The red paper lanterns hanging along the main street of Silver-Fork Port were still swaying in the warm night breeze, and the air smelled of roasted mutton fat, caramel sugar-paintings, and sweet mung-bean soda. For three straight days and nights, two million citizens across Dry-Well Territory had been celebrating the defeat of the Royal Tax Army and the opening of the new Grain-Note Exchange Banks.
Then the tea cup on Pei Xuan’s sandalwood table began to dance.
Clink. Clink-clink-clink.
Little ripples spread across the green tea inside the porcelain cup. Outside on the paved stone street, a barrel of pickled radishes tipped off a vendor’s cart and rolled down the gutter. Even Old Yellow, the bald, lazy pack-camel sleeping beside the courtyard gate, opened one crusty eyelid and let out an annoyed burp.
From the northern horizon came a low, rhythmic rumble that sounded like ten thousand iron blacksmith hammers pounding the earth at the exact same time.
THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD!
Right in front of Pei Xuan’s eyes, his semi-transparent blue RTS Territory Screen flashed bright crimson and let out three sharp warning beeps.
CRACK!
