Chapter Nine: The Gods Watch Three Feet Above

When the Northern Dipper points east, spring fills the land; when it points south, summer reigns; when it points west, autumn arrives; when it points north, winter descends upon the world.

The rituals to appease the stars most often invoke the Seven Stars of the Northern Dipper. All manner of disasters, calamity, and prolonging life or avoiding death fall under its jurisdiction. Where there is authority over life, there is authority over death; where blessings are granted and disasters dispelled, so too can curses be cast and fortune diminished. What Liaochen was about to perform was a secret ritual among the star rites—one not shared with outsiders—a method to strip away a person’s fate. When fortune wanes, disaster follows; when fortune disappears, death is inevitable. It draws upon the secrets of heaven, untouched by karma, truly a method for taking lives.

Yet, the star ritual borrows the power of heaven, and if it fails, heaven’s wrath will descend. It is, in truth, gambling with the will of the heavens. The heavenly will is unfathomable; even Zhuge Liang, a figure of legendary wisdom, failed in star rites and died of illness at Wuzhang Plains. Thus, appeasing the stars is not so easily accomplished. Censor Mao’s evil deeds were committed before, and now he obstructed at every turn. Liaochen felt that heavenly will came first, merit second, which is why he dared to perform the ritual in this desolate place.

The Northern Dipper shines upon the town’s center, the celestial secrets and the fading of Tianxuan.

The star officer of one’s destiny descends, fate determined by the celestial court, disaster and error decreed.

From heaven and earth are born immortals; blessings granted, death judged.

The text is written in imperial script, the canon declared in golden words.

What Liaochen recited was an unconventional curse to diminish fortune. Once the first incantation was completed, he burned the blue record detailing Censor Mao’s life, obtained from the underworld, offering it to the Star Lords. The Star Lords would determine fate—within seven days, a lamp extinguished each day. When all seven lamps were out, the subject’s fortune would be exhausted, and disaster would strike.

Liaochen had arranged a formation around him to prevent interference from mortals. He sat calmly before the lamps, awaiting the outcome.

On the first day, Yao Guang’s lamp was the first to extinguish without a breeze. Liaochen was delighted—he had judged correctly, and the Star Lords had made their decision.

On the second day, the second lamp went out. Kaiyang’s light fell.

…

On the sixth day, Tianxuan’s lamp extinguished. Liaochen grew anxious; success or failure hinged on the final step.

On the seventh day, the Tiānshū lamp flickered, on the verge of going out, but it would not fall. Liaochen’s heart hung suspended. Had he misread the will of heaven, or was a great calamity truly destined to last a thousand years?

The night sky was clear; the Tiānshū lamp glowed faintly, like a tiny bean, but would not die. Midnight drew near. Liaochen, pressed to desperation, bowed toward the direction of the Seven Stars and pleaded, "Star Lords above, your disciple Liaochen seeks only to relieve the suffering of the people and sever centuries of karma—not for personal gain. I ask that the heavenly way be fulfilled. I pray for your grace; if granted, I shall repay with ritual offerings. May the Star Lords grant my request." After the ceremonial bow, the lamp remained as before. Liaochen was thrown into disarray, sweat beading on his brow. He watched the wavering flame as time slipped away, lost deep in thought.

He recalled every prayer that might be useful, then suddenly prostrated himself toward the Northern Dipper and cried, "Star Lords, uphold the heavenly way, preside over success and failure, life and death in your hands. Your disciple shall honor your statues in my temple, praise your grace daily, and spread your name throughout the land. I beg for your mercy." As his words fell, the Tiānshū lamp finally extinguished.

At that very moment, Censor Mao awoke from a nightmare, drenched in cold sweat.

In the capital, Emperor Hongzhi was furious, "Such shamelessness! How can he be worthy of the Censorate, the pure stream? His crime is unforgivable!" He slammed the table and ordered his attendant, "Censor Mao Minxin is greedy, cruel, and harms the people. Order the Embroidered Uniform Guards to arrest him immediately." Then, as an afterthought, he added, "Send the decree at dawn tomorrow—no delay allowed."

Meanwhile, Liaochen returned to the city after completing his ritual, but Censor Mao continued to obstruct at the prefect’s office. This time, however, the magistrate of Shanyang had the support of the prefect, and most colleagues sided with the magistrate. Mao believed the prefect’s investigation was merely a formality to appease the people. As a censor, a commentator, he thought the prefect had no authority to act against him. He had already sent a letter to the capital for support, and as a censor, wordplay and argument were his strength. Thus, he remained active, stirring trouble up and down.

When Liaochen arrived at the prefect’s office, the assembled officials finally met this legendary figure and greeted him warmly. The Shanyang magistrate welcomed him like family. In truth, ordinary people were not allowed in official deliberations, but Liaochen himself held an imperial fifth-grade rank, recognized by all, young and old. It was only that Liaochen never acted with the awareness of an official.

After the pleasantries, Liaochen noticed Censor Mao glaring at him with rage. He smiled gently and said, "Lord Mao, I observe your brow is shrouded, your life-fire dim; you are like withered bones among slander, with a great disaster looming. Do you believe this, Lord Mao?" He paid no mind to Mao’s furious reaction, and continued speaking with the Shanyang magistrate.

"Nonsense! I have studied the classics, served as a righteous official, acted uprightly with nothing to fear," Censor Mao declared with dignity, shaking his sleeves and refusing to argue further. "Regardless, I will not allow you to seek a decree for a demon," he said, striding away.

Liaochen only shook his head at Mao’s departing figure and sighed, "Self-inflicted misfortune cannot be escaped."