Xuanyin Zhou, the Emperor of Yiti's second legitimate son- a name befitting one who survived to become a prince.
Five years into his elder half brother's reign, Emperor Yenshuan, the empire groaned beneath tyranny and negligence. Many whispered of the need for a new emperor, though only in hushed corridors where shadows kept secrets.
Former Concubine, but now Empress Meiyun, who had replaced his mother, Empress Weiyan, was frivolous and grasping. Her faction consisted of corrupt ministers and purchased officials which filled the court and bled the treasury dry.
Xuanyin possessed his father's last will—the document that named him heir instead of the current empero. Yet many would claim it forged, merely a desperate bid for power.
For five years that he spent at the borders fighting against Jhogos Nhai, assassins had haunted him at every corner even to his tents and even into the battlefield itself. The will remained his final justification. His reason to fight.
His mother's faction, though diminished the last five years of careful elimination by Empress Meiyun's doing, still clung to influence.
His uncle, Scholar Qingrui, his mother's younger brother, had advised:
"Convince the Wenyang family to fight for you. They descend from the Amethyst Empress herself. They have maintained neutrality since the empire's founding—traders, scholars, the breeding ground of imperial officials. They balance power through strategic marriages. And they have a daughter."
Their most precious daughter remained unwed—not from lack of suitors, but because she had refused them all.
Her name was Feiyan. Nineteen, some say a bit older to remain unmarrued but she was.... Brilliant. Beautiful in the way a blade is beautiful—precise, dangerous, meant for purpose.
When Xuanyin met her, her dark eyes assessed him with the dispassion of a merchant weighing gold.
She was the first legitimate daughter of House Wenyang's head. The most intelligent, they whispered. The most difficult to impress.
Xuanyin—the warrior prince, twenty-five now, scarred by countless battles, victor of the Northern Campaigns—found himself unexpectedly nervous.
"So there will be civil war," she stated, pouring tea with movements that spoke of years of training. Not a question—a calculation.
"It's the only path to my rightful claim," Xuanyin replied, accepting the cup.
"All princes claim rights. All harbor ambitions. All dream of thrones." Her voice carried no judgment, only observation. "What do you seek beyond power?"
He met her gaze directly.
"Justice. For my mother's murder. For my father's poisoning. And to end my brother's cruelty before it destroys the empire."
Feiyan sipped her tea, considering.
"And how will you prevent the cycle from repeating?"
"I will take no harem. No concubines. No women scheming to place their sons on the throne."
"How... unconventional." The faintest smile touched her lips. "You'll face resistance. Harems serve political purposes—they bind factions, balance power."
"Not in my reign."
"Even without a harem, sons of the same mother wage war for inheritance."
"I cannot govern ambition. But I can raise sons who understand duty above desire."
She fell silent, her gaze steady as still water. Measuring. Calculating.
Then she rose with fluid grace. "Come. Play Go with me."
Not a request—a test. He followed.
They played in focused silence. She was formidable, her strategies subtle as silk thread. Each move revealed layers of thinking he struggled to match.
He lost the first game, and he knew she meant him to. Her moves weren't just clever—they were diagnostic. Each loss peeled back a layer. Not just of skill, but of character.
The second game he lost as well, though he lasted longer, beginning to understand her patterns.
The third game stretched deep into the evening. He matched her move for move, sacrifice for sacrifice. Neither gaining decisive advantage.
A draw.
She studied the board, then him. For the first time, genuine interest flickered in her eyes.
"Thank you for your time, Your Highness," Feiyan said, inclining her head precisely. No more, no less than protocol demanded. Then she departed, leaving him alone with the abandoned game.
He was certain he had failed. The draw spoke volumes—neither victory nor defeat. Suspended judgment.
Xuanyin had begun preparing for war without her. Without their backing. And now that it came, he couldn't help but wonder—was this her will, or her father's calculation cloaked in permission?
A day and night crawled past.
No word. No summons. No indication of their decision.
Then, as dawn painted the sky grey, a messenger arrived.
Not from Feiyan.
From her father.
The hall where they met was sparse, designed for business rather than ceremony. House Wenyang's patriarch sat behind a simple desk, his weathered hands folded, expression carved from stone.
Xuanyin entered with measured steps, offering a formal bow from the waist—the exact angle prescribed between a prince and the head of a noble house. Neither subservient nor dismissive. Precise.
The old man studied him with eyes that had witnessed three emperors rise and fall.
"You have our support."
Each word deliberate as a seal pressed into wax.
"You have our trade routes. Our officials. Our gold and grain."
A pause that stretched like a blade being drawn.
"You have your Empress."
Another heartbeat.
"And you have found your equal."
Xuanyin inclined his head deeply—acknowledgment without submission. A prince receiving an alliance, not begging for favor.
"House Wenyang honors us with its trust."
"Trust is earned, not given," the patriarch interrupted, voice dry as parchment. "My daughter has judged you worthy of the earning."
Xuanyin straightened, pulse quickening.
"She chose?"
The old man's smile was knowing.
"She chooses very little. But when she does, she chooses definitively."
The dismissal was implicit in his tone, but also something else—approval, perhaps.
He found her in the library, surrounded by scrolls of legal treatises and historical accounts. She didn't look up when he entered, though the slight shift in her posture acknowledged his presence.
"I came to thank you," he said, standing at a respectful distance.
"You have a throne to claim," she replied, eyes still on her reading. "Gratitude is premature."
"What changed your mind?"
That earned her full attention. She set down her scroll with deliberate care, finally meeting his gaze.
"The draw," she said simply.
He waited, knowing there was more.
"You could have pressed for victory. Most would have—pride demands it when facing a woman. You could have flattered me, courted me with pretty words." Her dark eyes held his steadily. "Instead, you played honestly. You met my mind with yours."
She lifted her teacup, studying the leaves at the bottom as if they held answers.
"That, Prince Xuanyin, reveals more about your character than any victory could."
A flicker crossed her face—approval, almost warmth—but she blinked it away. "And an emperor must be seen, not just obeyed."
He took one step closer—not presumptuous, but closing the formal distance slightly.
"And what did it reveal?"
For the first time, her smile reached her eyes.
"That you value understanding over conquering. That you can recognize an equal without feeling diminished." She set down the cup with a soft click. "Those are qualities an emperor needs. Qualities an empire needs."
She returned to her scroll, but her voice carried warmth now.
"Qualities I can respect."
Xuanyin remained a moment longer, watching her resume her reading. The silence between them was not cold now, but companionable.
As he turned to leave, Feiyan glanced up once more.
Their eyes met.
No bow. No gesture. No unnecessary words.
The faintest twitch of her lips.
A mirror of his own.
Not affection. Not promise.
Just recognition.
And between them, without words, an agreement: this was no union of comfort.
It would be conquest.
Together—or against each other.