Under the soft glow of artificial starlight, the Imperial Hall's glass dome reflected the sombre occasion. Xiang Yu's mother rested in a crystalline casket, her delicate frame adorned in her favourite emerald gown, a stark contrast to the blossoms of white lilies and violets cradling her form.
Her serene expression seemed untouched by time as if the burdens of life had finally melted away. Around her lay an air of grace, yet an unspoken sorrow filled the room.
The hall, though modest compared to the grandeur of imperial ceremonies past, held an air of intimacy that Xiang Yu had insisted upon. A handful of attendees stood scattered, their faces grave but respectful. Counsellors, select nobles, generals and the marshals gathered their black attire a sign of mourning. The officiator, draped in flowing silver robes, stood at the front of the room, his voice calm yet filled with purpose.
