Far from the clamor of battle and the restless winds of the western frontier, the heart of Great Lan pulsed with its own turbulence.
The Imperial Palace — the Dragon's Nest — rose in gilded splendor above the capital. Inside its vast golden hall, the court convened beneath the unyielding gaze of carved dragons. Incense smoke curled like silent whispers toward the high beams, carrying the weight of fear, ambition, and betrayal.
Emperor Lan Yuhang sat upon the Dragon Throne, clad in imperial yellow, the jade seal glinting in his hand. His expression was sharp, unreadable — but the air was thick with unease.
A voice rang out, steady yet tinged with outrage.
"Your Majesty," Minister Fang, head of Justice, stepped forward, his court robes trailing against the marble floor. "The Ninth Prince, His Highness Lan Cheng, has overstepped every boundary of decency and law. Only yesterday, he ordered the execution of a beggar whose only crime was staining his boots with mud. This… this is no longer princely mischief. This is tyranny. If left unchecked, the people's faith in the dynasty will wither."
Gasps rippled across the court.
Another minister — thin, severe, with ink-stained hands — bowed deeply. "It is not only murder, Your Majesty. The Ninth Prince squanders the treasury. Dice houses, brothels, endless banquets—he spends like water poured into sand. Already, the city merchants whisper that the royal family bleeds the people dry to sate one prince's whims."
A third voice joined, softer, yet heavy with sorrow. Minister Heng, gray-haired and weary, pressed his palms together.
"Your Majesty, the people suffer floods and famine. Yet the Ninth Prince plunders their grain to host feasts where food rots untouched. Heaven itself will not forgive such excess. 'When the ruler loses the people's trust, the dynasty stands on broken pillars.' Your Majesty, please, discipline the Ninth Prince before it is too late."
The officials' voices rose like a storm — accusation after accusation, a tide that would not relent.
But upon the throne, Emperor Lan Yuhang's face darkened, storm clouds gathering in his eyes. With a sudden sweep of his arm, the memorial scrolls scattered to the floor, parchment rustling like broken wings.
"Enough!" The emperor's roar silenced the hall. "You dare paint my son as a monster? Cheng is young, spirited, unrefined — but a monster? You call him tyrant? Fools!"
The court fell to its knees as his fury rolled through the chamber.
"He is my son!" The emperor's gaze blazed. "My blood! Have you all forgotten? 'A dragon begets a dragon, a phoenix a phoenix'! Do you think a prince of Great Lan would stoop to the level of petty cruelty you claim? No — you twist rumors into daggers, seeking to drive a wedge between me and my son."
Silence.
Emperor Lan Yuhang's glare fixed on one trembling minister. "Minister Heng! Did you not hear my order yesterday? I asked you to audit the capital's taxes. Have you done so? Or are you too busy slandering Cheng?"
The old man's lips trembled. "Y-Your Majesty, I… I have begun, but—"
"No excuses!" the emperor thundered. He turned sharply to the left. "Prime Minister Han! Tell me instead of the western front. Has General Gao Zian reclaimed the Western City? What of the morale of the troops? These are matters worthy of court, not petty gossip about my son's leisure!"
At the mention of Gao Zian, a faint murmur stirred among the officials. For weeks, word of his victories had traveled faster than imperial edicts — tales of his unyielding courage, his impossible discipline, his loyalty to Great Lan.
The Prime Minister, calm but grave, stepped forward. "Your Majesty, reports say General Gao Zian has indeed driven back the barbarians. The Western City stands once more under our banner, though at great cost. His soldiers call him the Iron General — unyielding as stone. His name spreads not only across the borderlands, but among the common folk of the capital."
The emperor's eyes narrowed. "The people… whisper of him?"
The Prime Minister bowed low. "Yes, Your Majesty. They say he is the shield of Great Lan. That where the Ninth Prince is feared, General Gao is revered."
The words hung like a blade in the air.
The emperor's hand tightened on the jade seal. He masked his unease with a cold laugh. "Hah. The people always chatter like fools. A general is but a sword in the emperor's hand. Without me, Gao Zian is nothing but a soldier in the mud."
Still, a shadow passed behind his eyes.
Before anyone could reply, a eunuch rushed forward, falling to his knees. His voice trembled. "Your Majesty — urgent news from the Western Camp!"
The court collectively inhaled.
The emperor gestured sharply. "Speak!"
The eunuch bowed.
"Your Majesty, urgent news from the Western Front! General Gao Zian has sent word — he vows to reconquer the Western City by the end of this month. He swears upon his life and the honor of his army that the city will return to the empire's hands."
The court erupted in murmurs.
"The end of the month?" one official whispered. "Impossible… and yet, if he succeeds—"
"If he succeeds," another cut in, "the general's name will eclipse even that of the princes. The people already call him the Iron General…"
The emperor's face darkened, unreadable. His voice cut through the whispers like a blade.
"Hmph. Ambition dressed as loyalty. Generals are but swords — sharp and useful, but only in their master's hand. Do not let rumors cloud your judgment."
But in the shadows of the chamber, eyes exchanged glances — ministers who knew that in the palace, there was no such thing as coincidence. A prince consumed by scandal, a general rising with victories, and an emperor clinging to his favorites.
Pieces on the board.
The emperor raised his hand, silencing all.
"Mark my words: Cheng is my son, and he will inherit my love. No general, no minister, no whispered rumors of glory will steal that place from him."
His gaze swept the hall, sharp as a hawk's.
"Disperse!"
As the emperor's command rang out, the ministers bowed deeply and began to withdraw, their silken sleeves whispering across the marble floor.
But once they crossed the threshold of the court, the atmosphere shifted. Backs straightened, voices dropped to murmurs, and like shadows creeping along the palace walls, gossip began to stir.
"Strange, is it not?" one minister whispered, glancing about to make sure no eunuchs lingered nearby. "In years past, His Majesty would scold the Ninth Prince endlessly. He was the most neglected of all the princes."
"Indeed," another replied with a scoff. "For years the emperor ignored him, treated him as a blemish upon the family. And now—suddenly—he defends him like a tiger guarding its cub."
A third man, older and more cautious, lowered his voice even further."Such reversals never come without reason. Perhaps the Ninth Prince has stumbled upon something… or someone… that pleases His Majesty. The emperor is not a man to act out of fatherly love alone."
The first minister let out a bitter laugh."Hah! Fatherly love? No, this is politics. If a useless son can suddenly become the favored one, then the winds of fortune in this palace are more dangerous than ever."
Their murmurs faded into the night as they scattered, robes sweeping behind them like dark wings.
Unseen from the high beams above, the carved dragons of the throne room loomed in silence, their eyes glinting in the torchlight — silent witnesses to the birth of yet another storm inside the Imperial Palace of Great Lan.