The armory on the second floor of the ancient pagoda was hushed and solemn. The archaic weapons of bronze and stone lay there, emitting no murderous intent, but rather a somber aura of history. They were like silent, grizzled veterans quietly recounting the epic sagas of a bygone era.
Tran Kien and Old Kinh stood before the blazing red door of light, the sole passage leading to the third floor. The ancient Shamanic script hovered in the air, bearing a question regarding one of the greatest legends of the Lac Viet people.
"The will of unity can triumph over natural disasters. But to repel foreign invaders, one requires the courage of a hero. Tell me, what did Thanh Giong use to shatter the enemy horde when his iron rod broke?"
Old Kinh stared at the inquiry, deep thought etching into the wrinkles around his single eye.
"Thanh Giong... when his iron rod broke..." he muttered. "In the mortal folktales, he uprooted the bamboo clusters by the roadside to use as weapons."
"Correct," Tran Kien nodded. "The literal answer is golden bamboo. But I believe what the ancient predecessor wishes to hear is not simply a name."
He tore his gaze away from the question, sweeping his eyes over the ancient armaments surrounding them. He looked at the bronze crossbow, the bronze drum, the stone battle-axe. Then, he recalled the stratagem of the "people's war" he had presented within the illusory realm of the Hung King. He realized that this trial and the final trial within the secret realm shared a profound, underlying connection.
"Golden bamboo," Tran Kien projected his voice toward the door of light. "On the surface, it is but a common plant, growing everywhere across the lands of Great Viet. But when the iron rod—the symbol of formal, orthodox military might—shattered, those very ordinary bamboo clusters became the most lethal of weapons."
"What is the Dao behind this?" He asked, answering his own question as his voice swelled with heroic fervor. "It signifies that for the Lac Viet people, when the nation faces annihilation, all of creation can become a weapon! A mere branch, a stone, a blade of grass—all can transform into sabers and spears to slaughter the invaders!"
"The true power that allowed Thanh Giong to achieve victory did not lie in the iron rod, nor did it lie in the bamboo. It resided in a spirit far more vast!"
"It is the spirit of 'Every Citizen a Soldier'! It is the supreme will to transform this entire tapestry of mountains and rivers into an impregnable fortress! When enemies set foot upon this soil, they do not merely face an army. They face every single citizen, every tree, every blade of grass! Every farmer becomes a warrior. Every village becomes a citadel. The entire nation becomes a battlefield with no safe rear guard!"
"Thanh Giong uprooting bamboo to use as a weapon is the highest, most sublime symbol of that spirit! Through his actions, he declared to all future generations: The strength to protect the motherland does not stem from divine weapons or peerless artifacts, but from the homeland itself, from the most familiar things, and from the unyielding, unbreakable will of an entire civilization!"
As Tran Kien's final words, as resonant and commanding as a martial edict, echoed throughout the armory, the blazing red door of light abruptly erupted with intensity. The Shamanic script upon it morphed into the phantom image of a colossal youth riding an iron horse, swinging a massive cluster of bamboo, before dissolving entirely into the void.
The second door had opened.
Old Kinh looked at Tran Kien. Within his solitary eye, there was no longer just shock, but genuine, heartfelt reverence. This youth's enlightenment regarding his roots, his comprehension of the national spirit, had reached a realm the old man could not even begin to fathom.
Speaking no further, the two ascended the stone staircase leading to the third floor.
The third floor.
The space here was no longer a library or an armory. It was an altar room. It was smaller, yet far more solemn than the altar in the underground sanctuary. Right in the center stood a stone altar table, bearing only two items.
A round bánh dày cake, the pristine white of glutinous rice, symbolizing the clear, boundless Heavens. And a square bánh chưng cake, wrapped in the vibrant green of dong leaves, symbolizing the vast, encompassing Mother Earth.
A harmonious, warm aura, carrying the sweet scent of new rice and prosperity, permeated the space.
Behind the altar stood the final door of light, this time shining with the golden hue of the earth. And upon it, the final line of Shamanic script materialized.
"The will of unity can conquer natural disasters. The courage of the populace can repel foreign invaders. But to build a realm of peace and prosperity, one requires the heart of an emperor who honors his roots. Tell me, of the two cakes offered by Lang Lieu, which is the most precious?"