Perspective: Zhuge Su Yeon
For all that Zhuge Island — and by extension, the Zhuge Empire — was an isolated, inhospitable, and miserable place in almost every imaginable sense of survival… I had to admit one inconvenient truth:Even this forgotten corner of the Dao had its own privileges.
And, curiously enough, those privileges wore dresses — and had stunning legs.
The women of the Zhuge Empire were simply too beautiful for a land this cold.Not just physically beautiful — but a mesmerizing blend of skin as white as eternal snow, eyes so clear they reflected the gleam of ice, and a posture balanced between delicate grace and the ferocity of those who had learned to live in an environment that devoured the weak.Their beauty was the kind that fooled time — perhaps even Heaven itself.
No matter the season — even when the wind howled outside and snow covered entire mountain ranges — inside the palace walls there was always contrast: the cold beyond, and the warm temptation within.
Ironically, biology itself seemed to conspire in favor of temptation.On Zhuge Island, eight out of every ten births were female.The result? An empire of women.
The male population was so small that if a man decided to walk through the capital streets at midday, he'd draw more stares than a top cultivator in a tournament.Just breathing made him a rarity.
Now imagine that through the eyes of a young emperor — newly seated on the throne, with fresh memories of a past life in a world where even getting a "good relationship" required dating apps, dinner invitations, and the luck not to sound boring in the first five messages.
Here… simply existing was enough.
And the environment only made things worse.The constant cold, the isolation, the lack of any entertainment besides watching ice melt slowly on window frames — it was an invitation to madness… or distraction.
In that sense, perhaps I had to admit: my father, the so-called magnificent scoundrel — yes, the same one who vanished after leaving me an empire on the verge of collapse — might not have been as foolish as he looked.
I simply couldn't blame the man, even after giving him such a fitting nickname.The truth was simple:He'd merely adapted to the climate.
After all, the man had left behind thirty-four children — most of them daughters, obviously — and an even more impressive twenty-six wives.A full army of wives, concubines, and heirs he somehow managed to keep in relative harmony while still finding time to "govern"… or at least pretend to.
Truly, a man worthy of the term busy.
Coming from a modern world, I could only describe those numbers as absurd.Even Earth's royal families, with all their history of excess, rarely reached such heights — at least, most didn't.
But of course, my problems weren't solely my vanished father's fault.
Because even if I gathered all my brothers, sisters, and stepmothers in one hall — which, honestly, would be the political equivalent of lighting a bonfire inside a barrel of gunpowder — none of them could cause half the headache that a single woman in my life could.
My mother.
Elegant, stubborn, and spiritually gifted with an innate ability to disarm me with a single look.The kind of woman I simply couldn't say no to — no matter how hard I tried.
And as unfair as that seemed…It was precisely why most of my afternoons were regularly hijacked by her — all in the name of what she proudly called "the most important mission of an emperor."
"Find beautiful wives, my son. Ensure strong descendants. Keep the imperial bloodline pure. This is your duty, not your luxury."
Amusing, really.Of all the duties of a sovereign — war, diplomacy, taxes, rogue cultivators — the one my mother valued most was teaching me how to flirt.
I ruled an empire surrounded by ice.And yet, apparently, my greatest battle was surviving the heat of her maternal ambitions.
Which led me to my current predicament — one I could only describe as the ultimate test of self-control any man could face.
Imagine a parade where the most breathtaking, temptingly perfect women your modern world could ever dream of were gathered all at once.Now imagine that parade wasn't taking place on a runway… but in my imperial courtyard.
They were all there.Sitting, talking, laughing, exchanging glances seemingly designed to test the sanity of any cultivator with blood still running through his veins.
And the cruelest part?There was nothing vulgar about their clothing.No deep necklines, no gratuitous show of skin — after all, this was a frozen empire, and the cold punished carelessness.
No.The temptation was far more refined than that.
The dresses — if one could even call those spiritual weapons disguised as fabric dresses — were long, crafted from spirit silk interwoven with translucent threads so fine that when moonlight touched them, they sculpted the body's outline with near-artistic precision.
The sleeves flowed in smooth waves, gliding like mist over their arms, while the main fabric clung perfectly to the waist and hips — hinting at every curve with that exact balance between purity and provocation.It was the kind of clothing that revealed nothing… yet suggested everything.
Every step, every gesture made the fabric move in subtle rhythm, revealing silhouettes as if the cold itself had conspired to become their accomplice.Some designs carried silver embroidery across the chest, like frost blooming in floral patterns; others used crystal belts that accentuated the gentle line of the waist — a small detail, but a fatal one.
They looked like creations of the Dao itself — born solely to confuse the minds of men.
And the worst part?They knew it.
Those ethereal figures took turns in small groups of four or five, filling the main courtyard like a celestial tea gathering.They laughed, nibbled sweets, and discussed trivialities — and between words, their gazes flickered toward me.Subtle, but sharp as blades.
There was a silent game unfolding.They seemed to take turns — as if secretly agreeing on who would test my composure next.One would approach to serve me tea, another to deliver a silk scroll she would accidentally drop, and when the atmosphere finally began to settle, another would take her place.
It was a true battle against my own instincts.
With every smile, my mind waged spiritual wars worthy of entire philosophical treatises.And all of it happened under the serene gaze of my mother — who watched over the scene with the same dedication she'd use when selecting cultivation pills for the empire's future.
In the end, though, I always found strength in one fixed point within that sea of distraction: her.
The most dazzling and untouchable of all women in the courtyard.
She stood beside my mother like an untouchable flower amidst the snowstorm — serene, composed, and painfully aware of her own beauty.Her calm, steady eyes held a faint amusement, as though she found my suffering to be her private entertainment.
After all, she was my fiancée.
A fiancée who didn't seem to care in the slightest that every other woman present had just one shared goal that afternoon — to slip into my bed before nightfall.