The empire had won the war, but within its walls, another battle began.
The court gathered in the Hall of Ancestral Rites, the carved dragons on the pillars flickering in candlelight. The air was heavy with sandalwood smoke, yet no incense could disguise the stench of fear.
Their emperor had not appeared for three days. The people whispered. The generals watched. And the ministers, once cowed by Li Yuan's iron hand, now raised their heads like wolves scenting blood.
Zhang moved among them like a shadow. His robes were dark, his voice soft, but his words carried poison.
"His Majesty has fallen to sorrow. The empire bleeds still, though the gods have been driven back. Armies are scattered, granaries empty. And our ruler…" He let the silence draw out, eyes narrowing as he glanced toward the empty throne. "…our ruler clings to a dead boy."
Several ministers lowered their gazes, pretending not to hear. Others nodded faintly, their unease curdling into agreement.
Lady Qin's veil shifted as she spoke, her voice like steel. "Mind your tongue, Zhang. Rui was no ordinary boy. He saved the empire with his life. Speak of him lightly again, and I shall see you punished."
Zhang's lips curved faintly. "I speak only truth, Lady Qin. What is the worth of an empire if its emperor has lost his reason? Are we to follow him into madness? Should the people starve while he whispers to shadows in his chambers?"
The words struck deep. Some ministers flinched, others leaned forward. The fissures widened.
In another corner of the court, General Xie stood silent. His scarred face betrayed nothing, but his fists tightened at his sides. He remembered Rui's last gaze, the fire that consumed him. He owed the boy his loyalty, yet even he could not deny the truth—Li Yuan was unraveling.
Lady Qin turned sharply, her silken sleeves brushing the floor. "General Xie, speak. Would you call His Majesty unfit?"
The hall stilled.
Xie's voice rumbled low. "His Majesty is broken, but he is not finished. I have served him since he was but a prince. He has led us to victory countless times. I will not betray him now."
Lady Qin exhaled, tension softening. But Zhang's smirk deepened.
"A loyal general indeed," he said softly. "But one general's loyalty cannot feed the people, cannot rebuild our walls. Already foreign envoys test our borders. The emperor grieves, yet our enemies sharpen their blades. Will loyalty alone save us then?"
His words spread like smoke, choking the chamber.
That night, in a hidden chamber of the east wing, Zhang met with foreign emissaries. Their robes bore the colors of the northern steppes, their accents rough, yet their eyes glittered with cunning.
"The empire weakens," one said, lips curling. "The gods struck, and though they were repelled, your emperor's heart is gone. A man who cannot rule is a throne already empty."
Zhang poured wine into their cups, his movements smooth. "Indeed. That is why we must move swiftly. When the court fractures, when the generals waver, I will open the gates. Together, we can carve this empire as we please."
The emissary leaned closer. "And what of Li Yuan?"
Zhang's gaze flickered, cold as steel. "Let him rot with his grief. He will not see the blade until it rests in his heart."
They drank, sealing treachery in silence.
Meanwhile, the common people felt the emperor's absence like a missing sun. The streets buzzed with rumors.
"They say the emperor spends his nights crying at the shrine."
"They say he sees ghosts."
"They say Zhang now rules in truth, though no crown sits upon his head."
Such whispers reached the palace gates, spreading faster than soldiers could silence them.
Li Yuan remained behind closed doors, his eyes hollow, his voice hoarse. He clutched Rui's jade fragment, unaware that while he mourned, his court twisted into knives.
Lady Qin confronted Zhang the next day, in the gardens where plum blossoms still clung despite the autumn winds.
"You think yourself clever," she said coldly, veil trembling with her breath. "But I see your game. Betrayal reeks from you."
Zhang smiled faintly, plucking a blossom from a branch. "And yet the others listen, do they not? Even General Xie hesitates when he speaks. Tell me, Lady Qin, how long can loyalty endure when the empire itself begins to starve?"
"You overstep," she snapped.
"No," Zhang whispered, pressing the blossom between his fingers until petals tore, "I only wait. The emperor will bury himself in sorrow, and when he does, I will rise. Remember my words, Lady Qin—you may fight me, but grief is sharper than any blade I wield."
He let the petals scatter on the wind, his smirk cutting deeper than any threat.
In the shadows of the palace, General Xie knelt before the ancestral tablets. He burned incense, the smoke curling around his bowed head. His voice was quiet, but the weight of decades of service filled it.
"I swore to protect the throne. Yet how do I protect a man who has already thrown his life away with grief? Rui… boy, if you yet hear me beyond the veil, lend your spirit strength to him. For if he falls, the empire falls with him."
The incense flared suddenly, a spark too bright, as though some unseen force had heard. Xie's eyes narrowed. Perhaps the gods were not yet finished with their cruel game.
Thus, while Li Yuan wept for Rui, politics sharpened into daggers.
The ministers splintered. Zhang gathered allies in shadow. Lady Qin and General Xie stood guard, but even their loyalty could not stop the tide.
The empire had survived the gods. But now, it faced a battle more insidious: a war of whispers, betrayals, and ambition.
And in the center of it all, their emperor sat alone, drowning in grief—unaware that the vultures had already begun to circle.