The day the young prince rode off to war, the palace held its breath.
The Third Prince, barely more than a boy, had begged for the honor to fight — to prove himself worthy in a court where every move was shadowed by politics, favoritism, and unspoken rules. The Emperor allowed it, not with joy, but with cold silence.
Lady Qingyu said nothing.
She stood by the courtyard pillars, pale hands clenched beneath her sleeves, watching him mount his horse with proud eyes and a trembling heart. She did not cry, not in front of him — but later that night, when his figure had vanished beyond the gates, her silent sobs echoed through the marble halls she had once walked alone.
"He's just a child…" she whispered, over and over to the empty room, her voice breaking for the first time in years.
The Emperor heard of it.
His ministers said little — some thought he'd sent the prince to war to test him, others believed it was punishment for being her favorite. No one dared speak the truth aloud.
When the prince returned, bloodied and broken, carried in a cart and half-conscious from the battlefield, Lady Qingyu stormed the court for the first time in a decade.
Her voice, once delicate and quiet, rang through the halls like a blade:
"He is not your pawn! You sent him to die — for pride? For politics? Or just to wound me again?"
The Emperor sat silent on his throne, eyes fixed not on her, but on the deep bandages wrapped around the boy's chest. A part of him wanted to defend his decision. Another part — the one that once loved her, still feared her hatred — said nothing.
That night, he summoned the royal scribes.
"From this day forward," he said, "the Third Prince shall carry a title befitting his courage."
He named the boy "Prince Zhen"— 真王 — the True Prince.
Not for valor.
Not for politics.
But because he knew, deep inside, it was the only thing he could offer… to stop Lady Qingyu from hating him more than she already did.
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End of Chapter 13
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