Eastern Market, the execution ground.
Noon drew near, and the sun blazed fiercely.
The open space at the heart of Eastern Market had been completely transformed.
The area normally used by street performers had been cleared. Two men knelt on an execution platform three feet three inches high-Liu Xuance on the left, Liu Ciyuan on the right.
Both had their hands and feet bound with darksteel chains and hemp wads stuffed into their mouths. Their clothes were disheveled, their hair loose; their former high spirits had long since vanished.
Armored soldiers of the Golden Scale Guards encircled the platform in layer upon layer, their blades and spears a forest gleaming coldly beneath the sun. On the surrounding heights, hidden sentries of the Plum Blossom Guards dotted the roofs of taverns and teahouses, bows and crossbows in hand, arrowheads aimed at the platform, ready to unleash a storm of arrows at any moment.
Farther away, the common folk were kept outside the execution ground. Heads bobbed in a shoulder-to-shoulder crush, rows upon rows hemming in all of Eastern Market so tightly that not even water could seep through.
Some stood on tiptoe and craned their necks to see inside. Others simply climbed the roadside pagoda trees. A few bold youths clambered onto the roofs opposite, only to be shouted down by soldiers of the Golden Scale Guards.
No era ever lacked people eager to watch a spectacle.
The execution overseers' dais stood directly in front of the execution platform, slightly higher, with an excellent view.
Three long tables stood side by side upon it, bearing command tokens, teacups, and the four treasures of the scholar's study.
And a large parasol to keep off the sun.
Lu Changfeng sat in the middle.
Today, he wore the ornate black robes of a Pavilion