Twenty days later, on a warm summer morning, you arrive at your destination: the imperial city, home to half a million souls. The city is swiftly awakening to the early dawn, and the streets of the city throng with its people.
You pass through the east district, home to tradesfolk and merchants, into the Heart, home to lives of wealth and the luxury, and finally, you pass through the gates to the Imperial House, the enormous complex of temples and edifices that make up the political and the holy heart of the empire.
The halls of the Grand Secretariat are hushed. You hear mostly your own footsteps on the rich wooden floors, and when you stop at a corner to determine which hall will lead you to your destination, you hear the gentle scrapings of ink pens on paper from the little rooms from which the Mandarin are conducting their work.
On the second floor and in the back are the rooms reserved for visitors. These, it is said, are full and busy, filled with conversation and deliberation, when the Emperor reigns. But as he has been in slumber for over a century, it is quiet and lonely. You find the door you are looking for, knock, and are permitted to enter. Lóngzhi stands before a short desk.
“Lónghua sent along a letter ahead of you. I’ll be sure to hear your official report, of course, but first: it is good to see you well. And I have important news for you. Orders from higher up. We were caught off-guard at Wukeiwang, but after the way you handled it… we think we can take the fight back to them.”