The Baiguang court was silent.
Not like the hush of reverence during prayers. Not like the respectful silence given during funerals or royal decrees. No—this was the thick, unnatural quiet that came before the breaking of a storm. A silence stretched so taut that any movement, any word, felt like it might snap the world in two.
Crown Prince Li Xuejian stood in the grand hall, cloaked in dark fur and obsidian armor polished to a mirror finish. He had not smiled in days. His gaze was sharp and still, fixed not on the marble floors or golden pillars, but on the map stretched wide across the war table.
The ministers stood at a distance.
They had already offered their opinions. They had already pled caution and patience and diplomacy.
And he had already rejected them all.
