for all living beings.
That day truly existed!
---
Chen Yan was left speechless, overwhelmed by shock. Moments before, he had nearly drowned in the lake, and now he was witnessing history’s turning point.
Suddenly, a small golden flame appeared in the sky, flying swiftly toward the officials kneeling beneath Deer Terrace.
Its target was none other than Chen Yan himself.
The flame moved so fast that before Chen Yan could react, it reached his head and instantly merged into his brain.
A searing pain pierced his skull as torrents of information flooded his mind, blood seeping from every orifice.
“Chen’er! Chen’er!” the officials shouted beside him, but Chen Yan could hear nothing anymore. The flame’s entry seemed to shut down all his senses except pain.
Inside his head, countless tiny figures jabbed at his nerves, veins bulging across his skin. The agony lasted nearly half an hour.
Just as he was about to give out, a gentle voice echoed in his mind:
“Amitabha. I am the humble monk Xuanzang, greetings to the human emperor.”
At that moment, the torment vanished.
Chen Yan slowly opened his eyes. His pupils were no longer brown but replaced by golden hues. He looked up at the bonfire atop Deer Terrace.
He understood everything now. His mind was filled with the experiences of countless humans, demons, and monsters.
His lips parted softly as he uttered a few words:
“Sun… Wukong.”
Instantly, a small dark figure appeared within his consciousness. Though no taller than four feet, the fierce, golden-eyed savagery it radiated made Chen Yan shudder.
“Wukong, at your command!”