The Emperor was dead. He had been killed in her absence.

That was not to say that her mission was unsuccessful, but it was certainly unfulfilling. The Burmese Emperor, too, was dead. She saw to that. Her spike had gone through his heart, and she felt the blood spurt across her face and the floor when she impaled him. She watched as he tried to scream, but only managed to croak. It was… demeaning. It was beneath him to die in such a way, even for a Burmese madman. It was even worse after she had hacked off his head with a kitchen knife, and left his mangled corpse staining the carpet.

Those dead eyes taunted her the entire ride home. Cursing her for her foul deed of dishonor. How could she have lived like this all those years ago? How could she have taken pleasure in this? It felt like she too were impaled with the spike.

And when she arrived back at the capital, things were found to be far worse.

The Emperor of Shang, the Son of God, had been killed in his offensive against Maingmaw. Maingmaw and Min Wu had both fallen back into Burmese grasp. Both other assassinations had failed.

If she had felt like she’d been impaled before, now she felt like her heart had been torn out and that she was force to watch it be chewed by rats.

And now, she sat before the corpse of her emperor. Her former emperor. He had died without heir, and the line of Shang had been broken. She had always been a leal servant, always honest and industrious, but without a master, who was she to serve?

She felt stone on her fingers. Familiar stone. Her hand had somehow made it to her pocket, and found the stone spike in her grasp, and she remembered that she was not without masters. If the Empire was without an Emperor, then the Ascended Fathers themselves may have to lead.

The fires roared outside Erlitou once more. She felt memories flood back of that first flame. Much had changed.

Where she before had that wu, that aging holyman of yore, she only had the skull of the previous Burmese Emperor to keep her company. It was still stained, but you could barely see it, as everything was bathed in orange by the blaze.

This time, she did not know what to ask. She had attempted to frame the question all day, and yet she could not form any inquiry to those beyond.

For a while, she stood there, just looking at the fire. It seemed to crackle with impatience, and was beginning to die down. It felt like hours just standing there, when finally rain started. The Ascended Fathers too, must be getting impatient.

And still, she had no question for those beyond. Her window of opportunity was closing. This was a foolish idea.

Finally, she threw the skull into the flames. There was no question. There was nothing. There was only one way to interpret that. It was a cry for attention, or a cry for help.

Li Mei did not know when she began weeping, or if that was merely the storm. She was lost, she knew, and she was dismayed. She fell to her knees as the fire was drowned by the torrent. She was lost, and she was slow. Without her master, she was nothing.

As the embrace of sleep came, she wanted it to come for all eternity. She had failed. She was lost. She was nothing.

And yet, she rose again in the morning. It was muggy and dank, and felt like a dream.

Clambering to her feet, she found the ground and the ashes to be a moist slurry. She would need to return back to Erlitou soon, now that this farce was over. Had she accomplished anything? Did she have a new master? No. Ridiculous. Barbaric. A shameful display, on all accounts.

And yet, as she walked, her foot hit something. Smooth, yet hard. She knelt to pick it up from the mud, and looking at it, she found those haunting eye sockets staring back at her again, reminding her of her failure even in success.

But then she saw it. It was just over the temple, a smudge. A mark of some sort. An impossible mark – she had been given all that she wanted.

It was an answer.

It was an order.

It was a mandate from heaven.