The great hall of Heaven Battling State was cloaked in oppressive silence. The towering pillars painted in gold seemed to lean inward, pressing upon the rows of ministers who sat with their heads bowed.
The emperor, clad in his black dragon robe, sat on the high throne. His eyes were calm, his posture regal, yet beneath that serenity lingered a faint shadow—an emperor carrying the weight of grief and helplessness.
"If there is nothing else," his voice rang across the hall, steady yet cold, "then you may withdraw."
Just as the ministers prepared to bow and take their leave, a figure rose. Prime Minister Li Linfu, who had sat calmly for most of the session, clasped his hands and spoke, his tone respectful yet unyielding.
"Your majesty… although the princess has disappointed us, she is still a war god nurtured by our empire's hands. We cannot allow her to depart freely with such knowledge in her grasp."
The words cut through the hall like a blade. Heads turned sharply. Faces stiffened. Even the most hardened officials trembled inwardly.
The emperor's eyes narrowed, cold light flickering within them. "Prime Minister," his voice dropped to a deadly whisper, "do you believe yourself more suited to rule than I?"
A silence heavy enough to crush a man's chest fell.
"This lowly servant dares not," Li Linfu answered evenly, his back straight, his gaze unwavering. "I only remind your majesty that the wellbeing of the kingdom must come first. If the marriage alliance is successful, then the Qin State will gain two war gods. Such an outcome will be disastrous for us. I beg your majesty to reconsider."
The court shook with murmurs. To speak so boldly beneath the emperor's gaze was to walk the edge of death. Yet Li Linfu did not falter.
As though emboldened, the first duke rose to his feet. His presence alone silenced the chamber. Rarely did the duke involve himself in debates unless the matter threatened the very core of the empire.
"Your majesty," the first duke's voice was heavy with authority, "the prime minister speaks wisely. For the stability of the state, the princess should drink the Martial Dissolving Potion and enter the Martial Crippling Tower, to sever her path forever."
Gasps rippled across the hall. To hear such words from him—master of the First Prince, pillar of the realm—meant there was no retreat.
The emperor's hands tightened on the dragon armrest. For a fleeting moment, he seemed less a ruler and more a grieving father. His voice, when it came, was hoarse yet resolute.
"I will cripple her myself. There is no need for the Crippling Tower. End of discussion. You are dismissed."
At that moment, he seemed to age decades. His back bent slightly, his face lined with grief. The hall was dismissed, but no minister walked out in triumph. All of them knew they had wounded the emperor's reverse scale. And they also knew—dragons never forgot insults.
---
The very next day, the capital was struck by a storm of whispers. The beloved princess, the war god idolized across the realm, had been poisoned. Her cultivation was shattered, her martial veins ruined. She could no longer return to the battlefield.
The city mourned. Young men who had admired her fell into despair when the second wave of news struck: the princess was to be married to Qin Tai Jian as his first wife. Hearts broke across the capital, and discontent simmered beneath the surface.
Yet the emperor's wrath had only begun.
By noon, a scandal erupted. The prime minister's son was caught in the imperial harem—in bed with one of the emperor's concubines. The emperor himself stormed into the chamber and found them red-handed. His rage was boundless.
By dawn of the following day, the entire Li family had been executed. Their blood painted the execution grounds red, their heads hung on the city gates.
The court trembled. The message was clear: the princess was the emperor's reverse scale. Whoever touched it would pay in blood.
In dark corners of the palace, ministers whispered:
"How many lives will be claimed this time?" one asked, his face pale.
"Haah…" another sighed. "All know how much his majesty loved the princess's mother. Though he wore the mask of a cold sovereign, inwardly he treasured his daughter beyond measure. He personally taught her martial arts, war strategy—he altered fate itself to forge her into a war god. Forcing him to cripple her was like ripping out his heart. Do you think he will spare those involved?"
Another minister added gravely, "Years ago, when his majesty was only a prince, he nearly razed the palace in his fury. Many officials died. That was merely because they opposed making her mother crown princess. Now… they have forced him to destroy his own child. What do you think he will do?"
"You are wrong," the eldest minister replied coldly. "He is no longer the same. He has become far more terrifying."
A bitter silence followed.
"Let us wait and see. This show has only begun."
---
Meanwhile, in the Qin State, turbulence mirrored the storm of Heaven Battling.
Qin Tai Jian awoke to punishment. His body was lashed six hundred times a day for seven days. His flesh split, his blood dyed the execution grounds crimson. He was stripped of his military command, his war god title, and even his princely rank. Finally, he was forced into marriage with the crippled princess of Heaven Battling State.
Tai Jian bore it all in silence, his face cold, his eyes void of emotion. He had long expected this outcome. Yet when a decree came to demote his mother, stripping her of her position as queen, his composure cracked.
Mistaking a lion for a housecat because it is drenched in rain—that was the greatest folly.
The ministers and concubines thought him cornered. They clamored for his crippling.
But the Qin emperor erupted in fury. The court nearly fell into civil war as he defended his son. For Qin's emperor was known for his fiery temper, a deterrent feared across the land.
And his son was no less.
In the days that followed, Tai Jian personally challenged the princes. Two were left crippled, several ministers' sons were maimed. The court roared in outrage, yet the emperor merely watched with blazing eyes, pride hidden beneath his stern mask.
"Now that," he thought, as his lips curved faintly, "is truly my son."
By his side, the old eunuch whispered with tears shimmering in his eyes:
"The son of a tiger… is indeed a tiger. As ferocious as the father. A perfect example of the fruit not falling far from the tree."
---
The heavens trembled. Two states bled. And the fate of a princess and a prince—both shattered, both caged—slowly began to intertwine.