The Wu Family estate, North District, Suining Prefecture.
The enormous estate, with its three successive compounds and seven courtyards, occupied half a long street in the Prefectural City. Its high walls and blue tiles stood silent in the night.
Inside the study, Wu Rong, the current head of the Wu Family, sat behind a rosewood desk.
He was fifty-seven that year, though his face looked a decade younger. His jaw was sharply defined and his brow prominent; one glance was enough to tell he came from Wu Jiu's bloodline.
He picked up his teacup and set it down, then picked it up again. The lid tapped against the rim with faint, scattered clinks.
The atmosphere felt particularly oppressive that night.
There was no wind outside the window. Not a single leaf stirred on the old locust tree in the courtyard. Even the cicadas had fallen silent, and the footsteps of the servants on night patrol sounded dull and heavy.
As the head of the Wu Family, Wu Rong could not say what was wrong. He only felt something lodged in his chest, unable to rise or settle. He thought to himself:
It feels as though something momentous is about to happen.
But we have our ancestor holding the fort. Even the Liu Family is no match for us. What could possibly happen?
With that question in mind, he turned his gaze toward the sandalwood altar table in the corner.
A life tablet stood on the table, bearing the engraved name "Wu Jiu."
The life tablet was made from century-old black ebony, its surface coated with three layers of vermilion lacquer. Another layer was added every Double Ninth Festival, leaving it thick and glossy.
After staring at the tablet for several breaths, Wu Rong let out a sigh of relief.
"Nothing's