The Shadow of Yangbao Mountain

On the night of the Jingnan Campaign, fire consumed the Golden Palace. The hidden dragon wandered the mountains of Qianzhong.

A treasure in the pagoda grove stirred murderous intent, while a chilling prophecy awaited by the Luo River in the north.

The fourth year of Jianwen, the thirteenth day of the sixth lunar month, midnight.

In the direction of the Hall of Heavenly Manifestation in the imperial city of Jinling, flames tore through the ink-black night. Thick smoke, carrying the stench of burning, surged into the sky. Inside the palace walls, cries, clashing weapons, and the rebels’ roars merged into a wave of despair. The young emperor, Zhu Yunwen, sat collapsed on the cold golden-brick floor of a side hall, his dragon robe stained with soot and splattered blood. His grandfather Zhu Yuanzhang’s solemn face flickered in the dancing candlelight, as if still watching him.

“Your Majesty, if we don’t leave now, it’ll be too late!” The old eunuch Wang Yue fell at his feet, his voice hoarse. He offered up a heavy little red-lacquered box with both hands. “The Grand Ancestor’s final command: open this only in a time of crisis.”

Yunwen opened it with trembling hands. There was no imperial seal or edict inside, only an old, yellowed monk’s robe, a mottled bronze key, and a roughly drawn map of the southwest. A spot on the map had been deliberately circled in ink: “Qianzhong, Yangbao Mountain.” Along its edge, several lines of tiny writing read: “Where white clouds rest, atop the Lotus Peak, within the pagoda grove’s hidden realm, the past is kept and the lost may be restored.”

The hall doors burst open with a crash, and the cold gleam of the Yan army’s armor filled his vision. Yunwen took one last look at the ancestral realm, hastily pulled the monk’s robe over his splendid garments, and, with the help of the old minister Cheng Ji and several loyal warriors, vanished into the deep darkness of the imperial moat. Behind him, the heart of the empire was changing hands amid flames and slaughter. Ahead lay the mist-shrouded mountains of the southwest, thousands of miles away.