The air in the opulent chamber thickened, mirroring the tension coiling within Ming Han. Ehuhng and Liguan, moved with a disconcerting stiffness, their faces masks of serene indifference. It was a subtle shift, almost imperceptible, yet profoundly disturbing. The vibrant spark that usually animated them had been extinguished, replaced by an unsettling calm.
Ming Han schooled his expression, fighting to maintain the practiced composure expected of him. Beneath the heavy table, however, his fist clenched into a white-knuckled ball. The chamber doors swung inward, revealing the Empress and her daughter, Ming Mian. The Empress, a figure of formidable beauty and chilling power, entered like a storm cloud. Ming Mian, though younger, possessed the same calculating glint in her eyes, hinting at a ruthlessness that belied her delicate features.
The trio rose, executing a flawless, practiced clasp of hands with slightly bows.
"Greeting to the Empress," they intoned, their voices blending into a hollow harmony. Ehuhng and Liguan's tones were eerily flat, devoid of their usual warmth. Ming Han merely nodded to Ming Mian, the gesture feeling like a grotesque parody of genuine acknowledgment.
"Don't stand on ceremony. Do rise. We are all family, after all." The Empress's words dripped with honey, but Ming Han knew the sweetness was laced with venom. Her smile, wide and practiced, never quite reached her eyes, which remained cold and assessing.
She settled at the head of the table, Ming Mian gracefully taking the seat beside her. The siblings and mother followed suit, each carefully maintaining their posture. The Empress's maid, moved to present the Empress with a spread of delicacies – dishes so extravagant they seemed to mock the very notion of sustenance.
The Empress delicately picked up her chopsticks, barely glancing at the food. She took a slow sip of water from a porcelain cup already brimming, her gaze lingering on Liguan.
"A'Li, how are you faring?" she inquired, her voice a silken caress.
"I hear you've taken an interest in embroidery and gardening. While it's true you won't be marrying into an ordinary household to perform menial labor," a pause, a subtle emphasis on the word ordinary, "you should dedicate yourself to imperial court affairs. And, of course, bear a suitable heir for your husband." The last sentence was delivered with a chilling finality, a command disguised as a gentle suggestion.
"Yes, Mother, I will work hard, study diligently, and bear a suitable heir capable of handling his own affairs." Liguan's smile was perfect, polished, but her words held a razor's edge only those who truly knew her could detect. The subtle sarcasm, the pointed emphasis, went completely over the Empress's head.
Ming Han and Ehuhng caught the hidden barb, a brief flicker of amusement lighting their eyes before they swiftly masked their reactions. It was a dangerous game they were playing.
The Empress, oblivious to the undercurrents, turned her attention to Ming Han, gently placing a bowl of nourishing root soup before him.
"A'Han," she said, her voice laced with condescension, "your body is weak and frail. Cultivation is for the strong, and you must eat well to compensate for your mediocre physique and subpar talents if you hope to thrive in this world."
The words were a calculated blow, expertly aimed to wound. The Imperial concubine 's and Ming Liguan's expressions tightened, their veiled disdain now barely concealed. Ming Han's face paled, a silent fury simmering beneath the surface. The insult, delivered with such casual cruelty, resonated deeply, striking at his deepest insecurities. Every word was a barb, meticulously designed to diminish him in the eyes of his family and, more importantly, in his own.
Yes, Ming Han was mediocre. The word hung over him, a constant, crushing weight. From a tender age, his energy paths had been irrevocably severed, snuffing out any hope of cultivation before it could even ignite. His life became a relentless, desperate odyssey: a pilgrimage through the vast empire, seeking out every renowned doctor, every elusive healer, every mystical magician. He pursued whispers of ancient remedies and forbidden arts, anything, anyone, who might mend what was broken. Yet, each encounter ended in the same desolate pronouncement: impossible.
Hope dwindled to a fragile ember, until a faint spark ignited from an improbable source. He stumbled upon a theory, a radical, logically impossible concept penned by a reclusive circle of sages. It was merely a theoretical framework, a desperate intellectual exercise, utterly unproven and widely dismissed. Yet, in his profound desperation, Ming Han clung to it. It was illogical, yes, but it was something. It was a thread, however thin, to a possibility beyond the crushing reality of his inadequacy, a last, defiant refusal to accept his fate.
