Tang Dynasty in the Miniature World
A full year had passed since Xia Chuan's last appearance. Though brief by cosmic reckoning, for the citizens of Tang State, this single year had ushered in transformations as vast as the heavens overturning. To them, the phrase "the vicissitudes of life" barely encapsulated the scale of change.
Once an unassuming kingdom of a mere billion souls, Tang State had teetered on the edge of collapse under the relentless assault of the Thunder Kingdom. Yet, in their darkest hour, the Primordial Gods descended. With but a flicker of divine might, they obliterated the Thunder Kingdom's main forces, slaying its ruler in an instant.
In the aftermath, Tang State annexed its fallen adversary, absorbing its lands and population. The kingdom's citizenry swelled to an unprecedented 12 billion, and its dominion stretched across 80 million square kilometers. Such exponential growth catapulted the once-humble state into imperial prominence—a colossus in the miniature world.
For Tang's ordinary citizens, the transformation was surreal, as if they had awoken in a dream where their homeland ruled as an unrivaled empire. Yet, the reality was undeniable: Tang State now stood as the dominant power in the region.
Still, not all rejoiced. Among the newly incorporated citizens of the Thunder Kingdom, resentment simmered. The powerful families who once thrived under Thunder's banner bristled at their nation's fall. Yet, cowed by Tang's overwhelming might, they dared not act openly.
In the heart of the Thunder Kingdom's former capital, a mansion sheltered whispers of discontent. Within its grand halls, the remnants of Thunder's aristocracy gathered in secret. Their faces were grim, etched with anger and humiliation, as the weight of their defeat hung heavily in the air.
"Damn it! What in the heavens is going on?" A thunderous voice echoed through the dimly lit hall, its owner a powerful noble of the former Thunder Kingdom. His face was red with fury, veins bulging on his forehead. "Our mighty empire, with tens of billions of citizens and lands spanning tens of millions of square kilometers, has been brought to its knees by a mere border country. And worse, they've stolen our lands! This is a disgrace—a humiliation beyond compare!"
His anger reverberated through the room, igniting murmurs of agreement among the assembled nobles.
"You're right!" Another noble pointed an accusing finger at a general seated nearby. "It's your damned soldiers who surrendered to Tang State! If not for your cowardice, how could that puny country muster the troops needed to overrun our empire?"
The accusation hung heavily in the air. It was a sentiment shared by many—betrayal by their own was the bitterest pill to swallow. Without the mass defection of Thunder's forces, Tang could never have achieved such a swift and decisive victory.
The general, seated at the edge of the room, remained calm but visibly annoyed. He shook his head, his expression a mixture of pity and scorn. "What do you fools understand?" His voice carried a weight that silenced the room. "Tang is no ordinary country. They are under the protection of the Primordial Gods. Surrendering to them is no shame—it's survival."
The room erupted into a cacophony of disbelief and outrage.
"Nonsense!" one noble barked, slamming his fist on the table. "What Primordial Gods? Just another myth spread by that cunning Lord of Tang to scare fools like you! And you—a warrior of the Diamond Realm, seasoned in countless battles—how could you be duped by such nonsense?"
A ripple of agreement passed through the room. The notion of divine intervention felt absurd, a tale for commoners, not for the ruling elite of the former Thunder Kingdom.
But the general's face darkened, his patience snapping. "Silence!" he roared, his voice sharp as a blade. The nobles flinched. "If you dare to blaspheme again, I won't hesitate to report every single one of you. You think you're untouchable? Look around! Do you know how many heads have rolled for resisting Tang's rule this year alone?"
The weight of his words crushed the room into silence.
"Apologies… we spoke rashly," one noble stammered, fear lacing his tone. Another quickly followed, "But tell us, General, why do you believe so deeply in the Primordial Gods? What proof do you have?"
The general's gaze grew distant, his hands clenching into fists. His voice trembled—not with fear, but with reverence. "You wouldn't understand because you haven't seen it. But I have. With my own eyes, I've witnessed the power of the Primordial God."
The room collectively leaned in, breathless.
"A being beyond comprehension," the general began, his voice low and solemn. "One toe of this giant is larger than our grandest palace. Its eyes shine like the sun and moon, and the mere sight of it overwhelms the soul. Its very presence exudes a sacred aura so ancient and vast that no mortal can fathom it. Do you understand now? To stand against such a force is to court death."
The nobles were frozen, struggling to process his words.
"Our Lord," the general continued, his voice heavy with grief, "did not believe in the gods either. He sought to challenge Tang, and in doing so, provoked the wrath of the Primordial God. Divine punishment came swiftly—a stone the size of a mountain was hurled from the heavens, crushing our Lord, ten extraordinary warriors, and millions of soldiers in one strike. It was not war; it was annihilation."
He paused, his body trembling as if reliving the moment. "The mountain still stands on Tang's border, an eternal monument to their divine protection. If you doubt my words, go see it for yourself. Then, perhaps, you'll understand what it means to face an unstoppable force."
The room was deathly silent. The general's words carried a chilling certainty.
"So," he concluded, his eyes narrowing at the nobles, "you may plot rebellion if you wish. But I warn you: never blaspheme the gods. For if the Primordial Gods hear of your insolence, not only will you perish, but your entire bloodline will be erased. They do not forgive."
A shiver ran through the crowd. The nobles, once indignant and defiant, now sat pale and trembling. Their earlier arrogance had crumbled, replaced by the haunting possibility that the ancient gods might indeed exist.
"Could it really be true?" one noble muttered, his voice barely audible. "Do such beings truly walk this world?"
None dared answer. Instead, the room remained steeped in uneasy silence, each individual grappling with the terrifying implications of the general's testimony.