The Portrait of an Evening Feast

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On a moonless night, when neither nightingales nor crows dared to sing, the Eastern Capital of the Northern Song Dynasty streets were aglow with golden lights from intricately carved lanterns. One building stood ominously in the middle of the gleaming city, strangely dark and subdued compared to the luxurious radiance of the surrounding metropolis. The chiseled oaken sign hanging before a set of heavy, studded doors read: "The Imperial Security Office". Beyond the large entrance and the softly lit halls adorned with modest ornaments, lay an open chamber at the heart of the maze-like structure. Clinking chains hung from the vaulted ceiling, illuminated by stout braziers planted at the four corners of the square chamber. A shabbily clothed and chained figure was contorted in pain in the middle of the square. Screams and shrieks followed the crack of whips and the thud of hammers.

Low, opulent seats and a matching tea table sat upon a raised platform. A black-robed man lounged on the plush cushions, with one leg leisurely propped up against the arm of the couch. His raven hair was swept into a neat bun under a guan*, without a single strand out of place, while his piercing dark eyes were fixed on a weiqi* board on the low table as he lazily surveyed the open square below. Not even slightly affected by the tortured screams echoing throughout the cavern, he tapped a longsword scabbard against his thigh while reaching for another token. He held the glass token above his head, admiring how the low glow of the braziers reflected across its unburnished surface. As he pondered his next move with furrowed brows and a hand on his chin, a flurry of feathers and a short, shrill screech announced the arrival of a certain feathered messenger.

A plump, white pigeon alighted on a nearby chain, promptly seized by a grim-faced officer who carefully detached a small, leather-bound scroll from the bird's jittering foreleg. With a squawk, the pale fowl gave an indignant ruffle of its feathers and leaped from the chain, spreading its wings and soaring out of the cavern, searching for food and shelter after its arduous journey. Swiftly, the officer glided silently up the stone steps, bowed, and then offered the scroll, with trembling fingers, to the man in black. The man casually set the sheath against the couch and carefully unraveled the small paper. Leaning back, he held the sheet to the light and revealed two simple characters: "Qian Tang*".

Below, in the square, another officer with broad features and a hooked nose, Kong Wu of the Intelligence Agency, dramatically flourished a larger sheet, which he began to read. "Venus rises with the sun; Her Imperial Majesty thrives and will soon ascend to become another Empress Wu," he scoffed. "What sanctimonious drivel! Who ordered this nonsense spread?" He shook the paper before a bound captive, bruised and battered.

"Please!" came the response. "I'll... I'll tell you! I'll tell you everything!" The chained man screamed.

"Let him down," ordered Kong Wu, gesturing to his subordinates. The captive fell to the floor with a thud. He squirmed around, sobbing and sniveling, eyes wild and mouth foaming.

"I'll confess!" he repeated. "I'll tell you... everything!"

Kong Wu raised an eyebrow and gestured for him to continue.

"The man behind this is... Wei Ying, Magistrate of Ren He!" he stuttered. "He claims the Empress lost her virginity years ago and has deceived His Majesty, The Emperor, for decades! The painting... the painting is proof!"

"What painting?" snapped Kong Wu. After the prisoner hesitated, the officer grabbed him by the collar and forced the captive to his knees. "What painting? Where is it?" demanded Kong Wu.

With these words, the man on the platform slowly stood up, hand on the gilded hilt of a sword at his belt. He strolled to the edge of the balcony, a look of bored disinterest on his face. Kong Wu forced the captive's head up. As the convict's eyes met the man's harsh features, his widened in shock and horror. He paled to a deathly shade of green, his eyes glazed over in abject terror.

"Gu..." he stammered. "G-Gu Qian Fan! Huo Yan Mo*!" he shrieked. "H-he's the Huo Yan Mo!"

Gu Qian Fan, Commander of the Capital Security Office, cocked his head and peered over the ledge at the wretched prisoner. "Now that you know who I am," he drawled, planting two hands on the ledge, "tell me everything."

"It's... it's in Qian Tang! The Portrait of an Evening Feast is in Qian Tang!" the convict shouted, desperate. "Please, please! I've told you everything! Let me go!" he screamed.

Gu Qian Fan turned away and strode silently out of the room.








*Guan: A headpiece worn by officials of the Song Dynasty.

*Weiqi: A board game where players attempt to surround the opponent's pieces with their own.

*Qian Tang: A county located in eastern China.

*Huo Yan Mo: Roughly translated to "The Living Devil". Referring to the ruler of the Underworld in Chinese mythology.

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