The Imperial compound was vast, a sprawling network of traditional wooden pavilions, stone courtyards, and manicured gardens.
The air was different the moment we passed through the inner gate. Colder. Heavier. Like the mountain itself was watching. Paper lanterns hung from iron hooks along the path, casting red light across the wet stone. The mist clung to everything and made the glow bleed.
Two guards escorted us along a lantern-lit path toward the largest structure on the property—the Great Hall. They walked ahead of us in perfect step. They never looked back. Their hands were folded in front of them but the cut of their charcoal jackets told me exactly where the pistols were.
The sliding wooden doors were open wide. From inside came the sound of a string quartet playing something old and slow. Under that was the clink of porcelain and the low murmur of people who were used to being listened to.
We stepped inside and the scale hit first.