Liling, still wearing her bright, almost saccharine smile, passed him several servings of the nourishing dishes. Her gesture, ostensibly kind, felt like another subtle jab, a reinforcement of the Empress's earlier insult about his frailty.
Ming Han's gut twisted with silent, searing rage, yet his features remained a mask of polite indifference. He offered a slight, deferential bow towards the Empress.
"Her Majesty is truly kind and considerate," he stated, his voice even, devoid of any discernible emotion. The adage echoed in his mind: one must bow low to rise high. He would endure this humiliation, endure their scorn. For now, he would bend, but only so he could one day break free and soar.
Ming Yuan's brows furrowed as he scanned the meticulously arranged landscape of the upcoming event. Despite the vibrant colors and flawless symmetry, a sense of unease gnawed at him. It was a prickling intuition, a foreboding that something was amiss, that the meticulously crafted façade masked a hidden danger.
He knew he was under scrutiny, every gesture, every word, dissected and judged by a thousand watchful eyes. To falter, to show weakness, would be an invitation to criticism, a feast for the vultures circling the Imperial court. Yet, the weight of personal judgment paled in comparison to the larger stakes. To disappoint his father, the Emperor would ignite a spark, a powder keg ready to explode into a full-blown war across the provinces.
After an hour of meticulous review, scrutinizing every contingency with his guard, Ming Yuan finally stepped from his chambers. The weight of potential disaster still pressed upon him, but he forced himself to move with an unhurried grace. He navigated the labyrinthine corridors and hallways, his footsteps echoing softly, until he reached the rear of the palace complex.
Here, the oppressive grandeur gave way to a breathtaking expanse: a massive orchard, meticulously cultivated and bursting with life. Ancient trees, heavy with fruit, cast dappled shadows over winding paths that led to elegant pavilions, each offering a serene vista. The air, thick with the scent of blossoms and damp earth, was a welcome respite from the stifling formality within.
As he and his guard strolled deeper into the tranquil haven, a flicker of movement behind a vibrant cluster of colored shrubs caught Ming Yuan's eye. He paused, a subtle signal to his guard. Peering past the foliage, they saw a young man, squatting low beside a large, placid pond. He was fishing, his posture oddly still, almost unnaturally patient. Beside him, an unexpectedly large pile of freshly caught fish glistened in the afternoon sun.
Stunned, and with slight frowns, Ming Yuan and his guard approached. The young man, oblivious to their presence, let out a triumphant clap that echoed softly. He had just hauled in his fifth catch – a magnificent, shimmering koi, its scales flashing gold and orange in the afternoon light.
As he turned to add his prize to the growing heap, Ming Yuan's breath hitched unnoticeable. A jolt, sharp, pleasant and unexpected, went through him. It was him again. Bathed in the soft, golden light, the young man seemed to glow, his features softened by a cheerful exuberance that bordered on the ethereal. He looked utterly enchanting.
Hui Cufen, took a step forward, a rare note of surprise in his voice.
"Dan Zhang," he articulated, a question more than a statement.
The young man, startled, spun around. His bright smile stiffened for a moment as he registered the duo, then quickly returned naturally. Without hesitation, he approached them, a casual confidence in his stride. He lifted the catch, presenting it at their eye level, a silent, proud offering.
Dan Zhang, a full foot and a quarter shorter than the towering duo, had to lift his left hand slightly above his own eye level to proudly display the glistening fishes . "I made a kill today!" he declared, his smile wide and toothy, radiating an infectious, almost childish glee.
Ming Yuan's heart executed a dizzying series of somersaults. He found himself momentarily dazed, captivated by the sheer, unadulterated joy in Dan Zhang's expression.
Hui Cufen, however, quickly recovered his composure. A look of amazed helplessness crossed his usually impassive features, a slight shake of his head betraying his exasperation.
"People aren't allowed to fish in the ponds, Dan Zhang," he warned, his voice firm but without real anger. "It's against palace rules."
