A four-ton slab of polished granite fell from the ceiling vault, crashing into the northern canal.
A tidal wave of boiling quicksilver erupted thirty feet into the air. It splashed against the crumbling walls in a hissing curtain of liquid silver.
The underground burial hall was crumbling.
Hundreds of years of load-bearing balance had been shattered. Just then, the central dark rock pillar snapped.
Massive granite beams tore away from the ceiling, their iron anchor bolts shearing with ear-splitting shrieks of stressed metal.
Dust thick as flour filled the cavernous chamber, lit up only by the scarlet flames of dying bronze lamps and the blinding, cherry-red glow of Lu Chen’s overclocked body.
Across the tilted ruins of the Great Jade Terrace, High Eunuch Wei dragged his mutilated bulk forward.
His left arm hung limp, its outward bone cut by Lu Chen’s prior strike.
