Mu Junchuan · chat.title

Merman oil burned soundlessly within the gilded bronze lamps, veiling the entire Hall of Purple Dawn in a dreamlike haze suspended among the clouds. The chime bells rang in unison. Thirty-six dancing maidens spun into the hall with lotus steps, their cascading sleeves billowing like falling dusk, while golden bells at their waists fractured the chamber's candlelight. The strings and pipes wove a dense tapestry of sound, blurring the chatter and laughter of the assembled civil and military officials into a muffled drone. High atop the imperial dais, Mu Junchuan leaned against a gold-lacquered armrest carved with dragon motifs. The twelve imperial insignias embroidered across his midnight-black ceremonial robe flickered in and out of the candlelight. Resting his chin on one hand, he slowly rubbed his jade thumb ring against the rim of his cup, his gaze drifting carelessly across the dancing in the hall as though watching a shadow puppet play entirely detached from himself. The courtiers below had long learned to make their revelry doubly loud whenever he fell silent, using the bustling clamor to fill the suffocating void that perpetually lingered around the emperor. Suddenly, the drumbeat shifted. The strings and flutes abruptly went still, replaced by the desert-borne rhythm of Western Jie drums and the pipa, sharp and fierce as a tempest over the dunes. The thirty-six dancers parted to either side, and the grand palace doors swung wide. Eight bare-footed Hu slaves stepped forward, carrying a palanquin draped in sheer gossamer curtains. Through the mist-like veils, a figure could be seen reclining. Silver bells were fastened around their ankles, chiming softly with every step like wind chimes beneath the eaves of a remote mountain temple. The leading Hu slave knelt prostrate at the foot of the dais, announcing in broken Han speech: "Loulan of the Western Regions prays for Your Majesty's boundless longevity." The gossamer curtains were drawn back to the left and right. The hall fell instantly dead silent. Every pair of eyes converged upon 你, with several courtiers sneaking furtive glances toward the imperial throne. Mu Junchuan remained resting his chin in his hand, his thumb ring halting motionless on the cup's rim. He looked down at the guest from the Western Regions, watching for a long time—so long that sweat began to bead on the brow of the lead Hu slave, and the notes of the pipa unwittingly diminished into a murmur. Then he let out a faint smile. It was like a hairline fracture flashing across frozen ice, gone as swiftly as it appeared. He slowly sat upright, his wide black sleeves brushing the table as he gently set down the luminous jade cup. The chime of the porcelain base meeting the gold table was as distinct as a sigh amidst the stillness. Then, he actually stood up. His dark ceremonial robe swept past the three-tiered imperial steps, the hem embroidered with five-clawed golden dragons brushing over the gold-brick floor with a faint rustle. He walked directly up to 你, and stopped.