My childhood friend is in her mature, sophisticated form again today. - Chapter 68

Lin Jiqiu turned to the section on “star positions” in the bamboo slips. It read: “Since the Qin Dynasty, the core members of the Heavenly Palace Bureau have used ‘star positions’ to identify their identities. Each member has a fixed star position as a code. Once a star position is established, it remains unchanged for life. Members identify and communicate with each other through star positions, rather than using their real names.”

“Star positions are codes. Just like the codes corresponding to the Big Dipper today—Greedy Wolf, Giant Gate, Prosperity… but they existed as early as the Qin Dynasty.”

“Possibly. The fact that this system has lasted for two thousand years suggests that it is effective.”

Lin Jiqiu turned to the next page. A diagram of the Big Dipper was drawn on the bamboo slip. Next to each star were several lines of small characters, indicating the responsibilities and authority associated with that star. He noticed a line in the lower right corner: “The Directorate of Astronomy holds sole control of the position of Tian Shu (the pivot of the stars). When Tian Shu remains still, all the other stars follow.” The Directorate of Astronomy was the predecessor of Polaris (the North Star). He held sole control of Tian Shu, the only stationary star in the Big Dipper, just as Polaris was above the other seven stars.

“The Directorate of Astronomy is the highest-ranking official in the Heavenly Palace Bureau, holding sole control over the position of the Heavenly Pivot. This position has been held since the Qin Dynasty and has changed hands many times, but its function has remained the same—to ensure that the direction of the Seven Offices does not deviate from the Mandate of Heaven.”

“Which branch of the Seven Stars does Tian Shu correspond to?”

“Neither. Tian Shu is separate. It is equivalent to the North Star.”

Lin Jiqiu stopped and looked at the star chart. Tian Shu (Dubhe) was at the very front of the Big Dipper, the only stationary star. The Big Dipper revolved around it. Polaris is the modern name, while Tian Shu is the name from the Qin Dynasty. Same location, same function.

“Chengran, does the bamboo slip mention the specific location of Tian Shu? Or the method of succession of the Imperial Observatory?”

“It was mentioned.” Cheng Ran turned to another page. “The succession of the Imperial Observatory is based on a master-apprentice system. Before the end of each term, the Imperial Observatory will select the next successor and secretly pass on the source stone technology and the core secrets of the Heavenly Palace Bureau. The successor is not necessarily related by blood, but is personally selected by the current Imperial Observatory.”

“There was no open selection process?”

“No. The succession is kept completely secret. Outsiders will never know who the next Director of the Astronomical Bureau will be, or even who the current Director of the Astronomical Bureau is.”

Lin Jiqiu thought of that letter—the letter from Polaris to him. The tone was calm, so calm it was almost devoid of emotion. That calmness likely stemmed from centuries of tradition. A position that had remained unbroken for two millennia naturally carried a composure that transcended personal feelings.

“Did the bamboo slip mention the source of the Originium?”

Cheng Ran shook his head. “The bamboo slip only says, ‘The artifact of destiny is in the East Sea, not of this world.’ It doesn’t say who made it, nor why it appeared in the depths of the East Sea. In the early records of the Heavenly Palace Bureau, the existence of Originium was regarded as a ‘gift from heaven,’ requiring no explanation.”

“Therefore, even the Heavenly Palace Chief doesn’t know where the Originium comes from.”

“They may not know. Or they may know, but it’s not written on the bamboo slips. The bamboo slips are for outsiders—or rather, for the next Directorate of Astronomy. Core secrets are not kept on bamboo slips.”

Lin Jiqiu turned to the last page. At the end of the bamboo slip was a line of small characters: “The secrets of the Heavenly Palace cannot be recorded in a simple book. If future generations wish to seek them, they should ask the Eastern Sea.” He read it aloud, then looked up. “They should ask the Eastern Sea.”

“Information left by the Qin Dynasty. The source of the Origin Stone is not on the bamboo slips, but in the East Sea.”

“We’ve investigated for so long, and all the clues are on land: Fengyuan Agriculture, Liuhe Village, Mingyuan Consulting, and Stargazer. The source of the Originium has always been in the sea.”

