Golden light was barely touching the domes of the Jade Palace when a strange silence took over the White Crane Wing. It was a dense, contained silence, as if even the palace walls had stopped breathing. Only the hurried steps of the imperial healers broke the calm, resonating like hammers against the marble.
Suwei lay on his ceremonial bed. His face, normally serene, was pale as mother-of-pearl, his lips trembling with the effort of each breath. One hand weakly clutched the silk comforter, while the other instinctively searched for something that could anchor him to reality. The pain was unlike common ailments: it was internal, deep, as if something inside his belly wanted to tear apart the very essence of his body.
