The celestial maiden’s true name was not just «celestial maiden.»

Her name was Feng Yunqu.

The surname «Feng» was exceedingly rare among Han Chinese, but in the isolated clans of the mountain folk—especially among those whose faith had long been tied to the ancient Chu pantheon—it held deeper significance. Rumor had it that her bloodline could be traced back to one of the legendary retainers who had followed the Yellow Emperor in the age of myth: the Wind Minister, or Feng Bo.

Whether «Feng Bo» was a given name or a title—whether it denoted a celestial role, later mistaken for a surname—was impossible to verify. That mystery had long been swallowed by the river of time.

Days passed, one after another. The newly built Temple of Taiyi had taken shape—its framework rising sturdily against the winter sky.

And because the celestial maiden now lived there, the foothills had become heavily guarded. More and more wu-shamans were stationed there as sentries, making it clear to all: this mountain was no longer an ordinary place.

To the people, Mount Zi had become sacred.

Ever since the night when celestial music drifted down from the summit, followed by strange and wondrous signs that shook the hearts of all who saw them, the populace had become convinced—utterly certain—that a celestial sovereign had descended. This mountain had been touched by the celestial . No mortal should dare disturb it.

Thus, ascending Mount Zi without permission was unthinkable. Even the boldest dared not approach.

On this particular day, Feng Yunqu, the celestial maiden, sat quietly in the courtyard of the Temple of Taiyi. Her gaze wandered, unfocused, as she watched the last clumps of snow melt from the bare tree branches. Her thoughts were far away.

Then—chaos erupted outside.

Sobbing. Shouts. The unmistakable voice of distress.

Her brows creased ever so slightly. She looked to the attendant standing silently to one side.

«Go,» she said softly, «and find out what’s happening at the gate.»

The servant bowed with a graceful motion and departed. A short while later, she returned—with one of the wu-shamans who stood guard outside.

He entered, immediately falling to one knee and pressing a hand to his chest in reverence.

«celestial  Maiden,» he said, voice careful, «a family has arrived from Zao County, Han Eastern Commandery. A husband and wife with a child. The child is gravely ill. They have no money for medicine. They heard the Celestial Sovereign had manifested here… and so they’ve come to beg you, to plead for your help.»

Han Eastern Commandery—also known as Suizhou—was located just east of Xiangzhou. It too fell under the administration of the Shannan East Circuit. And Zao County—their place of origin—was on its western edge, near the very border of Xiangzhou.

Feng Yunqu gave a slight nod. Rather than respond, she posed a question of her own.

«What disaster drove them here? Another military uprising in Han Eastern?»

She remembered vaguely—Han Eastern had become a hotbed for rebel activity. Though the imperial court had attempted to suppress the rebellion several times, none of the efforts had succeeded. Governance there had long since fallen into disarray.

But now? In the dead of winter? They had traveled from an entirely different prefecture to reach Mount Zi. How many people had died on that road?

The shaman hesitated. His expression grew awkward.

«There has been violence, yes,» he said slowly. «But… there are rumors of plague as well.»

Plague.

Where war walked, pestilence followed.

War laid waste to people and towns. Death ran rampant. And when bodies piled up and order crumbled, disease always came.

Feng Yunqu’s expression changed immediately. Her breath caught.

Plague was, in many ways, even more terrifying than war.

War could be seen. It had sound and form. You could run from it, hide from it, take precautions.

But plague? Plague moved like shadow—silent, unseen. It devoured entire cities before anyone realized what was happening. When it came, it didn’t just kill—it erased.

«And how,» she asked coldly, «did a family from a quarantined county make it into Xiangzhou? Through our checkpoints? Past the guards?»

She was no fool.

If plague had broken out, then every province along the route should have locked down their borders, especially in winter. No one—no one—should have gotten through.

Which meant only one thing: someone was not doing their job.

Not just a single checkpoint. The entire administrative structure east of Xiangzhou might already be compromised.

