Anyone could see that things were growing increasingly wrong. A catastrophe was about to descend.
Thus, security in Kyoto had become much tighter.
Armored soldiers frequently patrolled the streets, and once night fell, the common people shrank back into their homes, not even daring to venture outside for fear of being tainted by something unclean.
And at that moment...
Tap, tap!
Footsteps rang out.
Beneath the dim lamplight, an old man with frost-white temples emerged from the Imperial Palace, limping, his back stooped. He looked quite frail, seemingly no different from an ordinary old man.
There was even a sense of decline about him, like the sun sinking beyond the western hills.
But any official who saw that face would certainly have been utterly horrified. There was no helping it: this man was none other than the Tang Kingdom's current Chancellor.
Though he was lame, no one dared behave with the slightest impudence before him. After all, his methods were simply too ruthless, earning him the title of Iron-Blooded Chancellor.
Those who dared offend him had either been exiled or died on the spot, each fate more miserable than the last.
At that moment, he walked down Vermilion Bird Avenue, limping, his face expressionless.
Not a ripple crossed his face, nor was there the slightest sorrow over the death of his only son.
Finally, when he reached a desolate residence, he stopped, his iron-blooded eyes slowly turning toward it.
The residence was silent, without so much as a crow's cry. Trees grew inside, but it was already late autumn, and their leaves had long since withered and fallen.
The dry branches looked like ghosts and monsters, exceptionally sinister, instantly sending chills down one's spine.
All manner of strange incidents were happening frequently in Kyoto now. An ordinary person arriving outside