The sharp command from Prince Lie Qin was a shield, his presence a clear line in the sand. Jie Qin, Li Qin, and Yue Qin retreated, their malice simmering beneath their feigned indifference. Lie Qin didn't just stand there; he rushed to An Qin's side, his hands gentle as he scooped the tiny prince into his arms. An Qin, a three-year-old body exhausted from the day's play and the tension of the confrontation, simply nestled his head into his brother's shoulder, a weary sigh escaping his lips. Lie Qin carried him through the grand, echoing halls, away from the scene of the conflict and towards the private quarters.
"They are consumed by their own envy," Lie Qin said, his voice low and solemn. "They have nothing of their own, so they try to break what others cherish. You must never let them see your fear, An Qin."
Lie Qin took him to his own chambers, a space filled with the scent of polished wood and ink. He gently placed An Qin in his vast, ornate bed, pulling the silk blankets up to his chin. "Rest now, little brother," he whispered, his hand stroking An Qin's forehead. "You have played enough for one day. I will return to our mother after you have fallen asleep." Lie Qin sat by the bed for a moment, his fierce, protective gaze watching over An Qin before he quietly slipped out, leaving An Qin to the peaceful solitude of the chamber.
With the silence of the room, the exhaustion of the child's body began to recede, but the man's mind, ever-restless, sprang to life. An Qin lay in the quiet darkness, the words of his brother echoing in his mind. They try to break what others cherish. The sentiment resonated with the core of his being. As a man in his past life, he had learned that the world was a cold, transactional place. He had never been cherished, and he had learned to expect nothing. But now, he was a prince, a son of royalty, and he was loved. This love, he realized, was not a simple emotion. It was a currency, a source of power, and a reason for others to hate him. His brother's words, and the whispers he had overheard, began to form a coherent picture in his mind. The palace, the royal family, was not the apex of power. They were a pillar, but the true foundation of this world's order was a firm and ancient pact.
He started to see the world not as a king's dominion, but as a balanced system, where the royal family and the Murim world existed in their own distinct domains, never crossing over. The Murim Alliance, An Qin understood, was a powerful coalition. It was comprised of the Five Great Families and the Nine Great Sects, each a power unto itself. However, they had a sacred agreement with the royal court. This pact, forged by the founding emperor and the ancestors of the Murim world, was the fundamental law of the land. It ensured that the two great powers—the royal court and the Murim world—would not interfere with one another's affairs. The royal family would rule the people and govern the land, and the Murim world would manage its own internal conflicts and schools of thought.
The king, Jian Qin, was more than a monarch; he was the living symbol of this pact. He was a master swordsman, respected by the Murim world for his skill and power, yet he was bound by his duties to the empire. His strength was the ultimate guarantee that the Murim world would remain a separate, but respectful, entity.
Then there was the Unorthodox Alliance, a loose, chaotic collection of sects and martial artists who rejected the strict rules and traditions of the Murim Alliance. Their existence was a testament to the freedom of the Murim world, but their power was contained by the mutual agreement between the royal court and the Murim Alliance. The pact's rules were strict; it stated that neither the royal family nor the Murim world could openly engage with the Unorthodox Alliance, leaving the latter to their own devices unless they posed a direct, unified threat.
And looming over all of them was the Heavenly Demon Alliance. They were not a part of the pact, nor did they wish to be. They were the outside force, a dark, unified army with one goal: to conquer all and replace the current order with their own brutal ideology. Their power was said to be immeasurable, their leader, the Heavenly Demon Lord, a force of nature. An Qin realized that the harmonious truce between the royalties and the Murim world was not a sign of peace, but a desperate military alliance forged in the face of a greater, more terrifying enemy. The King's role was not to rule over a peaceful kingdom, but to stand at the forefront of a perpetual, covert war.
An Qin's thoughts drifted back to his half-siblings. Their small-minded cruelty and jealous fits were a perfect microcosm of this larger separation. Their resentment wasn't just about a broken toy or a lavish chamber; it was a desperate attempt to gain status and power in a world where everyone was vying for a better position. Their envy was directed at him and Lie Qin not just because they were the Queen's sons, but because they were the symbols of the King's favor, a favor that gave them a privileged, yet precarious, place at the heart of the royal court, a place the half-siblings could never truly attain. Their privilege was not a right; it was a position at the center of a storm.
An Qin looked down at his own small, helpless hands. He was not just a prince; he was a piece on a grand chessboard, a pawn to be guarded and used to secure the peace. His life was not his own, but a part of a much larger, deadlier game. His own survival was now inextricably linked to the survival of the pact itself. He had been reborn not into a royal family, but into a war, and he had just taken his first step onto the battlefield.