Arrival at the bench occurred before dawn.
The garden remained dark, the paths invisible, and the hedges black against a sky that had not yet begun to lighten.
Liu Lanzhi sat where she always sat, her hands folded, her back straight. She waited. The cold pressure stirred beneath her awareness—faint, distant, the way it had been since she first felt it in this life. It was not power. Not yet. It was merely the memory of something that had once been hers. She sat in the absolute stillness, letting the cold of the stone bench seep through her layers of silk, a physical reminder of the world's indifference.
The old woman appeared from the shadow of the hedge. Steps were slow; breathing was labored. In the dark, the figure appeared smaller, the curve of her spine more pronounced. She sat on the bench beside Liu Lanzhi and said nothing.
