Shen Le clutched the precious bamboo scroll, never letting it leave his side whether he walked, stood, sat, or slept. He carried it all the way back to Ying Capital and placed it in the chief shaman's hands.
The chief shaman's eyes lit up the instant he saw it. Even wrapped inside a travel bundle, its faint spiritual radiance shone through, impossible to conceal:
If mere words inscribed on bamboo could give off such radiance, how powerful would they be when used in an actual sacrifice?
He reached for it with trembling hands. He opened the bundle and lifted out the scroll, but just as he was about to unroll it, doubt began to torment him. His hands shook, and he hesitated to untie the cord. "This... did he write this? Truly, with his own hand? These sacrificial hymns... will they work?"
"They will." Shen Le nodded firmly. "Rest assured. I watched Minister Qu write them. As his brush moved, visions appeared again and again, and light shone everywhere. The very act of writing drew the gods' attention. With you conducting the sacrifice yourself, we will surely receive their blessings!"
Practicing the hymns, however, did not go smoothly. Most of the shamans-or rather, everyone except the chief shaman and Shen Le-opposed the new liturgy. "Why change the words? We've sung these songs to the gods for hundreds of years! We've never changed them!"
"Changing the words so rashly might offend the gods!"
"These inexplicable hymns-who even knows where they came from?"
"What? They came from the north? That criminal Qu Ping wrote them? What fine verses could a criminal write? What work of his could reach the gods? How could anything written by a criminal be used to delight them?"
Shen Le stepped forward, his face darkening. But the chief