Autumn, 637 BC. Suiyang, the capital of the State of Song.
The sky hung dark and heavy, as if a torrential rain were about to fall. The once-bustling city streets were deserted. Only the stern-faced guards continued their vigilant patrols. The wind grew fiercer, sweeping up dust from the ground and bearing down in a vast cloud. Apart from the occasional rumble of thunder and the howling wind, every other sound had been swallowed up and hidden away.
Inside the royal palace in the north of Suiyang, the air was even heavier, almost as if it might drip with water. At the center of the Grand Shang Hall stood an enormous bed, large enough to hold more than a hundred people and occupying most of the hall without apology. Yet the only person lying upon it was a frail old man. His face was pale and his eyes vacant, but the outline of his once-valiant features could still be seen. His deep-set eyes held both unfathomable ambition and the helplessness of a man whose aspirations had gone unfulfilled. This was none other than Duke Xiang of Song, the celebrated ruler renowned for his benevolence and righteousness in Spring and Autumn history, and one of the Five Hegemons of the Spring and Autumn period, though a controversial one.
Now so weak that even propping himself up on one elbow was a struggle, he could only lean against the sickbed and laboriously point at the man kneeling before him. “Wang Chen, you... come closer...” As soon as he finished speaking, he seemed to have exhausted his strength and could say no more. He pointed instead at the two senior officials kneeling behind Wang Chen. “Mu Yi, Marshal... you... you come closer, too...” The two did not dare delay. They hurriedly crawled forward on their knees, braced themselves against Duke Xiang's bed, and looked toward him...
