A Thousand Burning Masks

Chapter Five

"Biyu, Sarna," Mr. Long grasped our hands when we approached. "You're next."

My stomach tightened. I nodded, glancing at Biyu for support. His jaw was clenched, and he was staring at the wall, his face unreadable. We pushed past the curtains and toward the backstage. Biyu parted the curtains, and we stared right into heart of the Pearl Hall.

The Pearl Hall was impressive—gold dragons heralded the circular roof, the tens of dynasties and powerful emperors lived through the stunning mosaic on the ceiling. Regal, polished candle holders held hundreds of tea candles while red ribbons fluttered from the windows.

Seated in the middle of the hall was the Emperor. He looked older than the tapestries had depicted him. Gold gleamed on his head, but he looked exhausted, as though he had came back from a war that spanned decades. His eyes drooped, and he was coughing into a silk handkerchief. I had always imagined the Emperor to be this strong, stout man with blazing eyes and a mighty sword by his side. But this man was nothing like I had expected.

Next to the Emperor in a smaller throne was a tall and stony-faced man. Unlike the Emperor who was clad in a magnificent golden robe embroidered with dragons, this man wore pure black. The only thing of color among his attire was the crown of golden branches on his head. His long dark hair cascaded past his shoulders and down to his waist, and he sat straight-backed on his throne. The only thing suggesting the barest bit of amusement was the tilt of his goblet and the concentration in his gray eyes.

He looked exactly like the man in the tapestry.

My stomach dropped as I shifted my gaze to the man sitting on the Emperor's left side. My breath hitched, and there was a low buzz in my ears. Confusion and anger settled in as I stared at him.

Peanut thief.

There was no mistaking the lazy look on his face, the slouch of his shoulders, and the shadows of his face. He looked nothing like the second prince woven into the tapestry. That man was stout, regal, and powerful. This one was sitting with one leg crossed on top of the other, looking as though he was about to fall off his seat, drunk.

My eyes fell onto the man sitting at the lower tier of the platform—plaited beard, a chin too crooked, and eyes so small, they resembled beans.

Lord Hua, the Great General of Erden. The man who ruined my face.

Suddenly, the small comforting sliver of hope I had last night was gone. With a snap of the High Immortals' fingers, all the barriers and walls I had erected came crashing down, like a tower struck by a powerful blast of lightning. I keeled backwards, dropping the curtain, pressing my hand over my chest.

He had pinned my hands down on the bed, then laughed at me as I cried.

"Too much for you to handle, is it?" he had said. "I have bedded hundreds before you, my dear, but I shall never cease to have fun with you."

His words ignited strength I had never experienced in my entire life, propelling me forward as I broke free from his grasp. Before I knew it, my hand had connected with his left cheek. He stumbled back, surprise and anger flashing in his eyes.

"You think you're so strong, eh?" He grabbed my wrist and dragged me off the bed. I had screamed, kicking and flailing, but he was stronger. I was just a child, he was the Imperial General. "Let me teach you a lesson, silly slave. You are born to serve, and your insolence comes with consequences."

The brazier next to the wardrobe glowed like the pits of the Eighteen Hells. I made a lunge for the bed post, but he was faster. He lifted me off the ground and pressed my left face into the burning coals.