Chilly autumn winds brushed through the audience chamber of the imperial palace. The stone floors that were comfortably cool during the hot and humid days of the summer now only served to exacerbate the coldness of the surrounding air, and the flimsy silks covering the windows did little to offer shelter from the cold. The lavish pillows were soft, but damp and thus less comfortable than standing to the weary bones of Widow Qing. It had been decades, and still she was defined by her long-dead husband, the esteemed lady mused.

  No amount of finery and expensive fabrics could protect oneself from the elements, but a good sturdy hearth warmed the poor and the rich the same. Nor would even the cinnabar she sold to the alchemists in the Emperor's court delay the inevitable death of the formidable warlord who had unified the kingdoms. Whether the so-called wise men truly believed in the powers of their concoctions, she could not say. She only knew that when the old bastard was gone, the world would be better for it.

  A rather distraught man entered the chamber. He grabbed his sword angrily from the aide, and stomped through the room, quickly disappearing through the massive wooden doors. Qing raised her brow at the Emperor's servant, who kept his face unreadable. "The Emperor will see you now," he said and bowed slightly.

  Qing walked through the door with as much dignity as she could muster, and into the throne room. The aide closed the door behind her, immediately blocking the flow of the cold air, letting the air heated by the five fireplaces in the hall envelop her in cosy warmth. It wasn't like the Emperor could not afford to keep the whole palace heated, it was to remind everyone who were the haves and who were the have nots. Serve well, and you might bridge that cap. Unless you were, you know, poor or a woman.

  "Ah, Widow Qing!" Qin Shi Huang boomed and immediately succumbed into a fit of coughing. He was offered a sip of tea. "How is life treating my favourite lady?"

  She knew as well as everyone he had no such thing as a favourite lady, but she might very well have been his least loathed woman. It was, she supposed, something.

  "Very well, my lord. We have just recently opened a new cinnabar mine. I have already supplied your alchemists with an ample supply of minerals for your continued health."

  "Excellent, excellent," the Emperor said, but she could tell his heart was not in it.

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  "Is something bothering you, my lord? Nothing would please me more than offer a sympathetic ear," she said honestly. Of course, the pleasure would be the power gained from insight into the Emperor's troubles.

  He eyed her with suspicion for a few moments, but then relented. "It is these people, the Red Fist."

  "The Red First, my lord? I have to admit I have not heard of a such a group before," Qing said and sat down on the stool offered to her.

  Emperor Qin harrumphed. "They are a secretive bunch. Yet they think it is their place to threaten me!"

  "That will not do, my lord," she exclaimed in mock horror. "How exactly?"

  The old man grinned. "They say, without their help, my legacy will not last!"

  "Preposterous, indeed! I am sure you have told them in no uncertain terms that such insolence will not be tolerated in this court?"

  "Hah! I have," he said, and succumbed into thought. "I have sent men. Many, many men, after them, yet not a single one has returned."

  "An army, my lord?"

  "They have no land to call their own, nor mercenaries bought by coin."

  "Then they should not pose a real threat, should they, my lord?"

  The Emperor shook his head. "No, and I am told my alchemists have nearly perfected my water of youth. I shall outlive them by centuries," he said and burst into a mixture of laughter and coughing.

  "That is great news, indeed," Qing lied. She, if anyone, knew all about the poisonous properties of cinnabar, but if the Emperor's foolish potion-makers really thought it the secret to eternal life, who was she to object? But as happy as she was to finally be rid of the war-mongering misogynist, the news about this obscure organisation made her skin crawl. She bowed her head to signal she had nothing more to add.

  After a brief consideration, the Emperor waved his hand. "You may go," he said.

  Qing retreated from the throne room to the sound of loud coughing. It would not be long now.

  She quickly strolled through the audience chamber and into the large hallways leading to the imperial family's palace. As she entered, she saw the previously distraught man exit the eldest son's quarters, happily rubbing his hands. After he had left, she sighed and knocked on the chief eunuch's door.

  "We have a complication," she said as the man opened the door.

  This concludes the Royal Road Writathon! And a couple of days early, too!