"Their Majesty Yukinari, Son of Heaven, may they live a thousand years!" the servants at the entrance to the audience hall cried out in ringing voices. And immediately, they answered themselves: "Gerel, Supreme Strategist of the Kingdom of Cheongju, on a diplomatic mission!"

The words were spoken in High Speech, the language of the Land of the Tortoise, which was widely understood in other nations as well. Yuigui's tongue had long been the language of books and the most important ceremonies.

After the servants' proclamation, the silence that fell over the hall was deafening to Gerel.

As soon as he crossed the threshold, he bent low in a formal bow, as dictated by etiquette.

"Most esteemed Son of Heaven... I have gratefully accepted your invitation and have come to Shinju to meet with you, to offer you the hand of Emperor Tokhung's eldest daughter, and to discuss the fate of our kingdoms. I thank you from the depths of my heart for this audience."

He spoke in Yuigui's language as well. Throughout the journey, he had debated which language would be best for negotiating with the emperor, and the servants had given him the answer. Speaking in Cheongju's tongue would have been seen as an insult to the emperor and his court. Using Ryukoku's language would have lowered his status to that of a petitioner; moreover, his command of it was still too weak, and he would have had to rely on a translator — an unnecessary hindrance.

Only after delivering his words did he dare to lift his eyes toward the man for whom he had traveled so far.

The Son of Heaven sat on a throne raised above the hall, surrounded by six silver-wrapped columns, each entwined with sculpted dragons. The throne itself was also adorned with dragons — predictable, Gerel thought, if a bit monotonous. After all, they were the country's emblem. Behind the throne stood several elderly men of obvious high rank — likely ministers or advisors. Their attire resembled that of Yuigui's court but with different colors and styles distinguishing ranks and roles. Gerel no longer remembered every detail of Yuigui's courtly dress. It had been over two years since he'd seen anyone from Yuigui — only his compatriots and the southern savages. After them, it felt strange to see pale faces meticulously shielded from the sun, hands softened by care, and rounded bellies. The people of Ryukoku, at least those Gerel had encountered, were slender and delicate-boned. In youth, such frames lent an elegance akin to birds, but with a life of indulgence, they filled out easily. Among the older officials and courtiers, it was immediately clear that horse racing and archery contests — beloved pastimes at Tokhung's court—were not held in high regard here.

Should I bow again? Gerel wondered. He knew, of course, that court etiquette in Ryukoku was as intricate as that of the Land of the Tortoise, and that the presence of the emperor demanded more than a single bow. Pride meant little to him, but he had come to dictate terms, not to beg for favors, and his demeanor had to reflect his role. He needed to strike the delicate balance between respect and arrogance, projecting strength without slipping into rudeness. The fact that he was neither the emperor's equal nor an aristocrat only complicated matters further. By Ryukoku's standards, the gulf between his position and the emperor's was as vast as the distance between the earth and the sky. Much depended on how the emperor himself would respond.

As if sensing Gerel's thoughts, the Son of Heaven made a slow, deliberate gesture — one that could be interpreted as permission to end his bows and approach. Gerel straightened immediately, relieved.

As he neared the throne, Gerel allowed himself a brief moment of audacity: he stared directly at the emperor.

Yukinari's face was concealed by a veil. They say the young emperor hides his face because he is so beautiful that anyone who sees him loses their sanity, Gerel recalled. He wondered how much truth there was to the rumor. Even beneath the layers of azure and silver silk of his imperial robes, it was clear that the emperor's frame was slender and refined. His hair was braided and coiled into an elaborate knot — if unbound, it would likely fall to his waist. Jewels dangling from his intricate tiara swayed gently as he moved.

"With all due respect to the Son of Heaven, I cannot conduct negotiations with someone whose face I cannot see," Gerel said. It was a deliberately blunt statement, but it wasn't entirely untrue. After all, he had no certainty that this was truly the emperor and not one of his doubles. Discussing matters of importance without seeing his counterpart's eyes or expressions was a sure path to failure. And, if he were honest, he was intensely curious to see the face of this semi-legendary Dragon of the East.

"Our customs forbid anyone but the emperor's closest attendants from seeing the Son of Heaven's face," interjected an elderly courtier standing to the right of the throne.

