Volume One, Chapter Twenty-Seven: A Muffled Cry

Chapter Twenty-Seven: A Muffled Cry

Tu Zhe did not lose to a profound understanding of the precepts, nor to the skillful application of debate or the intricacies of rhetoric. If he were to lose, it would be to his overly optimistic belief in the sense of right and wrong among the multitudes of celestial beings shaped by the teachings of the Dharma.

Before he came to the trial, he was filled with confidence. After all, at the time of the incident, billions of celestial witnesses had seen everything unfold. He could not believe that, among so many, not a single one would stand up for the truth and for justice. Surely, the passionate young should not have been completely extinguished, should they?

Yet reality proved he was still not mature enough. He had staked his future and his very life upon a baseless hope. This fantasy, akin to a gambler’s delusion, had nearly driven him into a dead end. It filled him with a rage and despair beyond words.

No one stood up.

Not a single soul dared step forward.

Was his forceful, unyielding questioning truly powerful? Did it awaken the conscience? Perhaps it seemed so. Perhaps it even caused shame to flicker across the faces of many of the celestials.

But was that flicker of shame enough for them to ignore the authority of Indra, enough to risk the unbearable consequences of bearing witness in a moment of reckless passion?

“You’re right, you’ve made us all feel ashamed, but we cannot stand up. Whether you understand or not, that’s simply how it is.”

Tu Zhe’s words were almost a desperate cry. His eyes burned red, flames of despair raging within. They blazed—then threatened to consume him utterly.

Did crying out help at all?

In that instant, he understood, almost completely, why in a world before this one, a man named Lu Xun had called his collection of short stories "A Call to Arms."

Why cry out?

Because of utter loneliness and helplessness, because of deep confusion and despair.

At that moment, feeling Tu Zhe’s profound hopelessness and anger, Shudra gritted his teeth and stood forward, calling out in a loud voice, “Honored Judge, may I, Shudra, testify on behalf of Prince Tu Zhe?”

Zhuan Chiyuan Beigao replied disdainfully, “According to the code of law, the testimony of anyone involved in the incident cannot be considered.”

Shudra’s eyes were wild with fury. “Then, Honored Judge, does this mean that if there is no testimony or evidence from an impartial witness, this public trial will end without conclusion?”

Zhuan Chiyuan Beigao replied smugly, “Not necessarily. The court may supplement the evidence, and either party may seek further proof to support their claims. As things stand, this hearing need not proceed further. I suggest we adjourn and let the judges and council elders deliberate and decide.”

You want a result?

No result is a result. This is how things are left unresolved—what more could you expect? You’re an outsider family to begin with; do you really expect a miraculous turnaround? Dream on.

Zhuan Chiyuan Beigao was inwardly pleased. Though he hadn’t fully achieved his goal of completely crushing Tu Zhe’s family, preventing them from ever rising again, this outcome was good enough for now.

Was the trial really going to end like this? Was being bullied and trampled on to be left without resolution?

And would they continue to face even crueler and more relentless oppression?

For instance, with the case unresolved, would the other birth ceremonies for me and Xiao Lei be indefinitely postponed?

It wasn’t just possible—it was almost certain.

The little dog gently wiped the corner of Tu Zhe’s eye with its paw, comforting him in a soft, childish voice, “Don’t be sad, Big Bro. I’ll teach you amazing powers. I’ll sneak you lots of secret techniques. You’ll become the strongest in all the heavens, and then, whoever bullies us, we’ll just smack them down, okay?”

In truth, Tu Zhe was not crying; it was the little dog, heart aching for him, whose tears were falling instead.

At that moment, the council of elders whispered among themselves, clearly discussing whether to adjourn the trial.

Tu Zhe lowered his head in silence for a long while. Suddenly, he tossed back his hair and said loudly, “Honored judges, council elders, and esteemed members of the celestial jury, before this trial ends, please allow me to state the historical and present causes of these events.”

Zhuan Chiyuan Beigao and his associates quickly conferred, then replied, “Speak, if you must. What can you possibly say now? Since things have come to this, we’ll be generous and let you have your moment.”

Tu Zhe took a few steps forward, his voice low but resonant:

“Everyone present, I am but a newly born prince—still in my infancy. Why did I go to the Celestial Artisans’ Treasure Hall to seek out Morasha?

Yes, I did strike him because of his disrespect, his arrogance, his threats against the heavens. But even if none of that had occurred, I would have struck him all the same, no matter who his master was, no matter how overbearing he behaved.

You all know that my father and uncle, as minor kings, have always been treated as outsiders—facing overt and covert humiliation and suppression from all sides. No one here can deny this fact. If you have any conscience left, you must at least admit in your hearts that what I say is true.

For centuries, the Celestial Treasures my father and uncle should have received—those that produce the Celestial Nectar and Celestial Wine—have, as everyone knows, not been theirs by right. Instead, they have always had to send people to the Fragrant Celestial Nursery to collect these essentials. The collection records can attest to this.

Moreover—

The Celestial Nectar and Wine they have been given are the lowest, blackest kind. I must ask all you lords, kings, elders, and princes here today: who among you knows what black Celestial Nectar and Wine taste like?

None of you can say, because you have never tasted the black kind yourselves—for that is the food and drink of slaves.

My father and uncle—supposedly honored among the multitudes atop Mount Sumeru—have never been permitted to enjoy fare befitting their station.

They told me that, because for centuries they have been forced to consume this inferior nectar, their power and supernatural abilities have not increased in the slightest. In fact, their abilities are less than those of many princes and princesses. Why?

Because they have never tasted the nectar that should rightfully be theirs, let alone the unlimited, purest kind.

And yet—

My kind and noble father and uncle have never forgotten their duty. For centuries, in every war against the heretics and demons, they and their brave followers have always led the charge, always been the first to fight, the first to die—

Tell me: whose followers among the minor kings have sacrificed more than half their lives to defend Mount Sumeru and ensure the happiness of the heavens?

And who can tell me: which minor king’s followers, after losing so many lives, have never had their numbers replenished, or their wounds treated?

I must also ask: whose palace guard is smaller than my father’s and uncle’s?

I must ask, too—

Even after risking death in countless battles, my father and uncle have received only the treatment I described. Yet, in all these centuries, has anyone heard them complain or cry injustice?

And who among you, for all these generations, has remained indifferent and silent to their plight?