The air inside the Emperor’s royal bedchamber was heavy enough to curdle fresh milk.
While Grand Teacher Mo Wuji glared from his woven prayer mat. His fingers gripped the corpse-root staff like vulture talons, Lin Xiao paid the evil court advisor no mind. Leaving Sword Saint Gu Qingfeng to keep a watchful eye on the Teacher with his green willow twig, Lin Xiao walked straight past the carved brass screens to the massive sandalwood dragon bed.
Lying beneath heavy, dust-caked blankets of gold brocade was the supreme monarch of the Golden Sun Empire: Emperor Zhao Tai.
At seventy-eight years of age, the sovereign looked less like an emperor and more like a dried autumn leaf waiting for the final gust of wind. His face was gaunt, his cheekbones protruding sharply beneath parchment-thin skin that had turned an unnatural, bruised gray. His breathing was a shallow, painful rattle that caught in his withered throat with every desperate intake of air. Most alarming of all were the thick, black veins spiderwebbing across his temples, coursing downward along the ridge of his nose, and clustering intensely around his left nostril in a pulsating, knotty web.
Crown Prince Zhao Lie dropped to his knees beside the bed, his hands hovering over his father’s withered wrists, scared to make contact. “Father...” Zhao Lie choked, tears stinging his eyes. “Can you hear me? I’m back... Chen is safe... Please, open your eyes!”
