Early winter, 1935, Qinmin Building, Imperial Palace, Xinjing, Manchukuo. The moment Lin Yu opened his eyes, his head felt as if it had been struck by a thousand-pound hammer, buzzing loudly. Above him was a magnificent palace ceiling with carved beams and painted rafters, gilded dragons coiled around the beams, and the candlelight in the copper lamps flickered, casting shimmering shadows on the walls like ripples on water. He lay on a large dragon bed, beneath a bright yellow satin quilt, the cuffs embroidered with five-clawed golden dragons, the gold thread gleaming coldly in the firelight. He moved his fingers; his fingertips were numb, as if he had just gripped a heavy, iron-like pen. Wait… wasn't he proofreading Puyi's diary in the library?
