"Come forth and die!"
The wave of sound seemed almost solid as it crushed its way across the skies above the Chechi Kingdom.
"Crack... crack!"
Dust and earth showered down from the city walls.
They pattered against the helmets of the soldiers guarding the city. No one reached for their weapons. Spears lay across the battlements, bows and crossbows sat askew on the steps, and the soldiers crouched at the foot of the walls with their hands over their ears, wishing they could squeeze themselves into the cracks between the bricks.
Inside the city, men and women, young and old, all prostrated themselves on the ground, kowtowing ceaselessly to Wukong.
Those who had remained at home scrambled in terror to shut their doors and windows tight.
The Chechi Royal Palace.
The Golden Throne Hall.
The king of the Chechi Kingdom reclined languidly on his dragon throne, upholstered in bright yellow brocade, while a young eunuch at his side carefully served him tea.
The old king was past sixty, his hair and beard entirely white.
He firmly believed in the Daoist Order's path to immortality.
He had entrusted all affairs of state to the National Preceptors and his ministers.
He himself spent each day meditating on the mysteries in the rear palace, diligently taking the wondrous cinnabar medicines refined by the National Preceptors, seeking only eternal youth and a longer life. Of course, he never forgot to indulge in sensual pleasures and merry diversions, believing he lived as blissfully as an immortal.
Today, on a whim, he had decided to attend morning court and go through the motions.
The civil and military ministers were dutifully reporting a string of trivial matters of state that scarcely mattered.
The old king listened with little interest, his eyelids fighting to stay open.
Until the