She pushed that thought aside for the moment. Plague took precedence.

When the shaman offered no explanation, she stood.

«Take me to them,» she said.

She strode through the corridors of the temple, silk robes fluttering behind her. Past the shrine gates and out into the snowy plaza.

The family stood just beyond the gate, surrounded by nervous shamans who formed a loose perimeter. None dared approach too closely.

The mother wept, clutching a barely breathing child in her arms. The boy’s skin was ashen. His lips pale. He wheezed faintly, caught between life and death.

The father knelt beside her, pounding his forehead against the cold ground, again and again, voice hoarse with desperation.

«celestial  Maiden! Merciful One! Please… I beg you… save our son!»

Feng Yunqu’s gaze moved over the scene. The parents were skin and bone, dressed in rags, shivering violently in the snow. The boy in the mother’s arms was limp, his breath shallow.

The sight wrenched at her heart.

«…Give them some silver,» she said at last. «Enough to find a physician.»

Then, she turned to her attendants. «Inform Magistrate Dong of Xiangyang County and Governor Pei of the prefecture. Tell them what has happened here.»

She knew full well that Pei Xiu and Dong Fu likely already knew. But the formality mattered. They had to respond.

Governor Pei had met the Celestial Sovereign in person. She believed in his integrity. Even if other officials were corrupt, he was not.

And in the face of plague, even a mountain full of devout believers was helpless. Only the machinery of the state could truly manage containment.

A pouch of silver was brought forth and tossed from a safe distance to the family.

The man bowed again and again, tears in his eyes—but his grief lingered. Even with silver, they had clearly already tried everything they could.

Still, they left, disappearing down the path. The mother’s quiet sobs echoed through the valley. No one stepped forward to comfort them.

No one dared.

After a moment, a senior shaman approached. His face was grim.

«celestial  Maiden,» he said, bowing, «refugees from Han Eastern Commandery have been arriving daily. Many are staying near Mount Zi. They say they heard of the Celestial Sovereign’s arrival and wish to remain close. But now the rumors of plague have spread. Panic is growing.»

He didn’t look her in the eyes. His reverence was deeper than before.

She had become more than a maiden.

She was now a voice for the Celestial Sovereign.

Feng Yunqu said nothing. She looked up at Mount Zi.

Then, at last, she said, «Tonight—I will celestial  the will of the Celestial Sovereign. We will act according to His decree.»

That night.

Alone within the grand hall of the Temple of Taiyi, she knelt before the altar.

The hall was dim. The light of ritual candles flickered gently.

She had prepared the offerings. She had chanted the prayers. She had danced the sacred dances.

And now she knelt, holding a cluster of bone fragments in both hands.

She tossed them into the air.

They scattered on the floor with soft clicks, forming cryptic patterns.

The candlelight danced across the floor, making the shadows stretch long and distorted, blending into the dark beyond the altar.

A breeze blew in from outside. Cold. Uninvited.

It lifted the scattered bones, making them tumble once more. She stared, trying to read the signs.

Trying to understand what the Celestial Sovereign was saying.

Then—the world darkened.

Not just metaphorically. Her vision literally dimmed, like someone had snuffed out all light.

She looked up—

And froze.

A towering figure clad in golden armor stood silently in the hall.

When had it entered?

How had it entered?

It filled the hall, radiating an overwhelming presence—and yet, not a single person outside had noticed?

The shamans. The guards. All oblivious.

She stared, speechless, skin prickling.

Finally, the figure spoke. Its voice was low, like thunder in a cavern.

«Come with me.»

It turned and strode out of the hall.

She stared after it, stunned.

It passed through the threshold and into the night—yet no one outside reacted.

No one noticed.

Feng Yunqu looked from the retreating golden figure to the altar behind her.

Her eyes began to shine.

«…Celestial Sovereign,» she whispered, voice trembling with awe and reverence.

«…Was that… you?»