The Dama stirred with confusion, but before he had made out what she had said, Feng Zhiwei had already disappeared.
A Steppe Coronation Ceremony was not as intricate as one would be in the Central Plains. Soldiers from the twelve tribes stood in formation as the twelve Patriarchs offered their gifts; the Dama dipped his finger into the koumiss and pointed at the King's forehead while he prayed for abundance and prosperity. After that, the Dama would use his ceremonial instruments and speak the prophecies of the heavens, and then there would be singing and eating and drinking and dancing alongside a horsemanship and archery competition. The celebration would go on for three days and three nights, and then it was done.
With the Blue Bear and Iron Cheetah Tribes at Helian Zheng's back and the extermination of the Pixiu still whispered about, none of the King's ambitious brothers dared make a move; and every power known or unknown was watched by a tight, impenetrable guard.