But Yukinari raised a slender hand, silencing him with a gesture. Without hesitation, he removed the veil from his face.

He smiled — a quick, almost shy smile — and the gesture, so disarming in its sincerity, managed to convey neither weakness nor humiliation.

Gerel barely managed to keep his expression neutral. The young man sitting before him was undeniably handsome, but weren't there plenty of fine-looking youths in the Middle Kingdoms? Yet that fleeting, uncertain smile, so oddly out of place on the face of a ruler, lit up his features with a peculiar charm. It was like the brief winter sun on an overcast day — appearing for a moment only to vanish — and for an instant, Gerel thought he might be looking at one of the beings they called yaoguai, the Strangers, the non-humans.

He remembered their faces: beautiful, impossibly well-defined — no coarse lines, no flaws — and yet somehow unsettlingly indistinct. It was a hard sensation to describe, that uncanny impermanence. The faces of the Strangers always slipped from memory too quickly. Sometimes they were so alien as to inspire dread, as if they didn't belong to this world at all. Even his mother's face, though he had seen it a thousand times, remained only a vague impression in his mind. He recalled how he would freeze in awe when looking at her one moment, and in the next, feel a peculiar discomfort, as though gazing at something deformed or unnatural. The faces of the Strangers were like a soul stripped bare of its skin.

But no — after just a few moments, he reassured himself that the emperor was human after all. A striking face, yes — calm, noble in its pallor, and youthful — but unmistakably that of a man. And a man imbued with a quiet, regal authority.

"Now I see that no one but you could be the emperor," Gerel said, bowing. "I am Gerel, Supreme Strategist of Cheongju. I speak on behalf of Emperor Tokhung."

He extended a scroll bearing Tokhung's imperial seal as proof of his authority. The young ruler accepted it and even unrolled it, but instead of examining its contents, he fixed his gaze intently on Gerel.

Gerel was used to being stared at. In the past, such curiosity had been laced with disdain; now it was more often tinged with fear. Either way, people rarely dared meet his eyes for long. Yukinari, however, looked at him directly, and his expression was so peculiar that Gerel felt distinctly uneasy. He couldn't decipher the emotions hidden behind the emperor's almond-shaped eyes, their corners elegantly tilted upward and lined with black and silver paint. He found none of the fear, hatred, or contempt he expected.

I wonder what place I'll hold in his catalogue of monsters, Gerel thought wryly, meeting the emperor's gaze with a defiant stare.

The contest of wills didn't last long. In the end, it was Gerel who looked away first.

Yukinari inclined his head politely in acknowledgment and said, "Forgive me if anything in my palace has displeased you. Our customs differ greatly from yours. Thank you for traveling such a long way to visit my capital."

The emperor's voice was soft, melodic, and imbued with an Eastern cadence. His mastery of High Speech was flawless, unmarred by the chirping accent typical of Ryukoku's natives, which often rendered familiar words almost incomprehensible to Gerel's ear. This was hardly surprising; the emperor must have received an education befitting his status.

Gerel, for his part, hated to admit that his own Yuigui was less than perfect. He stumbled over certain words, his sentences were occasionally halting — after all, it had been over two years since he last spoke the language. Yet the mere fact that he knew it at all seemed to astonish the courtiers; Gerel could see it in their expressions.

There was something about the Son of Heaven's bearing that compelled Gerel to adopt a more respectful tone and demeanor. He no longer felt the urge to play the victor.

"Your capital is magnificent, Your Majesty," Gerel said. "Even if our negotiations lead to nothing, I will not regret this journey, for it has allowed me to see the most extraordinary and otherworldly city in existence."

"I don't believe we should discuss state affairs immediately," Yukinari replied. "You and your men must be weary from the road. I invite you to rest as my guests here in the palace for a month. Afterward, we can speak of the purpose of your visit."

"Thank you, most esteemed one. I am honored by your invitation and will gladly accept it," Gerel responded.

At last, he understood the look in Yukinari's eyes. It was the gaze of a traveler who had set foot on unfamiliar soil: curious, yes, but not unpleasantly so. There was joy in it — and, unexpectedly, hope.

Hope for what?