As I rode out of Longzhou, I did not look back.
The wind was dry. The frost in the air felt like powdered glass, clinging to my gloves, my collar, the edges of my vision. Each breath scraped.
They say winter strips the world bare. I wonder if it also strips the soul.
The roads turned familiar again: long stone highways carved during the First Reign, flanked by barren fields and half-frozen canals. Traveling north felt like returning to the world, but I carried something from Longzhou that did not melt.
Not sickness. Not memory. Weight.
After fifteen days of quiet, the skyline of Ling An emerged through the fog like a mirage of gold and crimson.
The gates stood open in honor of the New Year. Red paper talismans clung to doorposts. Musicians danced through the avenues. Silk flags snapped overhead. Every rooftop glistened with frost and firelight.
But to me, the capital looked like a stage built to distract from the rot beneath.
Too loud. Too ornate. Too desperate.
I kept my head bowed and my eyes forward.
No one cheered my return. No bells rang for the Southern Watch.
And I preferred it that way.
My arrival was logged, recorded by half-asleep clerks in gold-trimmed robes. The guards at the inner palace saluted with the barest flick of the wrist. My name was entered into the ceremonial registry in black ink—alongside festival donations and livestock tallies.
I returned to my chambers by nightfall.
They had been scrubbed clean in my absence. The scent of plum oil hung in the air, just faint enough to unsettle me. My bedding had been changed. My desk polished. The fire already lit.
Everything in order. Too in order.
I dismissed the servants with a glance.
When the last one left, I walked to the mirror and waited.
For something to move. It didn't.
But I stared at it for a long time, searching.
I touched the frame.
My hand felt cold. Too cold.
The next night, I dressed in silence.
Black robes with silver serpents. A belt of carved bone and lacquer. My title scroll tucked beneath one sleeve. I bound my hair with a loop of iron, polished until it shone like obsidian.
I stood still for a long time before leaving. Not for reflection.
But to prepare my face. I must be more than flesh tonight.
The New Year's Assembly filled the Grand Hall with smoke and light. Nobles crowded the staircases, clustered beneath banners of crimson and gold. Court musicians performed a war song rewritten to sound festive. Servants circled with trays of candied plum and lotus wine.
But beneath the glittering pageantry, I saw the truth. Every smile was a mask.
Every toast, a test. Every robe, armor in silk.
The Emperor sat on the high dais, unmoving. He spoke only once each hour, his voice faint, his presence brittle. His eyes wandered to things no one else could see.
He had long ceased to rule.
He was a symbol now.
A gilded mask for a crumbling empire.
And in the shadows beneath the throne, just to the left— The Lord Protector.
My father.
The only true power in the room.
He sat on a stone-backed chair, no cushion, no ornament, flanked by scribes and guards whose eyes never blinked.
When the moment came, I stepped forward at the sound of the court bell.
A eunuch called out:
"Wu An, Prince of the Southern Watch, reports on the Longzhou matter."
I bowed.
My father did not rise. He didn't need to.
He only said: "Report."
I answered without pause.
"Rebellion has been extinguished. Grain flows again. The records of the southern granaries have been restored and verified. The merchant uprisings were driven by famine, not ideology. Temple corruption was purged. New rites imposed."
My voice was calm. Measured. Flat.
The report had been rehearsed, refined, and burned clean of everything real.
But still... I hesitated.
A second too long.
Then added: "Unusual phenomena were suppressed."
The Lord Protector's eyes narrowed, just barely.
"Explain."
"Local unrest rooted in superstition. Markings. Rumors of possession. Old shrine practices re-emerging. Nothing substantiated. I took action."
He said nothing.
The silence was not passive. It weighed.
He tapped once on the hilt of his cane.
Then:
"You burned three temples."
"They were unsanctioned, misused, and corrupted by illegal rites."
"You executed Zhou Fen."
"He conspired with foreign agents. And tried to replace court rites with private doctrine."
"Without authorization."
"With results."
The silence that followed was long.
Then:
"Watchers confirmed most of your report. But not all."
My jaw tightened.
"You will be rewarded. Commended publicly."
A pause.
"And reviewed privately."
I bowed low.
"Yes, Father."
He produced a scroll from within his sleeve.
"You'll be twenty before winter ends. These are ten eligible candidates. Vetted. Political. Capable."
"I'm not ready."
"You're not being asked."
I took the scroll.
My hands were steady.
My thoughts were not.
"Choose three to meet," he said. "And choose wisely."
"What if I refuse?"
He turned his head just slightly.
"Then you'll be reminded of the duty that surpasses your personal desire."
As I left the chamber, I felt a gaze on my back.
Not his.
Hers.
Wu Ling.
She sat among the noble consorts, dressed in white silk trimmed with silver and pale blue. A queen in stillness.
She did not look at me until I passed near the threshold of the throne dais.
Then, without blinking, she met my eyes.
And smiled.
It was not warm.
Not mocking.
It was the kind of smile you give a child who just stepped into a room full of locked doors.
I returned to my chambers alone.
Fireworks tore the sky into red petals.
The scroll of marriage candidates lay unopened on my desk.
I watched the fire instead.
When I finally opened the scroll, I read the names without seeing them.
I saw the shrine.
The ink.
The mirror.
The symbol.
And Wu Ling standing at the end of the staircase, waiting.
I set the scroll into the brazier.
Let it burn.
I will not bind myself to ceremony while she still walks free in daylight with secrets beneath her nails.
On the far wall, where ash had drifted, a faint shape emerged.
Six petals. One folding inward.
Let them dress the court in gold.
Let the ministers toast the new year.
Let the Emperor sit like a statue beneath heaven.
But I've seen the truth.
And my sister already knows how the empire will end.