Location: The Imperial Throne Room
The air in the throne room was cold and still, heavy with the scent of old incense and polished stone. It was a air Feng had breathed all his life, yet after five years of freedom, it now felt thin and suffocating, like a tomb sealed shut for centuries.
He stood before the dais, the intricate patterns of the rug beneath his boots feeling unfamiliar. He was clean, dressed in the rich, heavy silks of a prince—a costume he had shed long ago. It felt like a disguise, the fabric itching against skin that had grown accustomed to simple linen under an open sky.
On the elevated throne sat his father, the Emperor. His expression was not one of a relieved parent welcoming home a lost son, but that of a sovereign assessing a returned asset. His gaze was impenetrable, calculating. To his right and slightly behind stood Luo Sheng, the First Prince, now the Crown Prince. His posture was rigid, his face a carefully schooled mask of neutrality, but his eyes held a sharp, watchful curiosity.
"You are finally back." The Emperor's voice echoed in the vast, silent hall. It was a statement, not a greeting. An accusation of time lost.
Feng bowed, the motion feeling practiced and alien. "Shé. I got lost. But I came back." He kept his answers simple, giving nothing away. The less they knew of his journey, the safer his memories of it would remain.
"Why are you so late?" The question was a blade, probing for weakness, for a story that could be used against him.
"I walked all the way here." Feng's voice was even. He saw Sheng's mask slip for a fraction of a second, his eyes widening in pure, uncomprehending shock. Walked? A prince of the realm did not walk.
"Shé," Feng confirmed, his tone leaving no room for doubt or discussion. He had not come here to explain himself. He had come to unshackle himself.
He took a steadying breath, the air still feeling too thin. This was the moment. The peace of the riverbank, the wisdom under the stars, the memory of Lusi's trusting hand in his—he gathered them all like a shield.
"Your Majesty," he began, his voice gaining a new strength, a clarity that had not been there five years ago. "I wanted to tell you something."
The Emperor's eyes narrowed slightly. "Go on."
The words, once unthinkable, now felt like the most natural truth in the world. "I want you to make the First Prince the Crown Prince."
The silence that followed was absolute. It was a vacuum, sucking the air from the room. Sheng's head jerked up, his composure shattered, his eyes wide with utter, unfeigned shock. This was not a ploy. This was not a trick. This was surrender.
The Emperor leaned forward, the only movement in the frozen tableau. "Why do you say that?" The question was low, dangerous.
Feng met his father's gaze directly, something the old Feng would never have dared. "I no longer desire the throne," he said, each word measured and firm. "And I don't want to fight with my brother for it."
He was not just renouncing a title; he was renouncing a lifetime of conditioning, of whispered schemes, of a future painted in blood and gold. He was choosing the open sea over a gilded cage. He was choosing her.
The Emperor studied him for a long, tense moment, looking for the lie, the trap. He found none. He saw only a resolve that was foreign on his son's face.
"Hăo de." The Emperor's voice cut through the silence, sharp and final. "Then from now on, the First Prince is the Crown Prince. You will get the decree tomorrow morning."
"Xièxie, Your Majesty," the brothers said in unison, their voices a discordant chord—one full of stunned confusion, the other of profound relief.
Feng turned and walked away, the weight of a dynasty lifting from his shoulders with every step. He felt lighter than he had in his entire life.
Outside the hall, in the relative privacy of the corridor, Sheng's voice stopped him. "Didi."
Feng turned. His brother's face was a storm of conflicting emotions—confusion, suspicion, and a dawning, cautious hope.
"Why are you doing this?" Sheng asked, the formality of the throne room gone, replaced by a raw, brotherly bewilderment.
Feng offered a small, genuine smile. It was the smile of a free man. "I just don't want the throne."
Sheng shook his head, as if trying to clear it. "What do you want to do then?"
Feng's smile widened. He could see it all before him: the endless blue of the ocean, the feel of a ship's deck under his feet, the sound of foreign languages in bustling ports. And her. Always her.
"I want to travel," he said, the joy of the dream infusing his words. "Travel the whole world on a ship. Meet different people, see different cultures..." He paused, his heart full. "With my little friend."
Sheng's stern expression softened, almost imperceptibly. The simple, unexpected humanity of the answer disarmed him. "You made a friend?"
Feng nodded, a world of happiness conveyed in that single, simple gesture. "Uh."
For a moment, just a moment, the ghost of the brothers they might have been, without the crown between them, flickered in the air.
Sheng gave a slow, acknowledging nod. "Hăo de. I will tell father and also prepare these for you." It was not quite warmth, but it was an offer. A truce.
"Xièxie, gege," Feng said.
He walked away, leaving his brother standing in the corridor, the heir to an empire, looking for the first time not at a rival, but at a stranger he suddenly realized he had never known.
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