Boom!
Upon the altar, Zhao Cheng swung his sword—drawing the blade to cleave the heavens.
The sword at his waist was no more than a ceremonial weapon, an emperor's adornment, wielded to pacify the four quarters. An emperor had no need to kill with a sword, for with a single decree, all under heaven became his weapon, driven at his command.
Thus it was said: the Son of Heaven's sword takes Yan Creek and Stone City for its point, Qi and Dai for its edge; Jin and Wei for its spine, Zhou and Song for its guard, Han and Wei for its clamps; it is wrapped in the Four Barbarians and bound in the four seasons; girded by the Bohai Sea and belted with Mount Chang; governed by the Five Elements and judged by punishment and virtue; opened by yin and yang, held through spring and summer, wielded through autumn and winter. When this sword is thrust, none stands before it; when raised, none lies above it; when pressed down, none lies beneath it; when moved, none stands beside it.
Above, it cleaves the drifting clouds; below, it severs the bonds of earth.
Once this sword is used, it sets the feudal lords aright, and all under heaven submits. This is the Son of Heaven's sword!
This was Zhuangzi's discourse on swords. Zhao Cheng had loved it in his youth, but he had never imagined that one day, he too would wield the Son of Heaven's sword.
After all, having grown up in peaceful times, how could one ever have the chance to become Son of Heaven?!
Yet the turns of the human world were strange, and fate twisted through endless changes, until he had finally reached this step.
But Son of Heaven was not his destination. Indeed, when he