Within the Imperial Palace of Great Chen, Ding Feiyong thrust his blade in the grand hall.
The sharp blade, narrow as a willow leaf, slipped soundlessly from the sandalwood scroll shaft. Its poisoned edge shimmered with an eerie blue chill, tracing a cold arc beneath the palace lamps straight toward Emperor Chen's heart.
Fast. Far too fast.
From presenting the map to handing over the shaft, from the mechanism springing open to the blade thrusting out, everything happened in an instant.
The assembled civil and military officials had not even grasped what was happening. They saw only Ding Feiyong bow and present the scroll, and then a flash of steel.
"Shhk!"
The sound of tearing silk was sharp and brief, piercingly loud in the silent hall.
A foot-long slit opened across the chest of Emperor Chen's Dragon Robe. The reddish-gold brocade curled outward, exposing the bright yellow inner garment beneath.
But the blade failed to pierce him.
The instant its tip touched his Dragon Robe, Emperor Chen twisted aside with incredible speed.
He did not retreat. He turned sideways and twisted at the waist, his entire body bending like bamboo pressed down by a gale, evading the fatal strike by a hair's breadth.
The blade skimmed his chest, slicing through his imperial robe and the air, but not his flesh.
For the first time, shock appeared on Emperor Chen's face.
It was not fear, but an almost absurd sense of unreality, as though a chess player had watched a piece suddenly leap from the board and swing a blade at him.
He was the emperor, the one who moved the pieces. The player had never imagined that a piece would turn against him.
"My dear minister."
His voice was very low, still carrying a trace of warmth from their easy