The Sixty-Eighth Year of Yong'an.
Late tenth month. The frost fell.
The weather turned cold as another year drew to a close.
Lu Mingyuan stood by the window of his bedchamber in Qingzhu Hall. He watched the setting sun paint the dusk sky as autumn leaves drifted down, silently counting the months since he had crossed over into this world.
"One year and two months. It's already been over a year, just like that."
He murmured to himself, then sat down and poured a pot of hot tea, picking up the Great Yan Mansion Report from the table.