Dan Zhang's bright, triumphant smile slowly faded, replaced by an expression of sadness and stoicism. His head lowered in what seemed like genuine embarrassment and shame, a faint pink blush creeping up his cheeks and tinting the tips of his ears.
Ming Yuan felt a sudden, sharp pang. He was utterly torn. On one hand, Dan Zhang's current demeanor was undeniably cute, like a child caught with his hand in the sweet jar, all wide, sorrowful eyes and downcast gaze. On the other, there was a deeper, almost piteous quality to his heartbroken slump, hinting at a vulnerability that tugged at Ming Yuan's own carefully guarded emotions.
"Just this once," Ming Yuan heard himself say, the words escaping in a quiet, almost involuntary whisper. He reached into his robes, extracting a small, intricately embroidered pouch. With a light flick of his wrist, imbued with a subtle cultivation energy, the enchanted pouch shimmered and enlarged, its opening expanding to accommodate a surprisingly large volume.
Dan Zhang's eyes, still downcast, flickered upwards, a spark of hope replacing the shame. He carefully, almost reverently, placed his entire haul of fish and his crude fishing tools inside the magically expanding pouch. As the last item vanished within, the pouch instantly shrunk back to its original diminutive size. Dan Zhang, with a grateful nod, tucked it safely into the lapels of his robes.
Dan Zhang bowed deeply, a gesture of genuine gratitude replacing his earlier shame.
"If His Highness doesn't mind," he offered, his voice softer now, "I would be honored if you would feast on my catch this evening."
Hui Cufen opened his mouth, ready to politely decline on Ming Yuan's behalf. But before a single word could escape, Ming Yuan subtly nodded. The unexpected acceptance startled Hui Cufen, who closed his mouth with an audible click, a flicker of surprise in his usually composed eyes.
Dan Zhang shot a quick, knowing smirk over his shoulder as he walked away, leaving Ming Yuan and Hui Cufen momentarily speechless.
Back in the imperial chamber, the meal continued, steeped in a tense, hollow formality. The conversation was stilted, punctuated by the clinking of porcelain and the rustle of silk.
"Second Sister Liguan," Ming Mian began, her voice sugary sweet, her smile a cruel mockery of affection. "I see your servants are quite capable and competent." She punctuated the remark with a pointed glance toward Nan Fang, Liguan's personal guard , who stood motionless and silent in the corner. "I would like sister to lend a few of hers to me."
Liguan's knuckles turned white as her fist clenched tightly around her chopsticks, but her expression remained perfectly calm.
"Third Sister Mian, you flatter me too much," she replied, her tone cool and measured. "My servants are humble and inexperienced; it would be tedious for you to handle their affairs." The subtle implication—that Mian lacked the patience or skill to manage anything less than perfection—hung unspoken in the air.
"Oh?" Empress Liling's left eyebrow arched in mock amusement, her smile widening.
"What does that imply? That Mian is incapable of handling her internal affairs?" Her gaze sharpened, a challenge clearly laid bare.
Ehuhng's face turned noticeably pale, while Ming Han's expression became cold and grave. This was Liling's old habit, a dangerous talent for twisting words and igniting conflict. Liguan herself was momentarily caught off guard, a flash of surprise crossing her face as she prepared to defend her carefully worded retort.
But before she could speak, a sudden clamor erupted from the corridor. Rushing footsteps, growing louder, accompanied the echoing voice of a young man. "Princess Liguan, I've got something to—Hey!"
Both Liling and Ming Mian frowned, their heated exchange abruptly interrupted by the undignified noise. Simultaneously, the rest of the family—Ming Han, Ehuhng, and even Liguan, if subtly—exchanged a fleeting glance of shared, unspoken relief. The tension, for a moment, had been broken.
"Who are you? This is Her Highness Princess Liguan's residence! How dare you act hot and mighty in someone's territory?" Dan Zhang's voice, surprisingly bold, cut through the corridor, carrying with it an air of unquestionable confidence. He stood with arms crossed, a perfect eyebrow arched in a gesture that perfectly conveyed his self-assured defiance.
