In the Month of the Ascendant Dragon, the sky wept fire as the golden throne of the Celestial Empire was consumed by the ash of fratricidal war. The royal bloodlines, blinded by the blinding glare of the imperial crown, turned their blades upon one another.
So brutal was the carnage that blood drowned the steps of the capital city, and the battlefields grew thick with the iron of discarded weapons. Every prince who dared grasp the scepter perished in the fray, leaving the realm headless and fractured.
When the spring winds finally broke the winter frost, the Fourth Prince marched upon the capital at the head of a battle-hardened army of several thousand. By sword and by decree, he suppressed the slaughter, quelled the rebellions, and ascended the Dragon Throne—snatching the dying empire from the very brink of annihilation.
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Deep within the shifting shadows of a dense forest, the thundering rhythm of galloping hooves suddenly ceased as two riders pulled their reins in a sunlit clearing.
One sat straight in the magnificent, embroidered robes of the imperial lineage; the other sat with equal grace, clad in the simple yet unblemished attire of a noble traveler
The nobleman sighed softly. Reining his horse around to face the royal prince, a faint smile graced his lips. "Your Highness, our paths diverge here."
The prince, his heart heavy with the impending parting, looked upon him with profound reluctance. "The realm is newly won. Whither do you journey now, brother?"
"To the vast, untamed lands of the Great East," The noble replied, lifting his riding crop toward the morning horizon.
"The capital requires men of your brilliance," the prince urged, leaning forward. "Stay. I shall arrange a high office within the Secretariat, or perhaps—"
"There is no need," The nobleman interrupted gently, his gaze serene. "The halls of court have never held my heart. Yet, mark my words: should the empire falter, or should peril find you, I shall return at your first call."
Hearing this oath, the prince's heavy expression lifted into a smile.
"Farewell, imperial brother," the nobleman said. "May we meet beneath a peaceful sky." With a snap of the reins, his horse leaped forward, vanishing into the emerald canopy.
"Yu Jian!" the prince shouted after him, his voice echoing through the trees.
"Remember my words! If trouble finds you, the power of the throne is yours to command! You are ever welcome in my house! Do not let the letters cease!"
The departing noble merely raised a hand in a silent wave, never once turning back. Only when the last echo of the horse's hooves died away did the prince turn his mount toward the smoking capital, bearing the weight of a lonely empire.
Decades later, as the wounds of the civil war aged into memory…
The tranquil, incense-scented air of the Imperial Academy's archives was broken by hurried footsteps echoing down the stone corridor. A voice shattered the silence:
"Mo Lin!"
Inside, a young scholar was carefully cataloging ancient bamboo scrolls and silk texts. Hearing his name, he paused, shifting his gaze from a text on statecraft to the heavy oak doors that were flung open.
Another young scholar, wearing the identical sky-blue robes of the academy, stood in the doorway. He was panting heavily, his face flushed, yet beaming with unbridled joy. "Mo Lin! I have searched every courtyard for you!"
"Hao Rong," Mo Lin greeted him, a warm smile softening his refined features. "What auspicious news has brought such joy to your face?"
Hao Rong caught his breath, straightening his scholar's cap. "The academy examination results have been posted! Come quickly, a sea of students is already gathering before the bulletin!" He strode forward and seized Mo Lin's sleeve.
"But the Academy Elder commanded me to finish indexing these records," Mo Lin protested, though he was already being pulled forward.
"The Elder can wait, but grades cannot! Let us go!" Hao Rong deftly snatched the remaining scrolls from Mo Lin's hands, tossed them onto the reading table, and dragged his companion out into the sunlight.
Down in the main courtyard, a dense crowd of students pressed against the white stone wall where the school masters had pasted the long, red scrolls of the grading rosters.
"Make way! Make way for the top marks!" Hao Rong yelled, using his shoulders to wedge a path through the throng, dragging Mo Lin behind him.
When they finally reached the front, their eyes scanned the neat rows of calligraphy.
"Look there! At the very pinnacle!" Hao Rong cried out, clapping Mo Lin on the back. "First place! You truly are a peerless genius of our academy!"
Scanning further down, Hao Rong grinned. "And behold—I have taken second place. When my stern father receives this report, it will finally silence his endless lecturing!"
Seeking escape from the suffocating crowd and the envious stares of their peers, the two friends bypassed the plaza and walked along the high stone terrace. Above them, the gentle spring breeze rustled the willow trees, brushing against their faces.
Mo Lin walked with measured, steady steps, his hands clasped respectfully behind his back. Hao Rong strolled with a casual air, his hands cradling the back of his head.
Now that our school trials are conquered and the results are out, what path does your ambition dictate?" Hao Rong asked, his tone turning curious.
"The Imperial Examinations are about to begin," Mo Lin replied quietly.
Hao Rong stopped in his tracks, surprised. "You truly wish to enter the treacherous waters of the Imperial Court? Why would you want to do that?"
