After a period of waiting, one by one, the children stepped out from the sacred door where the rite had concluded.
On the right arm of each child glimmered an intricate tattoo—lines swirling like flowing water, shimmering under the dim light. These were the sacred marks, symbols of covenants forged between the divine sages and mankind.
Once the group had gathered in full within the Grand Hall, the officiants emerged slowly from the inner sanctum. In their hands, they bore a singular object of reverence: a grand chalice, wrought entirely of pure gold, adorned with nine radiant gemstones. Upon its body were delicately carved images of nine colossal carp—sacred beasts embodying strength and divine favor.
The chalice was solemnly placed atop the altar at the heart of the temple. Amid the solemn atmosphere, the high officiant stepped forward, his voice echoing across the vaulted hall:
— "All rise. Perform the Ninefold Prostration!"
Everyone stood. From the ceremonial chamber, Emperor Thái Cảnh entered, his expression calm yet imbued with regal dignity. He advanced to the altar with measured steps, his posture unwavering.
The ritual drums began to sound—each beat resounding like it rose from the depths of the earth. As one, the assembly knelt low and bowed nine times, their movements as fluid and serene as waves on a still sea.
The officiant's voice rose once more, low and solemn like an ancient incantation:
— "Now, we offer our blood in gratitude, for the blessings bestowed upon this world by the sacred ones."
He turned to the children, his gaze both kind and stern.
— "Step forward, one by one. Take the ceremonial dagger and offer your blood to the Holy Chalice."
A fleeting hesitation passed through the children's eyes. Though they had been mentally prepared, fear was inevitable when faced with the act of drawing one's own blood.
Trần Sĩ stepped forth first. I inhaled deeply, accepting the dagger from the officiant's hand. With cautious resolve, I bit my lip and made a clean incision at the tip of my finger. Blood welled up and slowly dripped into the chalice.
A gentle crimson glow emerged where my blood had fallen, gleaming like sunlight through frost.
Encouraged, the others followed. Some bit their lips, a few winced at the pain, but none turned away. Though still young, they were born of noble blood—raised with the unyielding creed that honor and duty supersede all.
Before long, the chalice brimmed with blood.
The officiant lifted it high, his hands trembling as though he bore the fate of nations. He cried aloud in an ancient tongue:
— "Hic est sanguis novi foederis; accipe illum!"
At once, as if by divine will, the blood within the chalice began to dissipate. A radiant light burst forth—brilliant as starlight descending to earth—illuminating the hall in celestial splendor.
From the chalice's depths, seven rings emerged. Each bore a distinct design, masterfully engraved and glowing with a hue that mirrored the eyes of each child.
They floated upward, rotating gently before slipping onto each child's finger. The moment metal touched flesh, the light flared briefly, then vanished as if it had never been.
A ceremonial bell tolled, long and resonant, marking the rite's end.
The children began descending the wooden stairway, their footsteps measured, their hearts lighter—as though a veil had been lifted. Outside, their families awaited.
As Trần Sĩ approached the threshold of the temple, a large hand gently rested upon his back.
He turned—it was Emperor Thái Cảnh.
The sovereign regarded him with a gaze both warm and commanding.
— "Today, you have been formally recognized by our realm—as a noble in full. And with the passing of your father, Trần Uy, today also marks the moment you inherit the legacy of House Trần."
Trần Sĩ bowed deeply:
— "Your Majesty, I am aware… though in truth, I am anxious. I am still young, and possess no remarkable talent."
— "It is right to be anxious. But you are still studying with your tutor, are you not?"
— "Yes, Your Majesty."
The Emperor nodded thoughtfully.
— "Then there is a proposal I wish for you to consider."
— "Please, Your Majesty, speak."
— "This coming autumn, I wish for you to enroll at the Imperial Academy of Đại Liên. Surely, you've heard of its renown."
That name—familiar as breath itself. A legendary institution among the noble houses. It was a school founded by Thái Cảnh himself two decades prior, and had since produced many esteemed officials and scholars of the court.
— "Yes, Your Majesty. Its name is revered across the realm."
— "It was my hope, when founding it, to raise worthy talent for this land. Now you, bearing ability and the legacy of a great house, are well-suited to join its ranks. Remember—residence there is compulsory. You will learn to live independently."
— "I am deeply honored by Your Majesty's grace. I shall not fail Your trust."
— "It grows late. I shall take my leave. Be sure to extend my regards to Liên Nguyệt."
— "She shall be most grateful, Your Majesty."
With a faint nod, the Emperor turned away, ascending into the golden, lacquered carriage that awaited him.
Trần Sĩ watched him go for a while, then turned toward the main gate.
There, waiting as always, was the maidservant Vân. She rushed to him, her eyes brimming with worry. Trần Sĩ asked:
— "Have you waited long? And where's my uncle?"
— "He left earlier, Master. An urgent matter called him away."
— "Then we, too, should return."
The golden hue of sunset bathed the cobbled road in warmth, painting a scene of quiet splendor at day's end. They walked side by side. Vân, with her soft chestnut hair and bright, welling eyes, looked like a delicate bloom in spring.
As they passed a small market near the square, a sudden "grrroowl" echoed from Vân's belly.
Sĩ couldn't help but laugh.
Vân flushed red, murmuring:
— "Please, don't tease me…"
— "You must be starving. Let's stop by Uncle Kiều's for some buns before we head home."
Nestled within a tidy alley, Uncle Kiều's bun shop steamed gently from a large pot outside. The scent of fresh dough and spiced meat filled the air like a song of comfort.
— "Two large buns, please!" — Trần Sĩ called out.
— "Coming right up!" — Uncle Kiều, a cheerful man with a wide grin, responded heartily.
He lifted the pot's lid. Steam billowed out, fogging his glasses. The buns—pure white and plump—were humble yet exquisitely made.
— "That'll be two coins!"
Sĩ handed over the money and returned with a bun for Vân.
— "Thank you so much, Master!" — she beamed, her smile bright as spring rain.
That smile lightened something deep within me.
Sĩ took a bite. The soft, pillowy crust carried the fragrance of newly milled flour; the savory filling, juicy and rich, tingled slightly with pepper. At its heart—molten salted egg, creamy and luscious, melted upon the tongue. A delicacy, truly worthy of praise.
Truth be told, Trần Sĩ could eat Uncle Kiều's buns for a week straight and never tire of them.
The two chatted cheerfully as they ate. Evening wind drifted by, carrying the warm scent of city life.
When they finished, they rose and walked home. Beneath the crimson twilight, their shadows stretched long upon the stone road—melting quietly into the breath of a day that had come to rest.