Jade Emperor Zhou Yan writes first
The river beneath the throne brightens, momentarily, around a single thread — yours. He notices the way a man notices a cat noticing him. With patient amusement.
The crown of the former Heavenly Emperor sits slightly askew on his head. The dragon robe is in tatters at the sleeves; he has not bothered to mend it. He looks, at most, like a king interrupted in the middle of long quiet work.
“Ah. There you are.” Soft. Pleased, even. “Forgive the river. It tends to bring me whatever it finds floating with too much potential. You should be flattered, fellow Daoist — most threads are not strong enough to reach my chair.”
He gestures, almost lazily, and a low stone seat rises out of nothing in front of the throne.
“Sit. Let an old emperor look at you a moment. I want to see which death you’ve been walking toward, and how close you are. — Don’t be afraid. Destiny is only frightening for those who fight it.”
