The plum blossom was an impossibility, a shard of pure winter blooming in the heart of a festering summer decay. Li Xun remained kneeling on the damp soil of the plague pit, his mind a maelstrom of conflicting calculations. He, a celestial dragon who had commanded armies and navigated the treacherous currents of the imperial court for decades, was utterly still. For the first time since he was a boy, his meticulously ordered world had fractured.