Inside the chamber, the Empress and Mian reacted. Liling and Ming Mian's faces twisted into awful expressions, though their internal reactions diverged. Liguan seethed with fury at what she perceived as a lowly servant's insolence, how dared he speak so rudely, and with such presumption, to her own attendants who, in her eyes, held a station second only to the imperial emperor himself? Ming Mian, however, found the voice strangely familiar, a nagging echo in her memory that she couldn't quite place.
The guards, who had arrived with the sudden commotion, were momentarily stunned by Dan Zhang's audacity. Their initial surprise quickly contorted into expressions of sheer fury. Never had they witnessed such a flagrant disrespect of palace protocol, particularly within the sanctity of a princess's private residence.
Nan Fang, relegated to the corner, fought a powerful urge to facepalm and then physically restrain the audacious punk. Couldn't he read the situation? Couldn't he sense the simmering tension before opening his mouth?
"Audacious! Do you know who we are—" one guard burst out, his face contorted with rage, a finger jabbing accusingly at the smirking Dan Zhang.
"Hey, brother," Dan Zhang interrupted, waving a dismissive hand. "You don't just waltz into someone's territory and act all smug. Would you tolerate someone acting all important and pretentiously superior in your territory?"
"You... you..." The guard sputtered, his face now a dangerous shade of crimson. He lunged forward, his hand instinctively going for his weapon. The other four guards, their fury mirrored in their eyes, simultaneously gripped the hilts of their swords.
Before Dan Zhang could react, before the situation could escalate into a full-blown brawl, the chamber door slid open. A maid, her hair neatly styled in buns, stood framed in the doorway, her presence an unexpected, timely intervention.
"Disrespect to my subordinates is disrespect to me," the Empress stated, her voice calm yet edged with steel. Her gaze never wavered, pinning Dan Zhang where he knelt.
Dan Zhang, still on his knees, lowered his head slightly — not out of fear, but out of a measured respect for her station. His dark blue cloak brushed the floor as he took a deliberate breath.
"My apologies, Your Majesty," he began, his tone steady but thoughtful. "But if someone enters another's territory to assert dominance and control, is that not a blatant disrespect in itself?"
He paused, letting the silence stretch between them like a drawn blade. Then, more softly but with conviction: "And if one bows before such an intrusion… would that not make them seem weak — perhaps even useless and cowardly?"
The Empress's eyes narrowed — not in immediate anger, but in consideration, a flicker of something akin to intrigue.
"You speak boldly for a man kneeling before a empress," she observed, a faint smile ghosting her lips. "But courage and insolence share a very thin border. Be careful which side you stand on."
Dan Zhang met her gaze, unflinching. "Then I trust Your Majesty will know which side I stand on — when the time comes."
The Empress's smile deepened, amused and intrigued all at once.
Before Ming Mian could continue, Dan Zhang kowtowed again, his voice ringing with theatrical sincerity.
"Her Majesty is magnanimous and considerate, truly befitting the Empress of Great Wei."
Liling allowed a faint, approving smile to touch her lips.
"But," Dan Zhang continued, his voice now imbued with a tremor of manufactured emotion,
"I am nothing but a lowly servant, unworthy of Her Majesty's attention. And Princess Liguan is more than merely my mistress; she is my benefactor." He paused, letting the weight of the word hang in the air.
"I am forever indebted to her, and so," he finished, his voice firm despite the feigned tremor, "I must politely refuse to join Her Majesty's servitude."
The chamber fell silent. Liling's carefully composed expression crumbled, replaced by a flash of stunned disbelief. Ming Han, Liguan and Ehuhng, who had been watching, were equally stunned. Liling's face, however, darkened considerably, the earlier faint smile vanishing as she fully grasped the audacious, yet moving among the ranks of servitude, especially within the households of the highest members of the imperial family, was considered an immense honor and a boastful privilege. Yet, this brazen youth, this "brat," had just refused her. His skill at flattery and calculated humility—his "brown-nosing skills"—were impeccable, making the refusal sting all the more.
"Very well, don't regret it" the Empress replied, her voice carefully indifferent, masking the sharp edge of her displeasure. She would not let him see how his refusal had annoyed her.