When Emperor Wu Su pushed the door open, the room was already empty.
The cool night wind blew in from the open window, making the oiled paper panes rustle.
His gaze shifted. He walked to the window and looked down.
A peach-pink bedsheet, twisted into a rope, hung from the windowsill, swaying in the wind.
Beneath the great ship, the river churned with violent waves. The current, swirling with silt and sand, was turbulent and treacherous.
He stared for a long while, then tapped the lattice with a long finger. For the sake of appearance, the frame was made of a light wood.
Emperor Wu Su turned and surveyed the room. Despite the open window, a cheap, tacky perfume still hung in the air. He walked to the far side of the bed.
He saw a quilt bunched into a messy lump, and the porcelain pillow had been kicked to the foot of the bed.
A glint flashed in Emperor Wu Su's eyes as he sat down on the edge of the bed.
He pressed a hand to the corner of his mouth and coughed softly.
