A wisp of a ghost from a thousand years in the future drifts into the past, and the court of the first year of Jingkang is suddenly filled with the aroma of freshly baked promises.
Your Majesty, there is a stone beyond the border that makes the sound of a wooden fish when struck. They say it was lost by the Thunder Sound Temple in the Western Paradise. Would you like it?
Your Majesty, there is a woman among the Uyghurs whose body gives off a strange fragrance. They say butterflies circle her and never leave. Would you like to meet her?
Your Majesty, there is a precious blood-red coral in Eastern Wa, over seven feet tall and wreathed in rosy clouds. Such a treasure belongs in Father Emperor’s vault.
Under Zhao Huan’s relentless temptations, Zhao Ji completely lost himself.
Mine, mine, it’s all mine.
Li Gang: “Your Majesty, funds for the army and supplies are running short.”
Zhao Heng: “Ouyang Xun, go raid the mansions of a few more high ministers to fund the army.”
Yue Fei: “Your Majesty, the Mongol cavalry move unpredictably. I request permission to establish a Divine Machine Battalion.”
Han Shizhong: “Your Majesty, the cities in the Western Regions are filthy. I ask that we be allowed to burn them when necessary, to keep plague from spreading through the camps.”
Zhao Huan: “I don’t care how you do it. I only want one written language, one set of tracks, and everyone speaking the official tongue.”
