Gentle dawn light spilled down as Zhao City's gates swung wide, and several hundred riders spurred their horses out. At their head was none other than Luo Chen, household head of the Luo Clan. Dust rose beneath their hooves. Winter was passing, the ice and snow had melted, and the white-clad landscape was gradually giving way to green mountains and rivers.
Behind the several hundred riders came countless wagons laden with grain, cloth, and thick clothing. There were many great merchant clans under heaven whose wealth rivaled nations, such as the Zhen Clan of Wuji and the Mi Clan of the Eastern Sea, each with immense stores of goods. Yet aside from the imperial family, any clan compared with the Luo Clan, which had enjoyed three hundred years of supreme wealth and distinction under the Han Dynasty, was merely a firefly vying with the bright moon-utterly absurd.
Several miles outside Zhao City, Luo Xiang, riding beside Luo Chen, still urged him uneasily, "Uncle, you should remain at the heart of Zhao City, commanding the Luo Clan's constellation of stars. If anything should happen while you travel north alone, even the overturning of mountains and rivers could not make up for that loss!"
Luo Chen wore soft armor beneath a light robe. Raising his whip toward the azure sky, he laughed aloud. "Xiang, look up at that azure firmament. Subjects often compare their sovereign to the blazing sun, meaning that a state cannot be without its ruler. That holds true elsewhere, but in the Luo Clan, when one sun sets, another blazing sun rises. So long as the direct line endures, there will be no end to those fit to rule. What makes me so important?
"Since the days of the Zhou State, never have I heard of a ruler who