Jinghe Year Fifteen, Third Month, Twenty-Third Day.
The night deepened, dew lay heavy, and stars sprawled across the sky.
In the Capital, the courtyards of the Shen Residence were deep as the sea.
The evening breeze occasionally struck the iron wind bells beneath the eaves, leaving lingering chimes.
A waning moon hung above the soaring roof of the western wing, its clear radiance spreading over the ground.
The koi hid beneath the pond's surface, without a ripple stirring. Only the moon lay sunken at the bottom, clear as a jade disc.
Inside the study, Shen Duan reclined in a Grand Tutor's Chair.
A cup of ginseng soup had stood on the red sandalwood desk for a long time. The broth was clear but cold through, a thin skin congealed across its surface.
He neither drank it nor called for anyone to replace it. He merely sat, stared, and waited, desolate and still.
Outside the window, the paulownia leaves were newly green; inside, the candle's red glow flickered.
One bright, one dim, concealing troubled thoughts.
About a quarter of an hour later, boots sounded along the corridor.
Three light knocks came at the door. Before Shen Duan answered, it was pushed open a crack from outside.
Candlelight spilled out, illuminating a young, lean face.
Shen Yi stepped inside.
He wore no official robes that day, only a slate blue everyday gown.
Shen Yi approached the desk, straightened his cap, composed his expression, and bowed deeply and respectfully, bending to his knees.
"Your grandson pays his respects, Father."
Shen Duan did not raise his eyes. He merely lifted a hand, his voice indifferent, betraying neither pleasure nor anger.
"Sit."
Shen Yi thanked him and took the guest seat.
Grandfather and grandson sat facing each other, a small square table between