Unaffected by the stirring chaos, a wisp of light left the Scoria world behind. Its glow, too faint to catch its illusionary and bittersweet tail. How whimsical this existence is. Leisurely traveling amongst the stars leaving all worries behind and returning to the golden bridge Haizi, protectively weaved by the two red bridges Muqin and Fuqin. 

Further and further it traveled, passing a point where Muqin and Fuqin broke away from Haizi. This was where the immaculate Haizi began showing signs of wear. This long stretched journey, as if a ballad sung by a hardened warrior fallen from heaven into hell, reveals heart aching fissures with every mile traversed, with every step crossed a piece of stone falls away.

156 miles across and Haizi no longer looked the same. Whittled away into a ruin on the verge of collapse. The further the light traveled the worse it became. And a quarter of mile past 192 was the eminent ruination that had long shown signs of coming to pass.

Once this light reached the path's end it neither fell off nor stopped its advance. Proceeding forward and right off the ledge it went. Yet it did not fall. Wherever the light passed, Haizi was rebuilding itself, bringing together the broken rubble into a narrow path. The amelioration is small and the travel speed slow. 

Right below a small world sat amongst the stars. Here a large restless continent steadily became swallowed in angry clouds. Further down passed these clouds, scattered raindrops wet one of many windows of a large residence. 

Passing the wet glass, inside the wide study, the decorations, although not numerous, harmonized in a scholarly order. To one side on the small table displayed a simple yet famous qin and flute, their black material glossy without a speck of dust. Next to these a mind calming fragrance emitted inside an incense burner, not at all pleasant, like medicine it burns the throat and nostrils to one's surprise and discomfort. On the other side sat a cushioned couch with a folded blanket and cushion right on top. To the side near the arm rest sat a table covered with evenly placed books. Towards one's curiosity, only one book’s title could be read, "Heart’s Enlightenment,” while the others remained a mystery.

Looking again over the room, right above the couch a small two shelves bookcase hung on the wall, replaced with flower vases of white and red carnations instead of books. Above this hung a splendid ukiyo-e painting of mountains twisting with valleys, a crowning light glowing in the sky casting its visage upon the waters below. Looking to the other side of the room hung another ukiyo-e painting above the qin. The composition, a copy of the opposite wall’s painting, just with a much darker tone. Inside this similar but different landscape, the light is replaced by the moon reflecting in the black waters. The mountains appeared broken, ravaged by time. Dark smudges were all over this painting, ruining its beauty, yet also seemingly purposeful.

Taking a step back to look over the room's simple focal point. Situated between the windows hung a ‘U’ shaped shelf of stones protected by two glass doors. The gems swirl with life, the gentle blue adding a touch of mystery to the last painting. Nicely fit in the space above the shelf sat a family portrait. A raven-haired man, a brunette woman, and a young daughter with the same hair as her mother's, the same gray eyes of her father. The harmonious painting reduced the sharpness of the long table below piled with paperwork. An ink stone and brush sat neatly to the side. On the other end a cup of tea softly billows steam.

To one's surprise, behind this desk the most unique existence was not these magical stones, nor was it the strange shapes the billowing steam created, but the simple sandalwood box carved with a phoenix on its lid. It sat atop the middle pile of paperwork, its lid open, and a strange aura vibrating around it. 

"Pop," came a sound from the box.

The windows flashed, “boom” lightning strikes not too far out from the study, masking any other sounds that may have ‘coincidently’ occurred simultaneously. The large birch tree sitting close by was hit, shaking the ground and rattling the items inside the study. Suddenly a rush of wind struck the courtyard, bursting both windows open and the weightless paperwork scattered into the air.

Walking into his study at this moment, the studious but cold Hong Manor’s lord, Hong Moxue, calmly tapped his fingers on the door frame. He pulled up both his hands, the gray sleeves slipping down to reveal scarred arms and a braided brown heart knot bracelet strung with Buddhist beads. His palms came together as did the windows, closing in unison when his hands met. He frictions his fingers, snapping the window locks tight.

Light footsteps sounded from behind him.

“What is it?” Hearing that chilling voice, one could not help but pause and grasp their heart in fright, but nonetheless hide their panic. The man behind such a tone, without a heart to care, had every ‘right’ and all manner of power to take life effortlessly, without cause.

