The seas of the south are boiling, silently swallowing islands and all living things. The frigid winds of the north howl year-round, burying countless bones and broken spears. Yet in the heart of the Great Yin Dynasty, where the sun seems never to set, snow still falls over the capital with quiet indifference.
This is a long and lavish funeral. Within the shell wrapped layer upon layer in "ritual" and "imperial authority," the Sacred Emperor sits on a throne built of bones, watching coldly as nine young dragons tear into one another, drenched in blood, all for the pearl atop their official hats. In the halls of power, the ministers wield their brushes like knives, dismembering the realm on paper. Far away in the martial world, famine claims countless lives, while the people beg for a better next life from the mud.
No one knows that the countdown to destruction has already begun. Some dream of becoming emperors for the ages; others simply want to steal another brick from this crumbling edifice.
When the dragon opens its jaws to devour heaven and earth, it never imagines that it, too, is merely a morsel in the torrent of its age.
