By West Lake stood the Consort's Tower, a tall, ancient pagoda that rose silently in the night, like a towering giant, quietly watching over the nearby West Lake from its hilltop.
Atop this very tower, the West Factory's Director, Yu Huatian, stood shoulder to shoulder with one of his subordinates, a squad leader surnamed Zhan. They gazed into the distance over the railing beneath the hazy moonlight, though no one could say what they were doing.
"..."
The Director of the West Factory stood perfectly still, letting his exquisite, ornate python robe flutter gently in the night breeze. A fine sword adorned with gemstones hung at his waist.
He stood tall and straight, his expression stern. Though he did not move a muscle, he still exuded an indescribable air of authority and power.
"..."
Squad Leader Zhan, the Director's deputy, stood slightly turned to one side in a Flying Fish uniform. Unlike the relaxed-looking Yu Huatian, his gaze was sharp and he remained constantly alert, now and then scanning the woods around the tower from the corner of his eye, as if afraid that some foolhardy martial artist might suddenly appear and disturb their Director.
In the distance, the rippling lake shone faintly beneath the moonlight, like a vast, dark silver mirror. By contrast, the outer city of Hangzhou Prefecture was ablaze with lights and full of commotion. Countless martial artists had gathered there, eating, drinking, and shouting late into the night, lending the already bustling city of Hangzhou even more life.
Yet the two men at the top of the tower knew that the prosperity before them was only an illusion. A great storm was about to break, and all this was merely the calm at its very eye.
A while later, the two were still silent, quietly overlooking