"Paying respects at the Liu Yu Mausoleum"
The Royal Aura of Jinling faded into gloom; iron steeds and frozen rivers, forty autumns through.
Were Jinu still alive today, why gaze north toward the Sixteen Prefectures?
The sound of the brush being set down was faint, yet it silenced everyone present.
Emperor Jing of Zhou sat upon his imperial throne, his gaze resting on the four lines of verse on the paper. For a long time, he did not look away.
He read from the first line to the fourth, then from the fourth back to the first, over and over, as though reluctant to reach the end.
"The Royal Aura of Jinling faded into gloom." He gently rolled the words between his lips.
Jinling was the Southern Capital.
The Southern Capital was the capital of Great Zhou, where its royal aura gathered.
Yet those three words, "faded into gloom," laid bare all the dejection that followed the southward retreat during the Northern and Southern Dynasties.
The emperor's banners above Stone City had long since lost the colors of those days.
"Iron steeds and frozen rivers, forty autumns through." When Emperor Jing of Zhou recited this line, his voice sank slightly.
Forty autumns-nearly forty years had passed since Emperor Taizu of Zhou crossed the river and brought the realm to order.
Iron steeds and frozen rivers were the bitter winds of the north, the war drums at the frontier, the white bones of countless soldiers buried there.
This young man had written an entire era's hidden anguish into seven characters.
"Were Jinu still alive today." Emperor Jing of Zhou's eyes brightened.
Jinu was Liu Yu's childhood name.
How much regret lay within that single word, "were."
"Why gaze north toward the Sixteen Prefectures?" After reciting the final line, Emperor Jing