The second giant statue on the western terrace of Entry hall 351 brought Yan Zhiqiu to an abrupt, staggering halt.
She was walking along the second terrace, her bare feet growing accustomed to the damp, ribbed banded limestone, when her eyes traveled up the massive stepped stone base of Statue #3512.
The statue was carved from a single block of dark, grey-veined andesite twenty-two arm-lengths tall. It sat upon a squared throne of polished black dark rock, its wide shoulders draped in the formal nine-layered court mantle of the First Epoch. In its right hand, resting upright against its stone shoulder, the figure held a massive ritual scepter cast from solid star-fallen iron, capped with a stylized dragon-head holding a sphere of cloudy quartz.
The face was broad, austere, with high cheekbones and a squared, resolute jaw framed by a braided stone beard that reached his chest bone. His stone eyes, carved with extraordinary naturalism, gazed slightly downward toward the water canal, his sculpted lips holding an expression of solemn, tragic contemplation.
Yan Zhiqiu stopped three paces from the stone stand, her face turning pale as milk, her hand flying to her mouth.
“Emperor Gao...” she gasped, her voice choking on the name.
