Dawn.
The morning light climbs step by step up the stone stairs, gilding the two stone beasts before the gate in golden glory. The Li Family craftsmen fashioned these images by the likeness of the snake-tamer Li Wushao—twin tails coiling, beast heads held high.
Li Zhouwei emerges from the Central Hall, silk-gold boots ringing crisp against the ground, his hand resting upon the sword at his waist. He has grown notably more mature in these past few years; the innate aura that once made others tremble now tempered, no longer daunting at first glance.
The radiance in those eyes has also slowly subdued, settling into a distinct black-brown hue, seemingly void now of any fearful presence. He strides forward with nimbleness, a fleeting glimmer of cunning flashing in his gaze from time to time, his composed bearing intermittently revealing a startling agility and swiftness—hardly the demeanor of a mere youth of a dozen years.
