Wuwei City, the rear hall of the Imperial Palace.
An image upon a curtain of water hovered in the air, every minute detail visible within its narrow span.
Within the watery image, the secret chamber where Han Zongwang had once cultivated in seclusion now stood so empty it chilled the heart. The weapon racks had long since been removed, and the bluestone floor shone like a mirror. Only a White Jade Bed stood at its center.
Han Chanjuan lay quietly upon it beneath a thin blanket, her breathing almost imperceptible. Her long lashes cast faint shadows over her cheeks, as though she had sunk into the slumber of an eternal night.
Deep within the earth veins, dark-red molten rock churned slowly behind walls of red crystal. Its glow penetrated the crystal and steeped the entire chamber in warm, blood-colored light. Amid the shifting radiance, some indescribable power was stirring.
Han Zongwang sat upright on a meditation cushion before the water curtain, his thin frame resembling a withered pine.
He wore a gray cloth robe washed almost white, loosely tied at the waist with a coarse hemp cord. His gray-white hair hung over his shoulders, without a crown or any ornament. His whole appearance carried the simplicity of one who had returned to the unadorned essence of things. His face was as still as an ancient well, his eyes half closed, his breathing long and calm.
Beside him, Han Zhan stood as though bereft of his soul. His bull-like eyes were bloodshot, their rims red, as if he had not slept for days and nights. He stared fixedly at the watery image, at that lovely, sleeping face. His Adam's apple bobbed several times before he managed to force out a word. "Father..."
He struggled to restrain his emotions, his voice trembling