Chapter 4: bl**d of All Spirits Formation (1)
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Twenty thousand years ago,
the folks living by the East Sea found themselves witnessing divine miracles descending from the depths of the East Sea multiple times.
Golden beams of light shot down from the heavens,
and worshippers, trembling in reverence, even caught sight of ethereal immortals flitting through the clouds like they were auditioning for a celestial ballet.
The Emperor, being the collector of all things shiny and suspiciously self-proclaimed “Chosen One,” got wind of this and decided to build himself a viewing platform on the East Sea islands.
He practically set up camp there for nearly two years until, one fateful day, he finally laid eyes on a miracle.
Falling to his knees, the emperor pledged to construct a grand temple right at the spot where the light beam fell, promising to offer splendid goodies to the divine and pray for eternal life.
Then, gathering all the resources from his kingdom, the Emperor went all out and spent thirty whole years building a magnificent underground temple on an island closest to the miracle, making it the biggest temple since… well, forever.
By the time the Emperor finished, he was already on the brink of retirement—or perhaps, just a bit worse for wear.
He left his homeland behind, taking residence in the temple, praying day in and day out for another miracle to drop by and gift him with eternal life.
Unfortunately, for five consecutive years, the divine light decided to ghost him.
With the Emperor spending extended vacay in the temple, the princes back home were engaged in a power struggle that escalated into a proper war, leaving everyone conveniently forgetting that the Emperor was squatting in the underground palace with a whole entourage.
As offerings dried up, chaos reigned in the underground palace.
In a mad scramble for the last remaining food and ships, citizens turned on each other like a hungry pack of wolves—bl**d everywhere, a total mess.
In a rare moment of respect for the cranky old Emperor,
the rebels chose not to off him; instead, they shoved him into the heart of the underground palace—what a cozy spot in the Ling You Palace!
Now abandoned by all, the Emperor was left alone without even a janitor.
He wept bitterly, mourning his lost glory and getting quite dramatic about it—cue the violin music!
In his final act of desperation, he bowed to the sky one more time, offering the lives of his entire nation in exchange for divine protection.
Meanwhile, the infighting wasn’t letting up,
the princes, bloodied and relentless, were too scared to declare themselves emperor first out of sheer anxiety about becoming public enemy number one.
So, the “official” Emperor continued to be that poor, decrepit old man ready to kick the bucket in the underground palace.
Lying there on the floor, waiting to meet his plucky end, he looked and felt a bit like a deflated balloon.
Then, just like that, his prayer finally got answered.
The long-absent golden beam of light came crashing through again, enveloping the entire palace.
In an instant, the Emperor regained his youth and vigor,
feeling as spry as a twenty-year-old who just discovered espresso.
Overcome with joy, he kneeled again, promising he wouldn’t forget his vow this time—fingers crossed!
He left the underground palace and made a grand return to the mainland.
Of course, his comeback had the officials near the East Sea shaking in their boots! They kneeled at his feet, wailing about how the chaos in the capital had left everyone in misery and how they desperately wanted peace.
Marching bands of soldiers quickly rallied around the Emperor,
they were the true legitimate army, while the princes were left looking like lost puppies.
It took just seven days to calm the civil ruckus.
That was all the time it took for the army to march from the East Sea to the capital.
The princes scampered away, leaving a handful of the bolder ones kneeling before their dad, weeping like they just wrecked his prized vase and seeking forgiveness.
The Emperor hadn’t forgotten his promise to the heavens.
After a month of chasing down his wayward princes, he brought them back home to the capital, then promptly shipped them off to the East Sea underground palace along with their entourage of nearly ten thousand, to serve penance for their father’s sins.
The princes, feeling grateful, thought this was just a minor detour.
However, just days after landing in the underground palace, they were met by a raging army who slaughtered them all without a second thought, bl**d painting the palace in every shade of red.
And just like that, it was game over.
The insiders were left aghast at the Emperor’s ruthless efficiency,
and suddenly his reputation skyrocketed to new heights.
Two years later, the young Emperor found himself back at the East Sea.
Kneeling in front of the divine was one thing, but he also really needed to know if his last offering was to the gods’ taste.
Expecting the underground palace to be full of bones given how long it had been closed off, the Emperor was utterly astonished to find it spotless and sparkling—no signs of butchery anywhere!
This made him even more cautious and even a tad more reverent toward the divine.
He ended up hanging out in the underground palace for a solid two months.
The moment he left, worry was etched all over his face.
In the following decade,
the Emperor’s laws tightened up like a pair of skinny jeans, as even the slightest human error was punishable by immediate imprisonment and a one-way ticket to the East Sea for temple renovations.
At first, people thought those who merely misstepped would be back in a year or two, but alas! The truth emerged—those who went to the East Sea never made it back.
An atmosphere of fear descended upon the kingdom.
Folks started whispering about a Taotie Beast in the depths of the East Sea that demanded a feast of ten thousand souls every two years, and if it didn’t get fed, the entire nation would suffer some colossal disaster.
People were so nervous that they didn’t dare break any laws, and after a decade, there were simply no more prisoners left to send.
With their backs against the wall, the court began rounding up anyone over sixty like it was some sort of public sport, confirming local tales of a ferocious beast beneath the East Sea, resulting in sheer panic while also providing a perfect platform for ambitious folks to stoke fervor, racing toward a total breakdown of societal order.
Then, the Emperor made a grand proclamation,
stating that a beast had indeed emerged from the East Sea underground palace, demanding its usual ten thousand souls, promising that if its hunger was not sated, it would storm the land and gobble up all living beings.
The kingdom needed brave souls to take down the beast,
and anyone who succeeded would see the Emperor step down, handing the throne to the hero who could slay it.
Thus, the Emperor artfully redirected the public’s attention.
Scores of brave souls flocked to the East Sea, eager to pit their mortal strength against the divine. Sadly, they ended up becoming the perfect sacrificial lambs.
With a significant portion of the youth now gone, the kingdom remained peaceful for a full twenty years.
During this time, the Emperor was careful not to send more people to the East Sea.
He knew all too well that if he did,
the furious masses would tear him apart piece by piece.
And oddly enough, during these years, the heavens didn’t seem to bring any kind of punishment for his lack of offerings.
His young body could dance the night away with several concubines without ever breaking a sweat; he could keep this up for a century and still not get bored.
But one day, a terrifying scream echoed from the Emperor’s chamber; young and beautiful concubines woke up to find that the vibrant young Emperor had suddenly aged a whopping thirty years overnight, turning into a decrepit old man.
Once immortal and youthful, the Emperor now faced his fear of d*ath head-on, racing back to the temple, desperate to seek divine favor once more.
Just two days later, a miracle struck.
In a flash, millions died across the kingdom, trading their lives for nearly four hundred more years of the Emperor’s existence.
The Emperor, feeling utterly lonely, left the underground palace and returned to the mainland,
becoming the last human on earth.
Filled with regret, he recognized that his own desires and weakness had destroyed an entire dynasty, earning himself the title of historical villain.
He penned over a thousand letters of repentance, leaving them as he traveled through every place, even chiseling some into stone for good measure.
Five years later, tortured by his conscience, the skeletal Emperor made one final return to the underground palace and chose to end his life himself.
Thus, the Yao Dynasty met its end.
Fifty years of desolation followed before traces of humanity reappeared, quickly rising to new heights and establishing a fresh dynasty.
Soon after, tales of miraculous occurrences returned from the East Sea.
And so, a new cycle began, and the footsteps of annihilation never seemed to pause.
