The sun set.
The drum sounds from the Bell and Drum Tower echoed from afar. Eight hundred beats marked the end of the day, and as they ceased, night descended.
The Imperial Capital under twilight resembled a piece of blood-soaked green jade, slowly tinged with dark red.
The butcher at the mutton shop sprinkled the last handful of coarse salt on the cutting board; passing carriages clattered over the cobblestones; a worker from the silk shop climbed a stepladder to hang a lantern with the shop's name on the eaves; the copper bells hanging from the eaves of the Imperial Academy rang out melodiously.
The scent of fried sesame balls mingled with the copper gong sound of the City Patrol Imperial Censor, while the last ray of the setting sun skimmed over the archer's window on the Zhengyang Gate tower.
If one only looked at this moment of the Imperial Capital, it was beautiful.
So beautiful that merchants from foreign lands lingered, unwilling to leave.
