"Wine," the old Emperor tried again, as if the word itself carried all the authority he used to have. "Bring wine and we will speak of corrections."
"Corrections," Yizhen echoed softly, warm amusement barely there. "The empire has been correcting itself."
The old man's eyes darted to the voice; then he seemed to hear the underworld on Yizhen's tongue and decided not to beg there.
He turned back to Mingyu, his chin lifting the way men did when they remembered a throne that no longer existed.
"You always mistook patience for weakness," he croaked. "This—" he gestured with the empty bowl toward the straw and the bars, "—will teach you about men. Your way will fail you when these dogs want their own bones. They will eat you first."
Deming's jaw ticked once; Longzi would have laughed if he had been the sort to spare breath. Yaozu stood like a door that had no handle on this side.
