The great bronze gates parted with a deliberate, groaning weight, the sound carrying through the vast chamber like a warning. Two lines of imperial guards stood rigid on either side of the central aisle, halberds held perfectly vertical, blades catching the morning light that streamed in from high, narrow windows. Their lamellar armor gleamed with the polish of discipline, every scale reflecting the hall's towering red pillars and the shadowed carvings of coiled beasts above. Not a helmet shifted, not a breath broke rhythm—only the synchronized thud of boots as the vanguard moved forward ahead of the emperor.
Behind them, eunuchs in flowing, dark silk glided like shadows across the polished marble. They carried no weapons, yet their presence held a different kind of authority—one born of proximity to the throne and the keeper's knowledge of court secrets. They moved with small, precise gestures, ready to adjust a fold of the robe, a tilt of the crown, or a ceremonial bead chain that dared to sway out of place.
The emperor's first step into the hall was deliberate, his sole meeting the marble with a soft yet final sound. His robe, a deep imperial crimson traced with gold-threaded clouds and serpentine figures, rippled faintly with each stride. A wide sash bound the weight of the garment at his waist, its knot perfectly aligned. The crown of black silk and jade beads rested low on his brow, the bead strands swaying just enough to veil his eyes in fleeting moments—a reminder that heaven's mandate often shrouded mortal expression.
Flanking the central path were ministers of every rank, their robes marked by the colors and emblems of their provinces—greens, blues, ochres, and the muted tones of far-off borderlands. Each man stood in rigid stillness, hands folded before him, eyes lowered in deference yet never fully blind to the sovereign passing within arm's reach. Their rows stretched deep into the hall, every gap between them measured by tradition. The faint rustle of their silks seemed to bow before the steady approach of the throne.
The central aisle stretched like an unbroken river of space, flowing directly toward the raised dais at the far end. The dais itself was guarded by another pair of imperial sentinels—taller, broader, their armor inlaid with golden studs that caught fire under the filtered sunlight. Beyond them loomed the throne, carved from a single massive block of dark wood, its back high and fanned like the wings of a celestial bird.
The emperor reached the marble steps, ascending them without a glance to either side. His hand came to rest on the carved armrest, fingers brushing against the cold, intricate patterns of beasts and clouds. He lowered himself into the seat with the weight of a man who carried not just an empire, but its storms, its famines, and its unspoken fears. The hall fell into a silence so complete that the slow burning of incense could be heard, curling threads of smoke rising to the painted beams above
The heavy silence clung to the grand hall like a shroud until the Head Eunuch stepped forward. He was a wiry man, his face taut and pale from years away from the sun, his voice high yet sharp enough to cut the stillness. He bowed deeply before the throne, his long ceremonial robe trailing across the polished jade floor.
"By the grace of His Majesty," he announced, voice echoing between the towering columns carved with coiling serpents, "the morning court shall commence. Let those with petitions step forward in the order decreed."
The ministers, lined in two neat rows on either side of the hall, each in their rank-marked robes of black, crimson, or deep blue, gave a formal bow. Their hands were folded in front, sleeves draped low, eyes respectfully lowered toward the jade tiles. Behind them, lesser officials and scribes clutched scrolls and ink brushes, ready to record the day's decrees.
A magistrate from the southern provinces stepped forward, bowing so low his forehead almost touched the floor. "Your Majesty," he began, "the waters of the River Li have turned against us. Entire fields lie drowned. The farmers starve, and the villages cry out for grain from the imperial granaries."
The emperor's gaze was steady, unreadable, his hands resting on the carved armrests of his throne.
Another official, robed in dark green with a badge of a leaping carp embroidered on his chest, came forward. "Sire, in the western mountains, beasts the likes of which we have never seen now roam. They strike at night and vanish by dawn. Our guards… they vanish with them."
One after another, they came. A famine in the north. Bridges swept away by sudden floods. A plague of locusts stripping the eastern plains bare. The reports dripped into the hall like water filling a basin—steady, measured, inevitable.
A voice from the left row interrupted the next speaker. "And what of the burned farmlands in Shansi? Will His Majesty not send aid there first?"
From the right row, another snapped back, "If the southern river is not tamed, there will be no farmlands left anywhere!"
The carefully kept order shattered. Ministers began speaking over one another, some stepping forward without waiting to be called. Voices rose in pitch, clashing like swords.
"The granaries are already empty—"
"Then who hoarded the grain in the north?!"
