The council chamber burned with torches. Shadows flickered across lacquered wood and dragon-carved pillars, as though the very ancestors leaned in to witness what would unfold.
Zhang knelt at the center, his once-proud robes torn, his wrists bound in iron. Around him, the court stood in grim silence.
Lady Qin's veil concealed her face, but her eyes were cold fire. General Xie loomed like a mountain, his scar catching the torchlight. And on the throne above them sat Li Yuan—the emperor, hollow-eyed, grief carved into his face like stone.
The silence stretched until Zhang dared to speak.
"Your Majesty," he said, his voice oily, still clinging to the silken tones of persuasion, "all I did was for the empire. You drowned in sorrow, the court floundered, and someone had to act. Without me, foreign powers would have—"
"Enough."
Li Yuan's voice cut through like a blade, though it was not thunderous. It was quiet. Cold. Tired.
The emperor descended from the throne step by step, his imperial robes dragging against the stone floor. His hands were empty—no sword, no scroll, no symbol of authority. Only grief.
"You betrayed us during war," Li Yuan said softly. "You bartered with enemies. You sought to sell our land, our people, our sovereignty—while Rui burned his life away to protect them."
Zhang swallowed. His mask cracked, desperation leaking through. "He was a curse! The gods came for him! I sought to preserve us all. Would you doom the empire for your love of one boy?"
The hall trembled. Ministers gasped. Even the guards shifted uneasily. But Li Yuan's face did not change.
He knelt.
Before the man who betrayed him, the emperor of the realm knelt—so slowly the court held its breath. He leaned forward until his shadow fell across Zhang. His voice was a whisper.
"You speak his name again, and I will see your tongue cut out."
Zhang froze. His lips trembled, but no sound emerged.
General Xie stepped forward, sword gleaming. "Your Majesty—shall we execute him here?"
Li Yuan raised a hand. "No."
The court shifted uneasily. Even Lady Qin tilted her head, unreadable behind her veil.
"No," Li Yuan repeated. "Death is mercy. Death is release. Zhang sought power, to carve the empire like meat upon his table. Then let his end be without power, without voice, without name."
At his gesture, soldiers dragged Zhang to his feet. His protests rose, but were drowned by the echo of iron doors.
"Erase him," Li Yuan said quietly. "Strike his name from the records. Burn his seals. Let his family titles be scattered to ash. He shall not die as a traitor—he shall live as nothing."
The ministers bowed, though unease rippled through them. To be forgotten in the empire was worse than execution. It was a second death, an obliteration of legacy.
Zhang's screams echoed as he was dragged into the night.
The court was dismissed, but General Xie and Lady Qin lingered.
"Mercy does not suit betrayal," Xie rumbled. "A sword would have been cleaner."
Li Yuan stared at the throne, his hands clasped behind his back. "Too much blood has stained this hall. Rui gave his life so the empire would endure. If I continue to cut down every man who stands against me, then I am no better than the gods who sought to purge us."
His eyes lifted to the dragon-carved ceiling. "I am finished with war."
Lady Qin studied him. "And what will you do, Majesty, when the next blade rises against you?"
Li Yuan's lips curved into something almost like a smile, though it was heavy with sorrow. "Then I will let it strike me. But I will not raise another sword. Not for conquest, not for vengeance."
His voice hardened. "The empire will be ruled with peace. Let the ministers plot, let the generals whisper—I will not play their game. I will not drown the world in fire to prove my crown."
General Xie exhaled, shaking his head. "You would be a pacifist, in a world built on blades."
"Perhaps," Li Yuan said softly. "But peace is the only offering I can lay upon Rui's grave."
That night, the emperor walked alone through the gardens, where plum blossoms fell into quiet pools. He held Rui's jade fragment in his palm, staring at the ripples it cast in the water.
"Did I do right?" he whispered to the silence. "I ended him without a blade. I gave him nothing but emptiness. But is that enough, Rui? Would you have wanted me to spill his blood? Or to walk away, as I have?"
The blossoms drifted. No answer came. Only silence, and the faint fragrance of flowers.
Li Yuan closed his fist around the jade, pressed it to his heart, and lifted his gaze to the stars.
The empire whispered of his choice the next day. Some called it weakness, others mercy. But in truth, it was neither.
It was grief, carved into law.
And so the empire turned a page.
The traitor was gone. The court simmered with unease. The people prayed for stability.
And their emperor—once a conqueror, once a warrior, had become something else.
A man who no longer believed in victory.
A man who only believed in loss.