Lord Feng's authority was complete, all-encompassing.
Once he spoke, Court and country fell silent, as though Mount Tai bore down upon their heads. Without anger, he made the whole realm tremble.
Shen Duan's authority was diminished, ailing.
He sat in a wheelchair, thin as kindling, his voice weak. Yet when his eyes opened, the entire hall bowed its head.
His authority fell short of even a tenth of Lord Feng's.
Yet even eight parts of that strength could make the whole Court tremble.
Why?
Because Lord Feng's authority endured in life and after death, like the sun and moon crossing the heavens, with all looking up to them.
Shen Duan's authority dwelled within his sickly bones, like a guttering candle nearing its end, yet no one dared approach...
Though the candle waned, its flame remained.
A sick tiger emerged from its cage, and every beast fell silent.
Not a sound filled the hall.
Not because they had nothing to say, but because they dared not speak.
Shen Duan sat in his wheelchair, below the imperial steps, amid the Purple-and-Scarlet Robes of the entire Court.
He looked at no one, his eyes half closed, as though his earlier words had already exhausted half a day's strength.
Yet everyone in the hall felt the air suddenly grow heavier.
Outside, the wind moaned.
Inside, a gust caught the candle flames, pressing them all low...
The chief minister entered, the Purple-and-Scarlet Robes trembled, and all bowed together.
Slowly, Shen Duan opened his eyes and swept his gaze from the left of the hall to the right.
That sweep was exceedingly slow, as though he were counting how many people in this hall still deserved to stand here.
Wherever his gaze passed, every purple-and-scarlet-crowned head lowered.
The chief minister appeared, and the entire hall