The Reluctant Prince
In the vast and ancient kingdom of Yuansheng, the royal family's influence stretched across all corners of the land. The court was a place of power and ambition, where every word and gesture was calculated, and every royal action had the weight of tradition behind it.
Prince Liang Feng, son of Prince Liu Shen, the younger brother of King Han Wujin, lived in the shadows of his family's expectations. It was a quiet life, one where his existence was dictated by the cold rules of succession. Because Queen Lin Meiyun could not conceive an heir, the law stated that Prince Liu Shen's firstborn son, Liang Feng, would be next in line to the throne. But Liang Feng did not want the crown.
While his uncle, King Wujin, held the throne with strength and resolve, Liang Feng had always felt a sense of unease about the weight of leadership. The idea of ruling—of making decisions that affected thousands of lives—felt foreign to him. He had never yearned for the title of king. His heart beat not for politics and power, but for something far more personal: poetry.
His father, Prince Liu Shen, a man of unwavering duty, had raised him with the belief that duty came first. The family's honor was paramount, and every royal was bound to it. Prince Liu Shen often spoke to Liang Feng about his future role as king, reminding him that the royal bloodline was sacred, and the throne was his destiny. It was a burden, not a choice.
But Liang Feng's heart did not belong to the throne. It belonged to verses, to the delicate beauty of nature and the fleetingness of life. He would often wander the palace gardens, seeking solace in the blooming flowers and the whispers of the wind. There, he would write. His poems were simple, humble things, filled with melancholy and a longing for a life beyond the gilded walls of the royal palace.
On one such occasion, Liang Feng stood beneath the great plum tree in the palace garden, its blossoms like pale pink clouds against the soft blue sky. The scent of the flowers filled the air, and he breathed deeply, letting it calm his restless spirit. In his hands, he held a scroll, a gift from his late mother, a beautiful calligraphy set. He dipped the brush in ink and began to write:
"The moon rises high, but the river's flow remains the same,
In the quiet of night, I long for peace, free of fame."
He paused, gazing at the words, feeling them settle into his soul like a quiet dream. For a moment, the world beyond the garden disappeared—the weight of his lineage, the expectations of his family—none of it mattered. He was free, if only for a fleeting instant.
As the sun began to set, a figure approached him from behind. Liang Feng turned, startled. It was his father, Prince Liu Shen, his expression stern as always. Despite the gentle strength in his eyes, there was no mistaking the pressure in his gaze.
"You spend too much time here, my son," Prince Liu Shen said, his voice low. "The kingdom needs you, and so does your future."
Liang Feng lowered the scroll and bowed respectfully, though his heart ached. "I have been thinking of the kingdom, Father. The people... their lives are bound to the throne. But I do not know if I am the one who should lead them."
Prince Liu Shen's expression softened for a moment, but only for a breath. He placed a hand on his son's shoulder, a heavy weight that sent a ripple of unease through Liang Feng's chest.
"You have no choice, Liang Feng. It is your duty. You are the son of a prince, and the law says that you will ascend to the throne after me. Your uncle's reign will not last forever. When the time comes, you must be ready."
Liang Feng's heart sank. He wanted to protest, to tell his father that he wasn't ready, that he didn't want the throne. But the words caught in his throat. There was nothing he could say that would change his father's mind. Duty, for his father, was sacred—unquestionable.
"I understand, Father," Liang Feng replied softly, though every fiber of his being rebelled against the words.
That night, as he lay in his chambers, the weight of his family's expectations pressed down on him like a mountain. He could not escape it, not even in his dreams. But deep within, a spark of defiance still flickered. He would not let his spirit be crushed under the yoke of royalty. He would find a way to live for himself, even if only in secret.
Days passed in the same monotonous rhythm. Liang Feng attended the court, listened to the discussions of generals and ministers, and learned the intricacies of governance. But his heart was never in it. He found solace only in his poetry, in the moments when he could be alone, where he could let his soul breathe free.
One evening, as the moonlight bathed the courtyard in silver, Liang Feng sat at his writing desk, the brush poised above the scroll. He had written many poems, but tonight, something was different. Tonight, his words flowed from him like a river that could not be stopped.
"The world will turn, as it always has,
But my heart will not bow to fate's grasp.
Let the kingdom's crown rest upon another,
For I am not meant for such a burden."
He finished the poem and stared at it for a long time. It was his truth, raw and unspoken, a confession to the world he could never share aloud. His father would never understand. His duty to the kingdom was clear. But for him, the weight of that duty was more than he could bear.
The next day, as Prince Liu Shen summoned his son to discuss matters of state, Liang Feng knew that his fate was sealed. He would wear the crown if he must, but in his heart, he would remain the poet—humble, free, and untethered to the world of power.
But little did he know,that destiny has a twist, for somewhere in a village, lived the true heir,and a day will come that the world will see him.