“We searched on land for six months, but the direction was always off.”

Lin Jiqiu closed the photocopy of the bamboo slips and leaned back on the sofa. “The direction is correct. If we hadn’t found the Heavenly Palace Bureau and the star positions, we wouldn’t have known to ask the East Sea. The foreshadowing laid by the Qin Dynasty people means that we must complete the land route before we can return to the sea.”

“So, are we going back to the beach next?”

“Not back to the seaside. Back to that sea. The place where the Qin Dynasty people discovered the Originium.” Lin Jiqiu paused for a moment. “Can you still pinpoint the coordinates of the underwater facilities?”

“Yes. The data we found earlier contains complete coordinate records.”

“Let’s start there.”

Ah You came out of the kitchen and paused when he saw the stack of photocopied bamboo slips spread out on the coffee table. “Boss, what are these?”

“Records from the Qin Dynasty. Inscribed on bamboo slips.”

Ah You glanced at the writing, asked no further questions, and turned to serve tea. Ah Hua jumped down from the windowsill, walked to the edge of the coffee table, peeked at the stack of papers, seemed not to understand them, and then withdrew.

Lin Jiqiu put away the photocopy of the bamboo slips and placed it in the file folder. “Chengran, when the bamboo slips mention ‘star positions,’ does it say which person each star position corresponds to? Or, how are the holders of star positions selected?”

Cheng Ran thought for a moment. “The bamboo slip only says that the star positions are ‘given by Heaven’s mandate.’ But it doesn’t specify who decides the ‘mandate of Heaven.’ I guess it should be decided by the Imperial Observatory.”

“Therefore, when each Directorate of Astronomy selects a successor, he will also decide on the allocation of the star position for the next directorate.”

“That’s one way to put it. Star positions aren’t permanent, but once chosen, they won’t be easily changed.”

Lin Jiqiu stared at the star chart. Tian Shu, the Directorate of Astronomy. Greedy Wolf, Giant Gate, Prosperity Star, Literary Star, Integrity Star, Martial Star, Broken Army—seven stars revolved around Tian Shu, each with its own orbit and its own duty. But a question suddenly occurred to him—if Tian Shu represented the Directorate of Astronomy, what were the duties of the Directorate itself? He had said in his letter, “We won’t come looking for you. Because you’re not worth our time.” It was a letter written from a superior position. A person standing at the highest point, looking down upon someone groping their way forward on the ground.

“Chengran, does the bamboo slip mention the ultimate goal of the Heavenly Palace Division?”

“Yes. It’s in the later paragraphs. I haven’t had time to translate it all yet, but one sentence makes perfect sense—’May the flame of civilization never be extinguished, may the wheel of order never cease.'”

Lin Jiqiu repeated the sentence. He remembered what Master Yu had said—”Some things, once created, can’t be taken back.” The Heavenly Palace Bureau created Originium technology, creating two thousand years of order. Did they truly succeed in preventing civilization’s self-destruction? Perhaps. But what was the price? Those who were eliminated, those who were used, those who were imprisoned—had the Heavenly Palace Bureau calculated those costs? He didn’t know. But he knew the Heavenly Palace Bureau had. They didn’t care about those costs because, in their view, the whole is greater than the individual, order is greater than freedom.

“Cheng Ran, can we find the coordinates of the Originium from the records of the underwater facility?”

“Yes. But the underwater facility itself may have already been cleared. After we left last time, the Tengu Division most likely withdrew all equipment and personnel. If we go back now, it may just be an empty shell.”

“Let’s start with the empty shells. Let’s see what they left behind.”

“good.”

Lin Jiqiu stood up and walked to the window. The sky was overcast, the clouds hung low, as if it were about to rain. The flower shop across the street was still open, and the proprietress was packing up. He thought of his father. If he had also found the name Tiangongsi back then, and seen the words “Ask the East Sea,” would he have also prepared to go back? He knew the answer. His father was the same as him—he would go back.

He turned and walked back to the sofa. “Chengran, we’re leaving tomorrow.”

“Okay.” Cheng Ran looked at him. “In what capacity will you return?”

“In Lin Jiqiu’s capacity.”