The emperor was like a mighty lion, commanding the realm and renowned as a sage throughout the ages.
That was what everyone said.
Whether in Chang'an, wreathed in purple clouds, or on the distant grasslands, be they commoners, slaves, or nobles, all revered the aged emperor in the capital.
During the emperor's decades of rule, the Han armies won battle after battle, the empire reached its greatest extent, and the small kingdoms in every direction bowed in submission.
In the imperial capital of Chang'an, the prosperity of its thirteen wards, the aroma of aged wine in the taverns, and the alluring glances of women in the pleasure houses left every young man from the countryside bewitched.
Yet in the darkness, some remained clear-eyed. They had secretly prepared their blades, ready to seize the throne from beneath the lion once it grew old.
At this very moment, hidden in imperial edicts, in the court, and deep within the palace, there was more than desire and ambition. There was also hot, fresh blood, either flowing through someone's chest or spurting from a wound.
It would either land on an enemy's face and grow cold, or fall upon its owner and announce their death.
Almost at the same time, as the story began...
The ancient road remained as it had always been. A carriage left Chang'an for the vast grasslands, carrying the Han court's orders toward an unknown fate.
Those bitter wines and swords stained with dark blood would be the last struggle of several young people.
They would warm one another in the cold wind, and embrace each other naked in the darkness.
