A gentle breeze swept through, like a darting cat, caressing the murals in the grand hall. It tinkled the wind chimes in the corner of the room, stirring the King’s thoughts. The chimes rang softly, and the sage’s words were aged but forceful. The echo resonated in the vacant Royal Palace, gradually dissipating in the wind and sinking into the depths of the King’s heart.
Hearing Jatili comment on the technique of the murals, Xiulote paused for a moment and looked inquiringly at the Head Warrior, whom he trusted the most.
Bertade was always composed, yet now, his eyes were unusually fixed. Born a commoner, he had spent half his life in the army. He was genuinely proficient in all but one aspect of the so-called painting and art. Xiulote, who had not attended Priest school, received an incomplete Priestly education, which was hardly any better. The two seasoned Samurai exchanged glances for a moment before the Head Warrior finally spoke in a complex tone.
"Your Highness, I have recorded that the painters indeed came from three places... as the Sage said, the first two batches came from the Holy City in the Alliance and the west side of the lake. The third batch of painters came from the Mistec."
The young King slightly furrowed his brows. He stood up from his seat, turned halfway, and looked at the mural in front of him while masking his changing expressions.
In the Alliance’s political system, the Holy City, Teotihuacan, had been headed by a branch of the Mexican Royal Family for three to four generations now. This lineage from the Holy City was closely knit and culturally integrated, serving as the most trusted direct descendants of the Alliance and the Lake Capital City. The City-State of Askapozhaleike in the west of Lake Texcoco was an old capital of the Tepanec people. The Tepanec and the Mexica are both of Nava descent, intermarried for generations, and shared beliefs. Under the directive of the Chief Divine, they had merged for half a century and were now fully integrated into the Mexica group. Both City-States were loyal members of the Alliance, responding to calls to arms and obeying commands, considered as "one of their own" within the Alliance.
The southern Mistec was different. Although subjugated under Montezuma I’s campaigns, the Mistec people had been vassals of the Mexica Alliance for nearly twenty years, paying regular tributes annually. However, the control the Alliance had over the Mistec was still limited to military deterrence and collecting tributes. The Mistec retained a completely independent political system, semi-autonomous foreign powers, and a unique cloud-centered belief system. They were allied with the Zapotecs, subtly resisting the influence and integration by the Alliance.
"The Mistec people... They are far away, with a long history and a culture and belief system uniquely their own. Indeed, they differ artistically from the various parts of the Alliance."
Xiulote pondered for a moment, regained control of his expressions, and then resumed his seat. He looked at Jatili, not answering the latter’s question but instead asking with a smile,
"In the presence of a Sage, I ought to seek frank advice. The direct descendants of the Holy City, the backbone in the west of the lake, and the southern vassals, their governance indeed differs across these three. What could the Sage teach me? And how does it relate to the different factions of the Prepetcha?"
Facing the young King’s inquiry, Jatili smiled slightly. His wrinkles relaxed like waves, his eyes shimmered like lake water, and he spoke loudly as if the wave crests,
"Your Highness, would you like to hear the truth, or falsehoods?"
"Naturally, the truth! I seek knowledge from the Sage, and whatever is spoken, I only seek the beneficial aspects. Should it prove advantageous for governance, I shall certainly reward you!"
"Your Highness’s magnanimity is truly as vast as a bear’s!"
At this, Jatili loudly expressed his admiration, then continued with a smile,
"Your Highness, at my age, I no longer seek rewards. I merely hope to do things beneficial for our tribe and citizens… This governance, on the one hand, depends on how the ruler views the Citizens. It involves classifying people into various ranks, the number of people in each rank, their privileges, the Tribute they owe, and how lower-tier individuals can rise up. Then, there are handling famines and disasters; how to react during wars and unrest... These matters are all decided by Your Highness, testing the level of governance, and also depending on the enforcer’s practices."
Xiulote reflected for a moment and then nodded affirmatively.
"The people of Prepetcha are my Citizens. They are the foundation of the Kingdom, the green leaves on the lofty Divine Tree. I will hold them in benevolent regard, treating them equally as the Mexica! As for the distinctions among nobility, Samurai, and commoners, and the proportion of taxes, I have my plans, and I shall not oppress the commoners of the Prepetcha."
"Your Highness, you soar like a mighty eagle, embracing the whole land. The Prepetcha people wish to be your wings!"
Jatili bowed his head respectfully. Then, with a solemn expression, he earnestly said,
"Relying on the Akatla Pyramids, heaven and earth are interlinked. The sky watches over the earth, bestowing thunder and nourishing dew; the earth also watches the sky, rising clouds and high mountains in response. The interaction between heaven and earth, another aspect of governance, is how the Citizens view the ruler. The most direct response is how they react to the ruler’s attitude."
