The winds were gentle that night, barely lifting the strands of coal black hair from His Majesty’s forehead as he strode down the quiet and empty palace grounds, his footsteps hushed by a carpet of fallen leaves. The monarch was dressed only in a simple black and red robe. It was late at night and he was not expecting his subjects to be awake to gawk at him and point out the fact that he wasn’t wearing his gold-plated crown or the string of jewels that would usually hang from his neck or the elegant silk sash that wrapped his waist. He enjoyed these solitary evening walks of his, which freed him from the numerous traditional practices that were required of him.

A pleased sigh escaped his lips as he rounded a willow tree, its branches delicately kissing the ground. He was at the top of the hill now and the full extent of the countryside came into view. At the foot of the hill was the Taofu River, shimmering like a silver snake under the incandescent beams of the full moon. It ran its course towards an evergreen forest that covered the toes of the snowcapped mountains to the North.

An owl hooted and a breeze rustled the leaves off the ground. Then all was silent again.

Then suddenly, King Cho fell on the ground.

He was dead.