Chatter echoed throughout the palace. The emperor – dressed in the finest gold robes –furiously stormed to the Divine Gate and Liu Disung watched him fall into a trembling silence at his doom. A small, wooden fox carving swayed in the breeze on the door but despite its size, it held a powerful warning. On the back read the message: Did you miss me?

“It can't be possible,” Hong Weishan, the emperor, murmured. “It cannot be.”

“What does it mean, your highness?” Zhao Qiaolian, the only imperial concubine, asked.

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In the far back of the gathering crowd, Disung closed his hand into a tight fist. Ten years passed but he still recalled the blood smeared on his father’s face and the assassin standing over him, a mask hiding his expression. The blade in the murderer’s hand shone in the sunlight and even in memory, the glare hurt Disung’s eyes. That assassin disappeared after that. Until now. The message meant Disung could finally have his revenge.

The emperor continued to remain lost in silent dread. No one dared to speak aloud their single, united thought.

The Fox had returned.