A male servant dressed in blue cautiously pulled out a scroll. Taking a step back and bowing his head, he respectfully spoke, "General Wan has arrived and is stirring up the dust, demanding for audience."

“Oh.” Because he was already aware of the scroll's contents Hong Moxue stuffed the document into his sleeve.  Due to the wind, the room was far messier than it had been, but he paid it no mind, walking towards his desk, avoiding the papers laying on the floor. “Ignore him. Without a shred of patience it would do him good to wait. Good practice will surely lead to less trouble and less trouble means less time wasted.”

The servant selectively ignored the master’s comment, trying his best to enact a tree’s nature. No eyes to see and ears to hear. It was neither his place nor responsibility to tread upon his master's thoughts and give counsel. And if he did, ha, he still wishes to hold a wife in all its entirety.

While dreaming of spring dreams, unexpectedly he met his master’s gaze. Those cold penetrating gray eyes nearly stopped the poor boy's heart and had him nearly stumble over himself. His master wanted him gone and if he did not comply, he truly would be ‘gone’.

“This servant will inform General Wan.” He overstayed his welcome and became fearful of the implications, cautiously leaving, nearly dashing out of the courtyard with the devil on his tail. Why, why! If his wayward thoughts became the noose of his dreams, his fellow brothers would surely laugh him into the grave before his master sent him there!

Hong Moxue disregarded the pitiful servant whose thoughts almost came true. In fact if he were a second late, a lingering breeze would have severed those dreams at the root. A lucky boy.

That’s how Hong Moxue is, the cold hearted prime minister that did not bat an eye at blood and violence. Ever the heartless judicator of his royal highness, Emperor Jie. Many would agree, and even General Wan, that hardened veteran could not hold a candle to this bloodstained piece of ice. That day several decades ago still haunts the unlucky souls who had been there to witness.

Yet, how strange, what was this? A ripple had formed where none but the heavens could see.

Reaching out to close the sandalwood box, Hong Moxue pauses. A struggle creases those sharp brows, and as time passed, that well aged face like a fine wine further scrunched, dipping down scattering his long hair over his shoulders and hiding his expression. To offset the struggle the other hand grasps where his heart is, and eventually after ten long breaths worth of time, he releases a turbulent breath. He opens the box back up, grabbing for whatever was inside, and gently tucks it into his cloak’s chest folds.

“Master.” A man dressed in black soundlessly entered.

That hand tucked into his cloak jolts. Within several breaths a tremble shook those broad shoulders, then froze. That lowered head jumps up and those gray eyes pierced through the man, bloodshot and unstable.

Before the man could react, a hand reached for his throat and with a resounding 'bang,' slammed him into the wall. 

“...........What.” Hong Moxue squeezed out the word through his grinding teeth.

With a struggle to breathe, the man answers, gasping on his words. “Miss’s life……..” 

Those hands wrapped around his throat lightly squeezed. In the next moment a shadow envelopes his vision, buzzing his mind into a daze. An unnerving ‘pop’ was the last sound he heard as the nameless man’s neck snapped. His body tossed out of the study, smashing into the wall, and sliding down into a slump. A line of blood slips from his lips, staining the cold floor.

The dead man knew his life was expendable and further knew that today he would die. Another day another life, and today it was his turn. To say he had no grievances would be a lie, but those thoughts all died along with the person, this insignificant life that not a soul would mourn.

“Gugan, clean it up,” ordered the murderer that no one would blame. He passed through the door, closing up the study and disregarding the mess left behind. Not a single glance was cast where the dead man had once been, vanishing from his place, with only a trace of blood left behind to signify he’d ever existed. 

How much blood stains this residence? How many lives lost due to lack of restraint? Afraid only Hong Moxue knows this answer, but would he be willing to share? Perhaps, or perhaps not.

Just like its master, the residents here are not free from blame. Inaction is as guilty as action. And perhaps the heavens knew, striking more than one lightning bolt down in this residence, striking hearts and stirring up thoughts that only they themselves knew.

‘Boom’ another lightning strike struck within the Hong Manor, reaching near the bordering walls, right outside a grove of sycamore trees.