Han Tong sat alone in his study, writing a petition as his thoughts drifted. The late Emperor had passed, the …
Han Tong sat alone in his study, writing a petition as his thoughts drifted. The late Emperor had passed, the young heir had ascended, and the winds in Bianliang were turning dark. In the streets and alleys, rumors about the Palace Guard Commander were spreading. Han Tong didn't want to dwell on the gossip, but his intuition, honed by half a lifetime of leading troops, told him the sky was too quiet: so quiet that one had to be on guard.
The wooden chest beside him was half open, and an old battle helmet lay quietly at the bottom.
His illegitimate son Han Shouliang had returned to the capital. Having sneaked back to Bianliang from Jiangnan, he had become the faction master of Grace Pavilion at Revelry Hall. Despite being in the same city, Han Tong had never visited Revelry Hall. First, he didn't want to expose his son's status as a hidden agent; second, the Han family were archers and warriors, unaccustomed to the entertainment and music of such places.
Rumors said Master Han was a master of both flute and zither, a musical genius. Han Tong would only snort coldly whenever he heard this. But in the deep of night, his hand would pause while polishing his armor.
Perhaps once this ill wind in the city subsided, if the boy knew his place and returned home in one piece... perhaps he would allow him to play some trifling tune. Just one.
"General! An urgent letter!"
The servant's cry came suddenly. Han Tong took the note, and his expression changed as if struck by lightning. He kicked over the table, grabbed his blade, and rushed out...
He left in such a hurry that he forgot to don his armor and forgot the half-open chest by his feet. The battle helmet that had accompanied him through years of bloodshed missed his final battle.