Rising thirty feet into the twilight, the double vermilion doors of the Hall of Supreme Harmony commanded the terrace.
For three hundred years, only the reigning Son of Heaven had entered through the central seam.
Lu Chen stood on the highest tier of the white marble terrace, his boots resting on the carved relief of the nine dragons climbing the clouds.
Behind him, the vast courtyard was empty, swept clean by dry, scouring winds that carried the scent of burnt ink and charred animal fat from the lower courtyards.
Ahead, the great hall stood silent as a tomb.
No ritual eunuchs knelt along the stone railings.
No royal guards raised axe-spears to bar the threshold.
Across the massive stone seam of the doors hung three strips of withered yellow parchment, each inscribed with dried blood-ink magic charms meant to seal the hall from heaven and earth.
