His father looked like death.
Propped up on silk pillows, his skin yellow and papery, his breathing labored. The room smelled of medicinal herbs and decay.
"Father Emperor," Yifeng knelt beside the bed. "You summoned me?"
"Yifeng." His father's voice was barely a whisper. "Come closer."
Yifeng leaned in.
"I can feel myself weakening," the Emperor said. "Weeks, perhaps. Maybe only days if I am that lucky. There are things you must know."
"Father, you'll recover—"
"Don't." His father's hand gripped Yifeng's with surprising strength. "Don't lie to comfort me. We both know I'm dying." His eyes, fever-bright, focused on Yifeng's face. "When I'm gone, the throne will be contested, even though you're the crown prince. Your brother, Liang Jian, he's capable. More capable than you in many ways. Military genius. The soldiers worship him."
The words stung, but Yifeng kept his face still.
