Unlike the Queen’s court, it was below the dignity of most of Ao Guang’s followers to show too much interest in such a lowly visitor as Liu; the formal dance of the Court, the movement of each to and from their appointed place continued much as it always had, with only a sidelong glance here and there, from behind a sleeve, or a fan. Liu looked about for his father. There he was, looking entirely comfortable and playing at Go. Liu felt a surge of resentment. Everything he had gone through, everything he had risked – and his father was not even in prison. Not that he wished for that, he told himself fiercely. Not at all, not for one moment. Ao Guang sat upon his throne, dressed in scarlet and gold. His form was human; usually a sign that he was in a good mood, and did not feel the need to impress his followers with terror. He was manifesting as an elderly man with a long white beard. Dignity and wisdom, then. Liu prostrated himself. One of the dozens of little lion dogs that infested the place scuttled up as the Harp was set down, to sniff at it.
