The twenty-third day of the twelfth lunar month is Little New Year's Eve.
The banquet hall of Liu Mansion was as warm as mid-spring. Eighty-one gilt and glass lamps reflected the gold-painted beams and pillars, illuminating the white marble floor so that people could be seen. The air is filled with the fresh air of Biluochun, the aroma of aged Huadiao wine, and the richness of the deer tendons simmered in rock sugar just served from the kitchen. The silk and bamboo troupe played "Hello the New Year" behind the screen, and the sound of the harp was soft, like honey melting in warm water.
Liu Wuhao sat third in the east seat. He has sat in this position for seven years - since the day when he was diagnosed with the Earth Spiritual Root at the age of twelve and was designated as the next generation elder of the Liu family.
Tonight he turns nineteen, and the collar of his white satin arrow-sleeved robe is embroidered with a light green bamboo pattern, which is the emblem of the Liu family alchemist. On the left hand side sat the third uncle, twirling his goatee and telling the uncle that the red sun grass harvested this year was not as good as in previous years; on the right hand side was the sixth cousin, who had just turned fifteen and secretly stuffed the uneaten Poria cake into his plate.
All is well.
Until the moment when the clapper rings.
The first thing that went wrong was the lights.