Mo Lin offered no answer, only a cryptic, knowing smile. Knowing his friend's unshakable nature, Hao Rong did not press further.
Instead, he chuckled and stepped in front of Mo Lin, sweeping his sleeves back to perform a mock, deep court bow—the kind a commoner would offer to a high-ranking official. "With your divine intellect, passing the capital exams will be easy. This humble student pays his respects to the future Lord Mo Lin."
Caught off guard, Mo Lin quickly reached out and caught Hao Rong's forearms, halting the playful reverence. "Cease this nonsense, Hao Rong. Do not mock me."
"When you are clothed in imperial purple and advising the Son of Heaven, do not forget this humble servant who shared your inkstone!" Hao Rong laughed.
"I hear you, I hear you. Now stand straight, and you are my class mate, not a servant." Mo Lin chided gently, turning away to hide his amusement, quickening his pace along the corridor.
"Hey! Wait for me!" Hao Rong called out, chasing after his friend's flowing robes.
As they crossed a covered pavilion, they spotted a senior figure walking briskly from the opposite direction, his brow furrowed in deep thought.
"Elder Huang!" Hao Rong called out softly, waving his hand to pull the old master from his reverie.
Elder Huang blinked, recognizing his two prize pupils, and steered his steps toward them. The young men immediately straightened and bowed from the waist, hands clasped.
"Mo Lin," Elder Huang said, his eyes crinkling with the profound pride of a master looking upon a flawless piece of jade.
Mo Lin bowed even lower in deep reverence. Seeing himself thoroughly ignored, Hao Rong pouted with theatrical misery. "Elder Huang, the way you gaze upon Mo Lin is as if he were the mythical He Shi Bi pearl itself. This disciple feels quite overwhelmed by the disparity of your affection!"
"You—you absolute scoundrel!" the Elder barked, his face flushing as he nearly choked on his indignation. He lunged forward, snaring Hao Rong by the crown of his head and playfully rapping his knuckles against the boy's forehead. Hao Rong yelped dramatically.
"Your mouth is an endless spring of impertinence!" The Elder raised his hand for another strike, but Hao Rong ducked and wove like a slippery fox.
Watching the familiar bickering that had defined their years at the academy, a bright, genuine smile illuminated Mo Lin's face.
"Enough! If I waste another breath on you, I shall lose my own sanity," Elder Huang sighed, smoothing his robes. Then, remembering his errand, his face grew solemn.
"Ah, I nearly forgot the mandate," the Elder said, reaching deep into his wide silk sleeve. He produced a sealed silk envelope stamped with a scarlet wax crest and handed it over. "This arrived by royal courier. It is for you."
Mo Lin broke the seal and unfurled the letter. As his eyes skimmed the elegant calligraphy, Hao Rong unashamedly leaned over his shoulder to peek.
"Lord Xiu..." Hao Rong whispered, his eyes widening. "Is that not the honorary title of your venerable father?"
He heard Mo Lin exhale a heavy sigh. As Mo Lin folded the letter back into his sleeve, the tension in his brow smoothed into an expression of solemn duty. He stepped forward and bowed deeply to his teacher. "Elder Huang, this disciple must humbly request immediate leave from the Academy."
"Granted," Elder Huang replied softly, nodding. "But may I ask what urgent matter calls you away?"
"The clan elder has issued a summons," Mo Lin replied, his voice low. "I am called back... to the ancestral manor."
Mo Lin then turned to look at Hao Rong. A sudden pang of sorrow touched his heart; their youth was drawing to a close, and their planned journey together was fractured. He called his friend's name, but the words of farewell stuck in his throat.
"Hao Rong..."
"Go," Hao Rong said, his usual playful demeanor vanishing, replaced by the steady gaze of a true brother. "The road to the capital is long, but we shall meet beneath the gates of the City."
Mo Lin nodded gratefully. "I take my leave," he said, offering one final, profound bow to Elder Huang and a nod to his companion.
"I shall see you to the mountain gates!" Hao Rong declared, stepping forward to follow.
But before Hao Rong could take a second step, Elder Huang's hand shot out like an iron talon, grabbing the back of Hao Rong's collar and hauling him backward.
"And where do you think you are slipping off to? The library shelves are in disarray, and I have a mountain of texts that require your 'unique' intellect to sort!"
'Save me!' Hao Rong mouthed silently to Mo Lin, his arms flailing in despair.
Mo Lin could only offer a helpless, pitying smile.
"Travel safely, my child," Elder Huang called out to Mo Lin with a warm, grandfatherly nod, before dragging a protesting Hao Rong down the western corridor.
"Do not forget to send a courier the moment you reach the capital!" Hao Rong's voice echoed off the stone walls as he was hauled away. "Hey! Old Master, slower! Your disciple is going to trip over his own robes!"
"Who are you calling Old Master, you rascal?!"
Mo Lin watched their retreating figures until their voices faded into the whispering winds of the courtyard. Surrounded by the sudden, profound silence of the academy, he turned toward the gates.