Emperor Charles Zhao's Imperial Sacrifice Ceremony and the Emergence of the Private Island
Putian City had been under martial law for two days straight. No fewer than five thousand Feathered Forest Guards had locked down the whole city and the surrounding countryside for miles. These iron-clad soldiers—whether their real fighting skills matched their intimidating looks or not—certainly put on a good show. Stern-faced, loyal to the core, they took over every military post in Putian. And yet, when the local officials slipped them heavy gold gifts, they kept their mouths shut about the Jade Hawk Johnson Head Incident.
After two days of martial law and lockdown, and with absolute security confirmed, Emperor Charles Zhao finally arrived at this seaside city.
Emperor Charles Zhao—his name sounds just like Zhao Zilong of Changshan—has been on the throne for nearly forty years, a rare long-lived emperor since the Song Dynasty moved south. But with Kublai Khan growing stronger by the day, his seat on the throne felt anything but secure.
The Observatory for Heavenly Affairs, always keeping an eye on the empire’s fate, gave Charles Zhao two pieces of advice to steady the dynasty. He loved both: first, go sightseeing at famous places, burn some incense, and say a few ceremonial words; second, search the land for beauties and take new concubines for a little extra luck.
So he headed south, making stops for imperial rituals and sightseeing. Not all the ministers could tag along, but after careful selection, about thirty people joined him on this all-expenses-paid tour. But when he arrived in Putian, his first order of business wasn’t to check out the local beauties—it was to visit Lady Mother's Temple, built by the sea, far from the city.
Business before pleasure—otherwise, those Confucian ministers would just start nagging again. So for once, Emperor Charles Zhao put duty before fun, choosing to see the goddess before the girls.
With attendants bustling all around him, Emperor Charles Zhao arrived at the temple gates like the moon surrounded by stars. Ancient emperors judged omens by the Five Virtues, and the Song Dynasty considered itself of the Fire element, so the imperial robe wasn’t the yellow you see in palace dramas, but bright red. He wore a red robe, a black crown, and cloud-patterned boots. But strip away all the pomp and circumstance, and he was just an old man of flesh and blood.
This old man had plenty of followers trailing behind him. When he walked, they walked; when he stopped, they stopped. When he spoke, everyone listened intently—that’s imperial power for you. Even in a declining Song Dynasty, the emperor is still the emperor, the Son of Heaven.
Looking closer, Old Master Chu was actually mixed in with the crowd of attendants. He might’ve been stuck at the back, but that was still a big honor—everyone here was a major player at court, and none of them even bothered to give him a proper look.
At the very front, flanking Emperor Charles Zhao on either side, were two people. On the left was a man in his fifties, thin-faced with a long beard down to his chest, looking every bit the elegant scholar. But in reality, this was the current prime minister, Minister Simon Jia—a power broker so notorious that folk heroes would love nothing more than to take him out. On the right was a familiar monk, none other than Master Connor Kong, who’d been roped in as a last-minute tour guide.
Master Connor Kong might be a respected monk out in the martial world, but here, he was just a bit player called in at the emperor’s whim—and he didn’t dare show a hint of dissatisfaction.
“So, this is Lady Mother's Temple?” Emperor Charles Zhao asked casually. “Just a local matron—what’s so special about her that people worship her like a goddess?”
“Amitabha, to answer Your Majesty,” Master Connor Kong began, “this Lady Mother’s real name was Lin Mo-niang. She could read the winds and tides, predict good and bad fortune at sea. Fishermen and sailors, facing danger on the ocean, prayed to her for safety. Lin Mo-niang’s prophecies always came true, so she gained a reputation for the miraculous. After her death, the boatmen and fishermen started worshipping her, hoping for peace and safe passage.”
Now, strictly speaking, Master Connor Kong really shouldn’t be introducing a rival to Buddha—by Buddhist standards, Lady Mother would be called a 'heretical spirit' or a 'witch,' and just mentioning her could get you in serious trouble. But when the emperor asks in person… well, Lin Mo-niang’s followers have suffered enough lately and need government support. These days, even old rivals have to play nice when the time calls for it.
While Master Connor Kong was giving his smooth introduction and the Mazu Priestesses knelt to welcome them, Emperor Charles Zhao strode through the grand temple doors.
He looked up at the deepest part of the temple—and suddenly, his eyes lit up. Even the most distracted folks perked up as if jolted by a shot of adrenaline: “Whoa, is Lady Mazu really that beautiful?”
“Your Majesty may not know,” Master Connor Kong explained, “Lady Mazu passed away at just twenty-six or twenty-seven, in the prime of her youth. That’s why all the Mazu Priestesses here are chosen from young women of that age. As for Lady Mazu herself, she—” Master Connor Kong was rambling on, but suddenly he, too, looked up and froze.
Wait a minute—why did that statue at the heart of the temple look so darn familiar?!
Hold on, isn’t that… who I think it is?!
“What’s this, Master Connor Kong? Even a monk has mortal desires, huh? Hahaha!” Emperor Charles Zhao teased him mercilessly—and, truth be told, was also poking fun at the goddess enshrined in the temple.