Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Manifestation of King Yu's Spirit

“Lord Meng, there’s still time to leave the city.”

“And what about the two of you?”

“We have received the king’s great favor, and we can only repay it with our lives!”

After all that had transpired the night before, Fan Li had become more cautious. Instead of following the others into the palace, he hurried to the army camp outside the city to meet with Wen Zhong, just in case. Once Tan Zhi obtained the military tally, he immediately sent his trusted men to take control of the camp. Sensing something was amiss, the two quickly slipped out and headed for the courier station, where they happened to encounter Meng Di and his companions, who had just been “escorted” back.

“To you, Goujian is a prince worthy of dying for. But to us, Li is a comrade-in-arms. When our own are in danger, how could we just walk away?”

“But you can do nothing for His Highness here, and besides, Tan Zhi is ruthless—he won’t care that you’re Chu envoys.”

“That may not be the case. Tomorrow, there’s to be a ritual at the Yu King’s Mausoleum outside the city. That will be our chance to act.” Meng Di was not one to accept defeat quietly. Having fallen for Tan Zhi’s schemes in the palace, he was determined not to let it go.

According to Yue custom, a newly crowned king must first inform the ancestors at the Yu King’s Mausoleum on Mount Kuaiji, just outside the city.

After seizing control of the palace, Tan Zhi immediately summoned the ministers for a court meeting, decreeing the ancestral rites would be held the very next day. For him, even a moment’s delay in ascending the throne was intolerable.

A few loyal old ministers, after witnessing heads roll at the edge of the gleaming halberds, no longer dared to object—at least, not openly.

“Alas, Lord Meng, you don’t know Yue’s ways. There’s only one road to the mausoleum; it will be heavily guarded. With just a few hundred loyal troops, we may not even reach the mountain path,” Fan Li sighed repeatedly.

A heavy silence fell again. Since burning the Wu camp, Meng Di had developed some expertise with fire. He considered launching a night assault on the palace, leveraging the climbing skills of the Han people and the chaos still lingering after the recent upheaval—success wasn’t out of the question.

Han Zhan was summoned to join the council. After a few whispered words in Meng Di’s ear, Meng Di’s eyes lit up. He then instructed Fan Li and Wen Zhong to covertly lead the First Company out of the city.

Unfamiliar with Chu’s military organization, Meng Di instead drew on memories from his previous life, organizing the able-bodied Han men into the First Company—five hundred strong, with Han Zhan as their captain.

The two were puzzled as to why Meng Di stayed behind alone, but got no answer. Helpless, they left, shaking their heads.

Before dawn, Meng Di was “invited” to attend the ceremony, bringing only Qiu’er with him.

From the city gates to the mountain, soldiers lined the route. Tan Zhi, dressed in ceremonial finery, stood ready before the tomb. As a Chu envoy, Meng Di was allowed to stand at the front with several clan elders. The victors always need an audience—Goujian was also brought, standing at a distance, his eyes blazing as he stared at Tan Zhi.

As a member of the royal family, Goujian was required to attend the rites, but everyone’s gaze slid past him, perhaps assuming this would be his final appearance.

Perhaps emboldened by triumph, Tan Zhi was rather flippant, smiling as he beckoned Meng Di over. “Lord Meng, you seem in high spirits. I hear you’ve brought a maidservant. Yue is full of beauties—shall I bestow a few upon you?”

“Thank you, Your Highness. Now that you have what you wished for, why not let Goujian return to Chu with me? The world would praise Your Highness’s benevolence.”

“Return to Chu? Hah! Lord Meng, do you really think you can make it back to Chu?” Tan Zhi mocked.

“Is Your Highness not afraid of Chu’s wrath?”

“Chu’s fate is far from decided. Do you think I care?”

“Perhaps Your Highness should consider this after you are truly king,” Meng Di replied coolly.

Seeing Meng Di’s faint anger, Tan Zhi was even more pleased, tipping his chin toward Goujian. “If I am not the true king, would it be him instead?”

From afar, the clan elders frowned. To speak of maidservants at such a moment was disgraceful. With Yunchang dead, Tan Zhi, as the legitimate son and crown prince, was expected to inherit the throne. Even if there was discontent, none dared voice it.

Fortunately, the rites soon began. The complex ceremony did not tire Tan Zhi; on the contrary, he was in high spirits throughout.

The most crucial part of the ritual was for the eligible princes to enter the tomb alone and inform the ancestors, seeking their approval. Only a prince thus recognized could ascend as King of Yue.

In theory, Goujian was also eligible, but neither he nor anyone else thought to raise the issue.

All that was required was to enter, loiter a little while, then emerge and claim the ancestors’ favor—surely Yu the Great wouldn’t climb from his grave to object? Tan Zhi, smiling, strode inside, head held high.

Time passed, but there was no sign of Tan Zhi emerging. Whispered conversations began, the elders speculating that, despite his ostentation, Tan Zhi was earnest in ancestral rites.

Yet something was odd. Half an hour, then a full hour passed—could he really have so much to say? Or had he fallen asleep inside?

Though spring was in full bloom, standing in the sun grew uncomfortable, and many elderly ministers began to doze.

The clan elders conferred, and at last a venerable senior cleared his throat and asked the priest to investigate.

The priest, after apologizing to Yu the Great, entered the tomb cautiously.

He returned alone, his face bewildered.

“Where is the Crown Prince?”

“The Crown Prince… he is not inside.”

Not inside? Silence fell. Had the priest not been utterly trustworthy, the questioning elder might have struck him with his staff.

The ceremony had been rehearsed countless times—but never for this contingency.

In the end, several elders went in to search. The tomb was not large; naturally, they found nothing new.

Yu the Great has manifested! That was the only possible explanation.

Only the priest could commune with spirits. Feeling the weight of everyone’s gaze, he was nearly in tears, but, hoping to buy time, he began to pray with exaggerated solemnity.

A faint whisper reached his ear: “Perhaps Yu the Great so favored His Highness that he took him as his servant?”

Startled, the priest looked up to see Meng Di’s meaningful gaze. His heart jolted, and he hastened his performance.

At a feverish pitch, the priest suddenly stiffened, shuddered, and cried out, “The Crown Prince has won Yu the Great’s favor and been taken to serve at his side!” Then he feigned collapse, lying on the ground with eyes closed, eavesdropping on the reaction.

No one doubted the priest—after all, the evidence was plain. At once, everyone began to talk: some in awe, some envious, some inwardly resentful.

There were, of course, some in panic—Tan Zhi’s confidants, like Gong Bu, were stunned. If their master was gone, what were they but insects?

Fan Li was also dumbstruck, until Meng Di’s glance prompted sudden understanding. He stepped forward. “The nation cannot be a day without a king. Prince Goujian is dutiful and virtuous—he should be the king.”

Meng Di immediately declared Chu’s support for Goujian’s succession.

Tan Zhi’s partisans objected, but they were hacked down mercilessly. As Fan Li put it, since the crown prince was now serving Yu the Great, his trusted followers ought to join him below.

Thus, Goujian, bewildered, entered the tomb, circled once, and emerged. With the priest’s cooperation, he received the ancestors’ approval and the enthronement ceremony took place at once.

In the months that followed, all of Yue buzzed about the affair. Yu the Great’s manifestation was far more fascinating than any royal succession, and the offerings at his shrine soared to unprecedented heights.