"My lord, such accusations—"
"Accusations? I have proof—"
The Head Eunuch tried to shout them down, but his high voice was swallowed by the noise. The hall, so solemn moments before, now churned with shouting men in silken robes, their sleeves swinging wildly as they gestured and argued.
Seated above them all, the emperor's expression did not change, but the fingers of his right hand lifted to press against the bridge of his nose. His eyes closed for the briefest of moments, as if shutting out the chaos below. The coiling serpent carvings on the columns seemed to watch in silent mockery as the court devolved into a marketplace quarrel.
A crack of thunder split the sky outside, sharp enough to make the lacquered pillars tremble. The sound rolled over the Hall of State Affairs like the growl of some unseen beast, followed almost instantly by the violent hiss of lightning tearing through the clouds.
The ministers froze mid-argument, their quarrels dying on their tongues. Some instinctively stepped back from the center of the floor, skirts of their long robes brushing against the polished stone tiles. Others shuffled to the sides of the hall, eyes darting toward the massive double doors at the far end.
The soldiers moved without hesitation, boots thudding in unison as they formed a shield line in front of the dais. The butts of their spears hit the floor in a rhythm that seemed to sync with the pounding of the rain outside. Behind them, the eunuchs clustered close, their pale silk sleeves swaying as they took position just behind the emperor's throne, faces tight with uncertainty.
The emperor did not move. His hands rested on the carved arms of his seat, knuckles tightening ever so slightly, his gaze locked on the towering doors. The hall had fallen into such silence that the sound of the rain tapping the tiled roof was suddenly deafening.
Then, the doors flung inward with a force that sent a gust of cold, wet wind rushing down the hall. The hinges groaned in protest, and for a moment it seemed the wood itself might splinter. Dust, shaken loose from the beams above, spiraled into the air, hazing the view for an instant.
She stepped through.
Her robes were black, but not the glossy black of lacquer or ink — a muted, weathered shade that caught the dim light like storm clouds on the horizon, almost appearing grey in some folds. A mask of polished jade, half white and half black, covered her face, its smooth surface reflecting a faint glimmer from the braziers. From the slits of the mask, her eyes glowed — not brightly, but with a cold, steady hint of blue, like moonlight on deep water.
Her hair, black as midnight rain, fell straight down her back, framing a figure that was unmistakably feminine yet almost towering in height — tall enough that the tallest of the guards would have to tilt his chin to meet her gaze.
Two men followed close behind. One was dressed in black, wearing a mask of pure white jade. The other, in white robes, bore a mask of black jade. Their presence was silent but weighted, each step measured and heavy.
The soldiers held their line, though their grips tightened on their weapons. Ministers shifted uneasily, their earlier panic melting into a heavy stillness. Then, slowly, they began to lower themselves, one by one, into deep bows until the entire hall was bent toward her.
She stood motionless for a heartbeat, eyes fixed on the emperor. Then, as though conceding to some unspoken etiquette, she bent forward in a precise, deliberate bow.
The emperor raised a single hand, and the guards immediately parted, lowering their weapons. His fingers moved to the bridge of his nose, pressing there for a long moment as though steadying himself. When his eyes opened again, they carried the weight of inevitability.
"Summon the Six Sects," he said, his voice low but carrying through the hall like a final verdict.
Worry shadowed his features — not the panic of a man surprised, but the grim acceptance of one who had seen this moment approaching for far too long.
The hall was dismissed with a wave of the emperor's hand. Ministers bowed low and filed out, their silken robes whispering over the stone, whispers following them like shadows. The great doors boomed shut once more, sealing the Hall of State Affairs in a heavy, echoing stillness. Only the imperial guards, the eunuchs, and the three masked figures remained.
The woman stepped forward until she stood at the foot of the dais, her robes stirring faintly with the draft that still lingered from her entrance. The two men flanking her halted just behind, as if they were her shadow and reflection.
She spoke, her voice calm yet edged with something that made even the seasoned guards keep their eyes averted.
"The seal… is weakening."
Nothing more, nothing less. No flourish, no hesitation — as if every extra word would waste what little time remained.
The emperor's breath caught almost imperceptibly. A thousand half-formed thoughts flashed through him — wars past, the dragon's roar that had shaken the mountains, the day the Seven had bound it beneath heaven's gaze. He had always known the seal would fail one day. But why now? Why his reign? Why him?
His hand curled on the armrest, the lacquer biting into his palm. "How long?" he asked, though his tone betrayed that he already feared the answer.
Her eyes, pale blue fire beneath the mask, did not waver.
"Long enough to prepare…"