The morning mist had yet to clear from Coal Hill, carrying the chill of early spring as it wound around an old locust tree. A figure in bright yellow hung from one of its branches. His dragon robe was damp with morning dew, its hem dragging through the dirt and stained with dark blood.
Wang Chengen knelt beneath the tree, his graying hair disheveled. Blood from the wound on his forehead mixed with his tears and ran down his face. Trembling, he raised a hand. Just as his fingertips touched the cold dragon boots, he suddenly heard a faint cough from above.
“Cough...”
Wang Chengen jerked his head up and saw the figure move slightly. Thinking his eyes were playing tricks on him, he leaned closer. This time, he heard clearly: the emperor was alive!
“Your Majesty! His Majesty is still alive!” the old eunuch cried hoarsely. He scrambled forward and used the small knife he carried to cut the rope. The figure in yellow crashed heavily to the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust.
