**The Weight of Obsidian**
Jiang Yan's world overflowed with offerings: vermilion brushes ground to perfection, curated memorials, perfumed hands of court ladies, treasures from every corner of the realm. He held up a wolf fang-shaped black jade against stained glass lamplight. The stone remained ink-dark even illuminated—no hidden fire, no secret glow.
"Your Highness, this obsidian from Qizhou—" The attendant's explanation died as Jiang flicked fingers lazily. Such rituals bored him.
"Trinkets for inflated egos," he scoffed, tossing the jade. It clattered down marble steps, rolling beneath drapes where Minister of Revenue Jia Chen knelt reporting Liaodong's flood management—all credited to the Secretary-General's deft hands. Jiang cared little. Whether floods or plagues, all became numbers to manipulate. Every official, even Jia Chen with his veiled boasting, were pawns on his ever-shifting board.
**Eyes in the Jewelry Den**
Qiannian Pavilion hid behind an unassuming workshop beyond the city walls. Its owner—eyelids smudged with powdered pigments, neck draped in a pigeon-blood ruby choker with chatoyant feather accents—gleamed like a poisonous orchid. Her bracelets clinked: rose quartz on one wrist, porcelain-and-onyx prayer beads on the other. Every gemstone eye seemed to track Jiang's movements.
"Master Jiang!" She emerged through opium haze, perching on a lacquered chair. "Take your time—you always spot the real artistry."
The shop's genius lay not in ostentation but obsessive craft. Where others slapped giant diamonds on gold, Qiannian Pavilion dissected a single shade of black jade into eight subtones. Jiang once marveled at their five treatments of near-identical obsidian: raven-black butterfly wings, ash-gray facial contours, gradient feather transitions, cat's-eye duck pupils set in yellow topaz...
"These are Master Ren Anyin's final works," the owner purred, twirling a business card. "Nine percent discount for connoisseurs. Funny—a man came yesterday obsessed with white jade. Said it's for his 'azure soulmate.' You officials share such *refined* tastes."
Jiang froze. The card bore a name he knew too well—a subordinate's.