The northern frontier burned beneath a sky of snow.
The wind was cold enough to cut through armor; even the ravens flew low, their wings heavy with frost. Rows of tents lined the ridge like bones, banners cracking under the endless gale. Amid the frozen silence stood General Mu Yun's command camp a fortress of canvas and steel where the empire's last line held against rebellion
Inside the war tent, maps lay pinned under stones, their edges curling from damp. Red ink marked the routes of loss and fire.
Commander Gu Shen stood at attention before the raised platform. His armor was scorched from the last skirmish, a thin line of blood still drying across his glove. Across from him, General Mu Yun tall, broad-shouldered, his black hair tied with a silver clasp regarded the map in grim silence. The faint light from the brazier flickered against his sharp features.
Beyond the empire's edge, the banners of the Imperial Army whipped in the storm, their crimson threads snapping in the cold. Snow fell in restless spirals, half-melting against the torches that lined the encampment walls. Beneath that fading light, General Mu Yun stood before the war map, his expression carved from stone.
"The western ridge has been secured," reported a lieutenant, bowing low. "But the bandits regrouped near the frozen valley. They've allied with the rebel clan from Bei an."
Mu Yun's gaze darkened. "Bei an dares to rise again?" His gloved hand tightened on the edge of the table. "Commander Gu Shen you will hold the position until I arrive. No pursuit until the snow weakens."
"Yes, General!"
The tent flaps stirred with another gust of icy wind. Outside, the soldiers murmured prayers to the ancestors, clutching their spears. The night stretched on, heavy with the promise of battle.
Far in the distance, Commander Gu Shen rode beneath a silvered sky, armor dusted with frost. His horse's breath rose like smoke as he halted atop a ridge overlooking the ravaged plain. Flames flickered below where the rebels had retreated into the valley, their banners bearing the black emblem of the Azure Viper Clan the same clan that had burned three border villages last winter.
Gu Shen's eyes hardened. " General Mu Yun commands restraint," he murmured to his second-in-command. "But this rebellion festers deeper than any storm."
Still, he bowed his head in obedience. "We hold until dawn."
Snow fell thicker, veiling the world in white silence.
Yet somewhere beneath that silence, something darker moved a whisper carried on the wind, of orders sealed not by generals but by the throne itself.
---
Meanwhile, within the heart of the empire, the Shoukang Palace stood serene beneath a veil of morning mist.
Inside, the Empress, draped in robes of pale gold and cloud silk, sat on her Phoenix throne Her eyes, deep as the years she carried, lingered on the flickering lamp before her. The scent of sandalwood smoke wound softly through the chamber.
He looked peaceful too peaceful said the lmperial physicians knelt nearby, heads bowed low.
"How long?" the Empress asked quietly.
The eldest doctor swallowed. "Three days, Your Majesty. He woke briefly the night before last spoke a word, then fell back into slumber.
Her eyes flickered. "What word?
"He whispered… 'North.'"
The sound of that single word filled the chamber like a breath from fate.
The Empress turned toward the window, where the plum blossoms were scattering in the wind. Somewhere, far beyond the palace walls, the war raged and her son dreamed of it even in his fragile sleep.
She turned toward the inner chamber where Prince Yong Qi lay beneath gauzy curtains. The boy was now eight years of age, but his skin remained pale as snow, his breath light as a sigh. The golden talisman at his wrist glimmered faintly, pulsing with the rhythm of a fragile life.
Her gaze softened. "It has been six years since heaven tested my son's line," she murmured. "Six years of herbs, of whispered prayers, of medicine so rare even the court alchemists dare not name it…"
The elixir's power is fading," murmured the chief physician. "Without renewal, the balance between life and death may..."
"Enough," the Empress said softly, yet her voice struck like a blade. "I know what failure means."
She stood in silence for a long moment, gazing down at her son. Her fingers brushed his hand still warm, still soft, as if waiting.
Then she straightened, and her eyes gleamed like tempered gold.
"Summon the masters of the Alchemy Hall," she ordered. "Bring me the ones who study strange and unique arts for the Southern pavilion the kind that can awaken what heaven chooses to sleep."
The physicians hesitated, terror flickering in their eye
"Your Majesty… those men were exiled for heresy. The Emperor....
"The Emperor sleeps in comfort while my son lies between worlds," she said coldly. "Do as I command.
They bowed and scattered, their footsteps echoing down the corridor
The Empress remained alone beside her son's bed. The lamps burned low, their flames quivering like frightened hearts. She knelt beside him, whispering in the still air.
"You were born under the red lotus star, Yong Qi. You will not die beneath its shadow."
As she spoke, his fingers twitched faintly and his lips moved, a fragile breath escaping.
"Mother… it's cold," he whispered, barely audible, then fell silent again.
Her mind drifted back.
---
Years Earlier…
The Crown Prince had been three when the first fever struck.
No physician could name it only that it was not of mortal cause. The Empress had wept at his bedside until her tears ran dry, until the Imperial Seer knelt before her and said:
"There is one way to keep his spirit tethered a draught brewed from the root of the Frost Lotus and the blood of the Phoenix Carp. But such medicine grants not life, only lingering."
So the Empress had chosen lingering.
Every moon since, the concoction had been prepared in silence by the Palace of Elixirs, sealed in jade vials and guarded as tightly as the Emperor's decrees. It gave the prince life but only barely. His body lived, his soul drifted between waking and dream, between this world and the next.
And yet, whenever his small hand twitched, whenever his lips shaped the word "Mother," hope returned to her heart.
---
Now…
A faint tremor crossed her voice. "I will not let my child die
As the attendants hurried out, she turned again to the prince's chamber. The curtains stirred faintly, touched by the morning breeze. The child's lashes fluttered once, and for a heartbeat, his eyes dark, lucid opened.
She knelt beside him, clutching his hand. "Yong Qi?"
and she was looking at his face the way is breath was breathing shallow and slow.
Tears trembled on her lashes. "He lives," she whispered to the empty room. "He lives… but the heavens grow impatient."
That night, in the forbidden corridors beneath the palace, the bronze doors of the Alchemy Hall creaked open for the first time in years. Lanterns flared one by one, casting long shadows on ancient stone.
A man in dark robes stepped forth, carrying a scroll bound with crimson thread. His face was hidden behind a veil, but his eyes gleamed with the same silver light described in old records
He knelt before the Empress and unrolled the scroll. Upon it was drawn a sigil a single lotus crossed by a silver flame.
The Empress's breath caught.
"So it begins again," she whispered.
The veiled alchemist lifted his head. "To save what is bound by twisted fate Your Majesty must be willing to unbind the heavens themselves."