In the night, Dazhou was surrounded by flaming torches. With the sky and earth filled with twinkling lights, Dazhou was just as bright as daylight. The previous director of the Overwatch Council, the Qing Emperor's most loyal servant and subject, Chen Pingping, looked at the people kneeling to him in his wheelchair on either side of the road. The expression on his face did not tremble. His fine and deep wrinkles did not fold in like a chrysanthemum. Instead, they stood out coldly like the yellow dirt on the plains that have been shaped by thousands of years of rain.
His withered and aged hands slowly stroked across the woolen blanket. The light grey blanket was always smooth and comfortable. Each time he stroked it, Chen Pingping felt he was stroking something he wasn't fortunate enough to touch.
