Dragon Terrace Dao.
Shangyuan Prefecture, the capital.
One of the most prosperous places under heaven.
A broad avenue paved with bluestone ran straight as a spear, grand as a sword, stretching from the towering city gates so far that its end could not be seen at a glance.
On either side of the road, crimson towers and lofty pavilions rose from the ground. Gilt lanterns hung beneath sweeping eaves and intricate brackets, casting a resplendent glow even in broad daylight.
The avenue served as the main artery, branching into countless tributaries, while streets and alleys crisscrossed like a net.
The banners of taverns and teahouses fluttered in the wind. Merchants from north and south mingled with marketplaces from east and west; cries of hawkers blended with strings and woodwinds, surging and colliding above the streets to brew a heady jar of worldly bustle.
It was flourishing by day, and even more so by night.
When dusk drew in, lights bloomed in every home, and the entire capital seemed like a fallen river of stars. Nearby, willows dipped into the water and painted boats shimmered with lantern light; farther off drifted the fragrance of rouge and powder, towers hidden beyond towers, music and song carrying on through the night without rest.
The Dry Abyss Realm was divided among three kingdoms: Northern Qi, Western Chu, and Southern Jin, each holding its own territory and capital. Western Chu's capital had been passed down from Upper Zhou and could be called Shendu. Northern Qi and Southern Jin, being later arrivals, lacked that grandeur and could only call theirs capitals.
Western Chu's Shendu inherited the lingering charm of ancient Zhou. Its walls coiled like dragons and crouched like tigers, its destiny vast and enduring beyond measure. The city was filled everywhere with the old customs