The sun had barely begun to rise above the distant hills, casting pale light over rooftops and muddy courtyards, but already there was blood on the stone steps and an eerie hush in the corridors. The empire, though still nominally united by ancient seals and hereditary titles, was being torn apart from within—not by invading armies, but by the quiet blade of fear, suspicion, and betrayal disguised as justice.
In the North, under Luo Wen's Shadow
Luo Wen had emerged victorious. His legions had crushed the last significant coalition of nobles and generals that once dared challenge his rise. Cities surrendered, officers pledged loyalty, and the people praised him as the savior of order.
And yet, within the stone halls of power, a quiet terror began to unfold.
At first, it was subtle. A noble house arrested in the middle of the night for "unauthorized correspondence with external factions." Then came the arrests of officers whose loyalty was questioned—those who hesitated before responding to orders or who had once served in the courts of rival lords. Some simply vanished.
But soon, the purpose became clear.
Luo Wen had no intention of allowing the old aristocracy to breathe freely under his rule.
He ruled with discipline, with efficiency—and now, with methodical suspicion. The justifications were always clean, wrapped in the language of justice:
"The Yuan family funded the coalition. Can we really trust them to serve this regime?""Lord Hu allowed a messenger from Guangling to slip past his checkpoint. What else might he have overlooked?""The House of Zhao remained silent when rebellion brewed. Silence is complicity."
And one by one, the old powers of the north fell—not on the battlefield, but in their own halls. Some pleaded, others offered fortunes. None were spared.
Because for Luo Wen, victory was not enough. He demanded absolute consolidation. A future without risk, without threats, without whispers in smoky parlors or hidden letters sealed in wax.
Far to the South, in Guangling, Wei Lian Cast Her Net
Guangling still stood. The city that once belonged to An Lu had not fallen to external swords, but to an internal revolution. His death—officially declared the result of illness—left behind a boy, An Xian, and in his shadow, a regent cloaked in silk and steel: Wei Lian.
But she understood what her position truly meant. It was power… but unstable. It was a throne made of embers.
To secure it, she had to erase the memory of An Lu.
Her method was not as overt as Luo Wen's. Where he spoke of treason and conspiracy, she whispered of sorrow and duty:
"My husband passed from this world under mysterious circumstances.""There are those among us who may have hastened that fate.""And we must ensure justice for the sake of the child… for the sake of stability."
Thus began her own purge, as silent and brutal as that of the north.
She didn't target the powerful nobles of the south—she courted them. Gave them favor. Gave them opportunities. And in return, they helped her identify the remnants of An Lu's faction, those who clung to the past and whispered about "loyalty" or "vengeance."
Village magistrates, former quartermasters, temple scribes, even monks who once gave An Lu their blessings—all were rounded up under a single charge:
"Betrayal of General An Lu's final will. Conspiracy against the young heir."
The executions were private. The arrests were swift. Families were stripped of land. Names were erased from records.
Wei Lian's hand did not tremble. She wielded her grief as a weapon.
Two Regimes, One Mirror
Luo Wen crushed those who had once defied him.Wei Lian hunted those who once dared ignore her.
Both claimed the same cause:
"For unity.""For peace.""For the future."
But the people... whispered.
In a quiet village outside Guangling, an old man leaned over to his grandson as a group of guards dragged a former commander away in chains:
"Why are they taking him, grandfather?""Because once, long ago, he was loyal.""And that's bad?""Now it is."
In the northern capital, as the banners of House Zhao were torn down and burned, a young noble whispered to his mother:
"What have we done to deserve this?""It doesn't matter what we did. Only who we didn't serve."
Temples kept their bells silent.Bureaucrats signed without reading.Soldiers obeyed.Children were taught not to ask questions.
Because both Wei Lian and Luo Wen had learned the same truth:
Power is not inherited. It is enforced. It is secured. It is silenced.
And so, beneath the guise of law, beneath seals of jade and swords of bronze, the empire began to "purify" itself.
Not out of hope.
But out of fear. And ambition.