Hearing this, a familiar saying surfaced in Xiulote’s mind. He pondered for a moment, and suddenly recalled the Tarasco chief and the old Militia. He spoke somewhat emotionally,
"Heaven and earth interact, the Monarch and his subjects correspond. If the Monarch regards them as beloved kin, they see the Monarch as dependable parents; if the Monarch regards them as mere weeds, they can naturally treat the Monarch as an adversary."
At this, Jatili paused, his deep eyes widening as he closely evaluated the young King again before solemnly saying,
"Your Highness, your compassion is rare, yet it must be judiciously applied, only used where appropriate. The phrase you just said could be spoken by a Poet, could be spoken by the Nobility, but it should not be uttered by a Monarch."
"Citizens view their rulers just as weeds view the Divine Tree. They observe the colors of the trees, find similarities with themselves, and thus, a closeness is born. This represents the external appearance, customs, and habits of a people."
"They hear the rustling of the wind through the tree leaves, just like the rustling of blades of grass. This is a similar language, words that can be exchanged, symbols that connect."
"They follow the natural order, born in spring, flourishing in summer, withering in fall, but only the Divine Tree is evergreen throughout the seasons. This is the law that the people follow, where only the will of the King stands above all."
"They look up at the towering height of the Divine Tree, finding it reaching into the clouds, a resting place for the Heavenly Divine. This is a common belief, respect for the King, and worship of the divine..."
"Customs, language, law, belief—all these, your highness, had already been schemed out. From the rumors of the past two years of reform within the Mexica Alliance and the traces laid out by your highness in recent months, I have perceived, your highness, in your heart, a great and clear Divine Tree already exists."
Upon saying this, the learned elder bore a meaningful smile, and smiled once more.
"However, when the weeds grow taller and more numerous, they need a new bond. This bond is not visible on the surface but hidden deep within the hearts of people, beneath the gathering of weeds. There must be sprawling roots underground, connecting everyone! They feel the roots of the Divine Tree, trace back to the source of life, thereby realizing that they are the offsprings, naturally detached from the Divine Tree, borne of the same essence. Together they gestate through time, should be considered an entity with the Divine Tree, meant to live and die together!..."
"Ancient myths will be sealed by the lengthy passage of time, barren hearts will be obscured by blurred history, someone must step forward to tell the heritage to all... In this regard, perhaps this old man can be of some assistance."
"Roots of connection... an entity... mythology and history... to tell... good, very good! This is exactly the future I hope for!"
Xiulote paused for a moment, then his spirits lifted. He leaned forward, grasping the aged hands of Jatili, looking earnestly into his eyes.
"Please, Sage, aid me!"
In face of the Monarch’s sincere plea for help, a smile finally spread across Jatili’s face. His eyes twinkled with laughter as he once again spoke deeply.
"The entity your highness hopes for, is it the exquisite mushrooms between the pine trees, or the towering pine trees themselves? Is it for a moment or for generations unchanging?"
"What I seek is for all eternity and all citizens!"
The young Monarch answered resoundingly, without hesitation.
"Good! Then let us talk from ages past, begin the narrative from ancient times, telling a long and credible story. Your highness, do you still remember why you invited this old man here today?"
"The epic of the Prepetcha people?"
Xiulote paused, mused aloud.
"Old books and murals are well preserved, in the stone forts surrounding the palace."
"Your highness, since this is the case, shall we talk while we walk?"
Upon hearing this, the young Monarch nodded. He rose steadily, and once again took Jatili’s arm. This time, the learned elder bore a calm smile, quietly allowing the Monarch to assist him. Side by side, they walked towards the back of the hall, where a stone pathway led to the stone forts.
Bertade, accompanied by several escorts, followed silently behind. Watching the Monarch converse with the Sage, both laughing heartily from time to time, a remarkably harmonious vibe of belated meeting filled the air. The Head Warrior paused briefly, a strange feeling surged through him, then transformed into his silent murmur.
"The eagle soars high in the sky, drawing the mountain’s gaze and attracting hidden eyes... creatures flock around the jungle’s King. From today on, beside the Monarch will not only stand loyal and brave tigers but also sly and strategic foxes..."
The group slowly moved further, disappearing at the end of the pathway. A breeze blew through the Palace of Wind, the crisp sound of wind chimes echoing once more within the great hall. The guarding Samurais stood silent and somber, only the brand-new murals on either side remained ancient and solemn.