Chapter Sixty-Two: The Command of Zhuge Ming and the Words of Zhuge Qian

In a cold, silent corner hidden amidst the boundless darkness of the universe, there exists a star known as Ziwei. This star is of unparalleled nobility, once the imperial star of an ancient celestial dynasty. Were it not for the cataclysmic massacre that obliterated heaven and earth, leaving the sole imperial line lost and unaccounted for, the dynasty known as "Great Yu" would never have been reduced to lingering in a remote corner of the starry heavens. Even if it could no longer reign supreme, it would still have stood as an immense force, towering above countless beings across the cosmos.

Upon this noble Ziwei star rests a city so vast it stretches millions of miles. Above its gate, the character "Yu" is inscribed, its strokes bearing the marks of history, etched in deep, bold lines. Looking past the gate, into the heart of the city, sentinels stand at every few paces, each post and patrol precisely measured, neither more nor less. Countless hidden watchers are stationed among them.

Though for the multitudes, this city is a place of no return, and none would dare intrude, the expressions of the guards betray no relaxation. They fulfill their duties with unwavering devotion, their eyes revealing a heartfelt loyalty to the city—guarding not merely out of obligation, but from the depths of their spirit.

Following the main avenue toward the city’s center, one can see at a glance the altar that pierces the heavens, soaring skyward from the very heart of the city.

In the night sky, the altar, rising as high as the myriad stars, seems to grant anyone who stands upon it the power to pluck the stars from the sky. Upon the altar, seven lamps have burned since ancient times without ever extinguishing—called the Seven Stars, they shine as the brightest points in the city’s nightscape across millions of miles.

Yet within this city, few know that atop the altar, forbidden even among forbidden places, sits an elderly man in coarse linen robes. His hair, white as snow, falls to his waist, and his face is lined with deep wrinkles, giving him an air of frail old age.

Behind him stands a gentle young woman in her eighteenth year, dressed in a flowing blue gown. Her long black hair dances in the evening breeze, exuding an aura of peerless independence. Tall and slender, pale-skinned, her lively eyes add a touch of ethereal grace.

The elder’s hands, rough and calloused, hold a musical instrument—a xun, a black clay ocarina, round with six holes and mysterious carvings that seem steeped in the footprints of history. Slowly, he lifts the xun to his lips, and a primitive, unadorned melody drifts outward, thick with sorrow, loneliness, and weighty emotion.

The old man’s name is Zhuge Mingming, a relic from before recorded history, who knows nearly every secret and mystery. He has witnessed countless changes of the world; most of his friends and kin lie buried in the sands of time. He has lived from prehistoric eras through the ancient, the wild, the primeval, the archaic, the medieval, the near-modern, and into the present, enduring like the seven everlasting lamps—the Seven Stars—never dying, never extinguished.

This frail elder, Zhuge Mingming, is supreme in the domain of fate, unmatched in all the universe. If Great Yu survived the loss of its emperor and persists in peace in its secluded corner, it is mostly due to him.

The xun’s song lingers, seemingly recounting the elder’s inner sorrows and melancholy. The melody carries a deep exhaustion, and paired with his crow’s feet, one cannot help but feel a pang of sympathy.

When the tune ends, Zhuge Mingming’s hoarse, slow voice breaks the silence.

“Yu’er, the young lord has awakened his constitution. I have deduced his approximate location, but remnants of the ancient Celestial Dao of Shu obscure the exact spot. Regrettable, regrettable, regrettable.”

Three sighs express his profound disappointment.

“I understand, Grandfather. Even if it costs me my life, I will bring him to you, unharmed. Our Great Yu has waited too long for this day, missed it thrice already—this time, we must bring back our young lord,” the blue-gowned maiden replied gently, words spoken as if death were inevitable.

Zhuge Mingming gazed at the maiden now kneeling before him, stretched out his calloused hand to gently caress her cheek, his eyes full of reluctance. “Be careful, exercise utmost caution. From prehistory to now, Great Yu has always been a solitary seedling. If severed, all ages will be lost to emptiness. Through the endless years, I have hidden the fate of our line with these seven lamps, never daring to slacken, always preserving our bloodline. The young lord’s life must be prioritized above all else.”

His voice was choked with emotion, and his eyes reflected worry, hope, and resolve.

“When you depart, take Old One and Young Ten with you. They have been prepared for this day since long ago. Their souls, like yours, have been altered by my mastery of fate; even if they fall, no secret will leak. Fewer people make for easier action. Take the Eightfold Formation as well—then success will be far more likely.”

“To bring Old One and Young Ten, and even the Eightfold Formation—what of the city’s safety?”

“Though aged, I can still stand. I can defend this imperial star,” Zhuge Mingming declared with unquestionable authority, absolute and unyielding.

Hearing his determination, the blue-gowned maiden, Zhuge Qianyu, understood that the patriarch had waited far too long for this day, and she could not change his decision. Moreover, she knew that with the ancestor presiding over this realm, from prehistory to now, no outsider had ever set foot within—a testament in itself. This day was what Great Yu had awaited through all its history. Under the Celestial Dao, all are in the same boat; once aboard, there is only the path ahead.

Zhuge Qianyu rose, stepped back a short distance, then knelt on both knees and bowed deeply to Zhuge Mingming. “Yu’er bids farewell to the ancestor.”

“Rise,” came the gentle, reluctant voice of Zhuge Mingming.

About half a day later, a pillar of light pierced the heavens from Ziwei star, reaching toward the unknown, distant, and profound sky. Within the vast city of Great Yu, eleven figures soared toward the pillar. As they were engulfed by its radiance, the pillar vanished instantly, as if it had never existed.

At that moment, tears traced down the elder’s cheeks atop the altar. If not for necessity, who would willingly send their dwindling line into peril, risking extinction?

The xun’s song sounded again, but the exhaustion within it grew ever deeper…