grow;
The common people know peace
And have laid aside weapons and armor;
Kinsmen care for each other ,
There are no robbers or thieves;
Men delight in his rule
All understanding the law and discipline .
The universe entire
Is our emperor’s realm…
He repeated the final phrase. The universe entire is our emperor’s realm . His clipped accent and precise vowels sounded in keeping with the message, everything ordered, in its place, in control. He inhaled slowly, then relaxed completely. He hardly needed to breathe. He felt the blood drain from his heart. The power was within him, the power of shuide . He seemed to levitate again, far above the clouds and peaks, to the very edge of space itself, to the liminal zone between heaven and earth. Above him was darkness, suddenly suffused with a million brilliant stars, the constellations revolving in slow motion. Below him the earth was reduced to a featureless sphere. But then as he watched the surface began to sparkle, and was suddenly coursing with rivers, streams of quicksilver. The hundred rivers, the Yellow River and the Yangtse, and the seas surrounding them . The sparkle came from a thousand palaces and temples, from a million precious treasures. He seemed to swoop down, and to float above a misty stream, among geese and swans, cranes and herons, with tinkling music in the background. Then the scene disappeared, and the warriors were there, all around him, extending off in ranks as far as he could see, waiting. Some held spears, some wore armor. Generals stood in front of foot soldiers, cavalrymen held horses at bay. The protectors of the universe. The army of the Qin. They who would rise again, who would march forth when heaven and earth came together, when the power of water was replaced by the power of light. The power that he himself would wield .
The man tensed in anticipation. There was a blinding flash of green, then blue, as if the sun had been caught in a giant revolving prism in the darkness above. Then the two colors seemed to commingle and become a dazzling white. The rivers of quicksilver flowed again, sparkling and shimmering. Reeds shot up beside them, vivid green, trembling with life. Birds arched their necks upward, drawing in the light. And all around him the warrior army seemed to stir, the gray monotone becoming pastel, colors more defined with every second-flesh glowing, robes of vivid blue, armor shimmering silver, banners of red emblazoned with the roaring golden tiger that furled and rustled like the river reeds. He could feel the warmth. He reached out, exultant.
Then it was gone. He was sitting in a dark chamber again, alone in front of a low table like a raised tomb. He let his hands drop onto the surface. It was cold, hard, real. Everything before had been a phantasm. A phantasm he had created. But it was a premonition of what was to come. The celestial jewel would shine once again .
He looked at the low table, its polished surface gleaming. He could see the Chinese characters carved in front of each place, six on one side, six on the other. Xu, Tan, Ju, Zhongli, Yunyan, Tuqiu, Jiangliang, Huang, Jiang, Xiuyu, Baiming, Feilian . He reached out and traced his fingers in the lines, faultlessly cut by laser into the marble. They were the twelve, the Brotherhood, the trusted guardians of Shihuangdi , the First Emperor, those who awaited the return. One place would be empty. He clenched his fists until the knuckles were white. The one who had strayed . The one who had been tempted to search for the jewel himself, who had succumbed to his own greed, had taken his eyes off the true path. They had hunted him down, as they had hunted down all who had failed to follow the path of Shihuangdi .
He relaxed his hands and closed his eyes, suffused by the power of the Qin, the all-encompassing. Soon the empty place at the table would be filled again. They had found another whose ancestry traced back through the clan, to those who had ridden, armored,
The common people know peace
And have laid aside weapons and armor;
Kinsmen care for each other ,
There are no robbers or thieves;
Men delight in his rule
All understanding the law and discipline .
The universe entire
Is our emperor’s realm…
He repeated the final phrase. The universe entire is our emperor’s realm . His clipped accent and precise vowels sounded in keeping with the message, everything ordered, in its place, in control. He inhaled slowly, then relaxed completely. He hardly needed to breathe. He felt the blood drain from his heart. The power was within him, the power of shuide . He seemed to levitate again, far above the clouds and peaks, to the very edge of space itself, to the liminal zone between heaven and earth. Above him was darkness, suddenly suffused with a million brilliant stars, the constellations revolving in slow motion. Below him the earth was reduced to a featureless sphere. But then as he watched the surface began to sparkle, and was suddenly coursing with rivers, streams of quicksilver. The hundred rivers, the Yellow River and the Yangtse, and the seas surrounding them . The sparkle came from a thousand palaces and temples, from a million precious treasures. He seemed to swoop down, and to float above a misty stream, among geese and swans, cranes and herons, with tinkling music in the background. Then the scene disappeared, and the warriors were there, all around him, extending off in ranks as far as he could see, waiting. Some held spears, some wore armor. Generals stood in front of foot soldiers, cavalrymen held horses at bay. The protectors of the universe. The army of the Qin. They who would rise again, who would march forth when heaven and earth came together, when the power of water was replaced by the power of light. The power that he himself would wield .
The man tensed in anticipation. There was a blinding flash of green, then blue, as if the sun had been caught in a giant revolving prism in the darkness above. Then the two colors seemed to commingle and become a dazzling white. The rivers of quicksilver flowed again, sparkling and shimmering. Reeds shot up beside them, vivid green, trembling with life. Birds arched their necks upward, drawing in the light. And all around him the warrior army seemed to stir, the gray monotone becoming pastel, colors more defined with every second-flesh glowing, robes of vivid blue, armor shimmering silver, banners of red emblazoned with the roaring golden tiger that furled and rustled like the river reeds. He could feel the warmth. He reached out, exultant.
Then it was gone. He was sitting in a dark chamber again, alone in front of a low table like a raised tomb. He let his hands drop onto the surface. It was cold, hard, real. Everything before had been a phantasm. A phantasm he had created. But it was a premonition of what was to come. The celestial jewel would shine once again .
He looked at the low table, its polished surface gleaming. He could see the Chinese characters carved in front of each place, six on one side, six on the other. Xu, Tan, Ju, Zhongli, Yunyan, Tuqiu, Jiangliang, Huang, Jiang, Xiuyu, Baiming, Feilian . He reached out and traced his fingers in the lines, faultlessly cut by laser into the marble. They were the twelve, the Brotherhood, the trusted guardians of Shihuangdi , the First Emperor, those who awaited the return. One place would be empty. He clenched his fists until the knuckles were white. The one who had strayed . The one who had been tempted to search for the jewel himself, who had succumbed to his own greed, had taken his eyes off the true path. They had hunted him down, as they had hunted down all who had failed to follow the path of Shihuangdi .
He relaxed his hands and closed his eyes, suffused by the power of the Qin, the all-encompassing. Soon the empty place at the table would be filled again. They had found another whose ancestry traced back through the clan, to those who had ridden, armored,
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