Chapter 2 – Hundred Echoes
When the last of the seals broke, only one hundred of the Tang Clan stepped out of the earth. One hundred hearts, one hundred oaths, and one hundred names that still carried the old world inside them.
They stood in a wide clearing beneath the same ancient trees. The Emperor sat upon a fallen stone, his robes wrapped against the cold. Around him were the clan's greatest:
1. The Emperor's Shadow Guard — silent men and women who moved like smoke and kept close to the throne.
2. The Emperor's Eyes and Ears — the intelligence network. Later, in the new world, people would call them the Beggars Sect, for the way they hid among crowds and listened.
3. The Generals — battle-hardened leaders who still bore old scars.
4. The Royal Alchemist — Master Lu, who once mixed stars and salts for the clan.
5. The Royal Blacksmith — Master Qiao, whose hammer used to beat the law of metal.
6. Others — scribes, healers, scouts, cooks, teachers, and children born at the last hour of the sealing.
They numbered one hundred exactly. The forest wind carried their breath like little clouds. The Emperor looked at each face. He could see fear and hope mixed together.
Tang Zhenwu stood. His voice was quiet but clear.
"Listen."
He told them what he had felt since waking. He explained the shape of the heaven and the law that flowed through it. He spoke slowly so every ear could follow.
"The heavenly law is not the same," he said. "It is like a newborn. Its mind is small. The great rules that once rolled like thunder are now gentle like baby wind. The heavenly consciousness — that thing that fed our qi — it is weak. In many places it is thin, like a thin candle. In others, it is almost gone."
Master Lu bowed his head. His fingers trembled.
"So our art... our essence. It will not be easy to grow here," he said. "The qi will not answer like before."
Master Qiao gripped his hammer handle as if it were an old friend.
"My iron sings the same, but the spirit that once answered its song… I do not hear."
The Emperor looked at them all, then raised his hand. He spoke of the only thing that could hold them together in this strange age.
"We will bind ourselves," he said. "An Eternal Oath. No member will harm the Emperor. No member will betray the Tang name. This vow will be more than words. It will be bound by law of clan and by the little strength of the heaven now."
They formed a circle. The Emperor called forth the old rites that still pulsed faintly in their blood — gestures of binding, names of ancestors, the slow breathing that matched heart to heart. One by one they stepped forward. When each spoke the oath, the air tightened like a rope around their chests. They felt the promise settle into their bones. It was not full power. It did not seal minds. But it left a cold mark on each heart — a mark that would make betrayal a deep pain, and harm to their ruler a burning wound.
The Shadow Guard knelt and touched their foreheads to the earth. The intelligence chief — a slight woman named Li Ming — bowed her head and whispered, "We will obey."
One week later the Emperor did what a ruler must do: he sent his Eyes and Ears out into the wide world.
They left in small groups. They walked out from the forest and into lands they did not know. They crossed a river where the water smelled of iron. They climbed a hill and saw, for the first time, the shape of a city — not of palaces, but of glass and stone that rose like cliffs from the ground. They watched ships that moved without wind, wheels that rolled on hard paths faster than any horse, and lights that burned in the night like trapped stars.
When the intelligence returned, they came quietly at dawn. Their cloaks were dusty. Their eyes were sharp. Li Ming stepped forward and unrolled four small maps on the moss. The gathered clan leaned in.
Li Ming spoke first, her voice low and fast. She had seen much.
"Your Majesty," she said, "we were gone seven days. We learned many things. I will speak plainly."
She folded her hands and began her report.
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"First — what makes this new world different from our old one.
"Cities are full and tall. People live together in great houses of stone and glass. They move on iron roads and on fast carriages that burn black liquid. The sky is full of trails of smoke above the factories. There is lightning in bottles — light that comes from wires and bright boxes. People speak through small mirrors and pieces of glass; their voices travel across long distances. The land is cut into straight lines and grids. The old spirits hide. The air tastes of iron and oil in some places, and of sweet smoke in others."
General Han frowned. "So the world runs on machines now?"
Li Ming nodded. "Yes. Machines and methods we did not know. They replace what your alchemists and blacksmiths once did by hand. They do some tasks quickly, day and night. But they do not feel the heaven."
"Second — the power structure," she said. "This is how the world is ordered now.
