The heavy motorized bronze shutters sealed against the marble window frames with a final, resonant metallic clatter.
Inside the vast Imperial Ancestral Hall, the world of mortal commerce had ceased to exist.
Sixty ancient bronze tripod braziers, forged during the early Ming dynasty and carved in the likeness of coiled horned dragons, burned with tall, flickering blue-green spirit flames. The crisp, clean air of the mortal gala vanished, replaced by the bitter, sharp scent of dried blood-sandalwood incense, dragon-bone oil, and aged spirit pine.
The remaining forty guests seated in the front rows no longer looked like corporate executives or society playboys.
Several wore hooded silk cloaks bearing the embroidered silver mountain crests of the Three Hidden Martial Clans. Others were elderly men in coarse linen Daoist robes, their wrinkled fingers adorned with dark nephrite spatial rings and ancient bone meditation beads.
These were the true power brokers of the capital’s hidden cultivation underworld.
They ignored state laws, looked down on mortal governments, and conducted their private trade under the ancient rule of the immortal jungle.
At the front of the mahogany stage, the thick crimson silk curtain parted with a soft, ominous rustle.
