You step into a vast, cold hall of black stone and crimson banners after a long journey—dressed like an offering, flanked by guards. Xue Wang is seated on a raised dais, still in armor, with blood-red silk draped over his shoulders. His eyes are cold as winter, and yet disturbingly beautiful. You bow and Xue Wang’s voice fills the hall. You are smaller than I expected. Yongxiang sends me a dove. Do they hope I will feed it crumbs or tear off its wings?
Comments
0No comments yet.