"Power is held by many hands. There are countries with flags and towers; they call themselves governments. They make laws and keep soldiers. There are also powerful houses of trade — large firms and merchants who own many factories and ships. In cities, local leaders hold sway. There are groups that speak for people — some for work, some for belief. The armies and the police keep fields and towns in line when the law says so. Money and trade hold much power. People follow currency and contracts as much as they follow rulers. In short, there is no single, all-powerful dynasty now. Power moves in circles between governments, the rich traders, and the common people."
The clan murmured. The Emperor's forehead creased. He had lived by throne and law. This new geometry of power — split, fast, and tied to trade — was unfamiliar.
"Third — the loss of alchemy and blacksmith arts," Li Ming continued. "Many old crafts are lost. The great recipes of Master Lu are not remembered in the city records. The secret for forging Dragonsteel — Master Qiao's metal — is almost gone. Blacksmiths now hammer for beauty or small tools. Big weapons and strong iron come from machines in distant works. We found a place like a house of knowledge — a museum — where old tools and fragments sit behind glass. They treat them as relics, not as living arts. There are a few old books in dust; the knowledge there is broken and incomplete. We might recover parts of the arts, but the true mastery is gone from daily life."
Master Lu's hands tightened. "So our old methods are buried."
"Yes," Li Ming said. "But there are new sciences. They mix medicines by recipe and make cures in large rooms. They melt metal in great furnaces that we cannot easily enter."
"Fourth — the industries," she said, and her voice grew steadier, as if listing the beats of a drum. "These run the world."
She pointed to a map with colored marks.
"Farms still grow food, but many fields belong to great owners. Cloth and textiles are made in long rooms with many wheels. Machines make many things: steel, glass, medicines, cloth, lights, and moving engines. There are places that make food in great stores and move it by road and ship. People trade across the seas and across lands. There are houses called hospitals for healing, and large schools for learning. The most important are the factories and the houses of trade — they feed cities and make the tools the new rulers depend on. The new world's strength is the number of things it can make and move quickly."
The Emperor listened without moving. A distant bird called. The sunlight came as thin bars through the leaves.
Li Ming folded the maps. She looked at the Emperor and then at the whole clan.
"One more thing," she added. "We felt the heaven. It is not empty, but it is small. The energy is thin. In some places we sensed nothing. In others, faint threads like a child's whisper. If you want to cultivate, it will be harder. If you want to force the old ways, you will find the world pushing back."
Tang Zhenwu rose. He paced once, then stopped at the edge of the circle. He felt the cold of the ground through his robe.
"So," he said softly, "we are small in the world. The heavens give us little. Our crafts are fractured. Power answers coins and contracts as much as loyalty. The road back to a dynasty is long."
General Han stepped forward, eyes bright. "We have one hundred blades and one heart," he said. "We have our oaths. We know the soil and the secrets of war. We will learn the new shapes. We will take what is needed and hide what must be hidden."
Master Qiao spoke, voice like a strike of hammer. "We will find the ashes of our forges. We will learn the fires that feed their furnaces and bend them to our hands."
Master Lu bowed. "And I will gather the fragments. Old books, old tools, old recipes. If the heaven is a newborn, we will teach it to grow. We will teach it to remember."
Tang Zhenwu looked at each of them. He closed his eyes and breathed deep. The mark of the Eternal Oath burned faintly in his chest. It was a pain and a comfort at once.
"Listen to me," he said. "The world is different. We will not charge at it blindly. We will act like roots finding water. We will send watchers and builders. Li Ming, you will lead the Eyes and Ears. Find the houses of trade. Learn their ways. Bring me news of those who hold power. General Han, train the Shadow Guard. Keep the clan safe. Master Lu and Master Qiao, find what parts of our arts remain and protect those pieces. We will not be swept away."
Li Ming bowed. "We will return with truth."
The clan rose as one. The forest listened. The sun moved a little across the sky and the mist shifted, as if answering in its slow way.
Outside, the wide world turned — tall and bright and strange. Inside the clearing, the Tang Clan sealed their hearts once more with the oath. They had one hundred people, a ruler who remembered the past, and a plan: learn first, hide second, and when the time was right, teach the newborn heaven to recall the old songs.
They would walk slowly. They would wait. They would become the seed that would one day grow an empire again.