Gathering Dust

Another sleepless night.

That night, he sank into the Sea of Spirit. Ye Guojie stood before the doors of the magnificent hall and dropped to one knee to welcome him.

Stone steps ran from the doors all the way to the throne, each wide enough for three people abreast. Fine dragon patterns covered the gray-white stone, their heads turned toward the throne as though in worship—or supplication. Ye Guojie knelt on the lowest step, his back bent in a silent arc, his right hand pressed to his left breast. His figure was translucent, like a bank of motionless mist, its edges shifting faintly in the dim light of the Sea of Spirit.

This was not what he wanted.

He walked inside, one step at a time.

His footsteps echoed through the empty hall. One, then another, then another. They struck the vaulted ceiling and returned in overlapping waves. The columns on either side were astonishingly thick, golden dragon reliefs coiled around their shafts. Their scales held a cold afterglow in the gloom.

A Dragon Crystal was set atop each column. Their light had long since faded, leaving only a faint blue-white glow that flickered like candles on the verge of going out.

The hall was empty. Only his footsteps echoed through it. He was alone.

He climbed the steps slowly. As he passed, Ye Guojie lowered his head farther and farther, raising it again only long after he had gone by. But Tang Wulin did not look at him. His gaze passed over the columns, the Dragon Crystals, and the winding dragon patterns before settling on the chair at the very top.

Dust had gathered on the Steel Throne.

It was thin, as thin as a layer of frost. But it was dust all the same. Fine gray-white grains coated