The funeral bells of the capital rang for many days.
Shen Han attended every ceremony. He stood where he was told, bowed when he was told, and kept his face like a stone mask. He burned incense before the late Emperor's tablet with steady hands. He touched his forehead to the cold floor at the right moments. He said nothing unexpected. He tried to feel nothing at all.
The Emperor had been a hard man to grieve. Shen Han had served him and respected him as a soldier respects a commander, without any real warmth. But this was also the man who had signed the order to send Lian Zhi north in a cage. This was the father who looked at his own daughter and saw only a resource to be traded. In the end, the Emperor had chosen his throne over the life of a girl who never asked for power.
Shen Han burned the incense. He bowed at the perfect angle.
