The Hall of Eternal Light was drenched in the fragrance of sandalwood and bitter herbs. Dozens of bronze censers hissed with smoke, their coils rising to vanish among painted rafters where dragons and phoenixes danced in fading gold. Outside, the autumn winds rattled the palace banners like restless spirits, but within the hall the silence was so heavy it seemed to crush the very breath from the courtiers gathered there.
Upon the dragon bed, Emperor Du Mingzhao lay wan and diminished. Once the fiercest sovereign of the Du Dynasty, whose voice could send armies thundering across the plains, he now breathed shallowly, lips cracked and pale. Poison had eaten away his strength from within, leaving only a husk where once had been fire. His eyes, once sharp as steel, flickered faintly, like embers clinging to life.
At his bedside knelt Duan Shixuan, Chancellor of the Realm. He was in his thirty-fourth year, but war had carved him far beyond his age. Sleepless nights in command tents, months in prison under false accusations, years spent marching at the head of soldiers — all had weathered him into something older than time. His temples were streaked with early gray, his shoulders bowed with the ache of old wounds, his skin darkened by relentless sun and frost. Yet his back was still straight, his bearing as unyielding as stone.
"Shixuan…" The emperor's voice rasped like dry reeds in the wind. With a trembling hand, he dismissed attendants and eunuchs with a flick of his fingers. All withdrew except for one figure who lingered behind a gauze curtain: the princess Du Lianhua, only sixteen, her slender shadow standing silent and tense.
The emperor clutched the chancellor's wrist with surprising strength, forcing his dim eyes to sharpen. "You… have stood against treachery, rallied banners when I could not. You led the realm through storm when all others betrayed me. The Du Dynasty breathes still because of you."
Shixuan lowered his head until his forehead touched the tiles. "This servant has done no more than duty, Your Majesty. So long as I draw breath, I will shield this dynasty."
The emperor coughed violently, crimson flecking his lips. When he regained his voice, his gaze shifted toward the faint silhouette of the princess. His tone softened with pain and hesitation. "Lianhua… my only daughter. She is bright, but untested. Pride burns in her heart, yet the Mandate of Heaven is heavier than pride. I fear she will be crushed… or consume the throne in fire."
His eyes closed for a long moment, as though gathering the last of his life into one decree. When they opened again, they were steady.
"Shixuan. Not only the throne I entrust to you, but also her hand. You shall be her husband. Protect her as sovereign, as wife, as the last blood of Du."
The words struck like thunder. Behind the curtain, Lianhua's breath caught audibly. Her slender fingers dug into her sleeve until her nails broke the skin. Marriage? To him? To the weary soldier who had stood always like a wall between her and freedom? A chain disguised as honor.
Duan Shixuan's heart clenched. He had braved battle without fear, but this command left him stricken. Marriage into the imperial line was not a reward but a sentence — binding him forever to the throne he had sworn to protect. Yet to refuse was impossible. With forehead pressed hard against the floor, he answered hoarsely, "This servant obeys. I will guard her life and honor as I guard the empire."
The emperor's lips quivered with the ghost of a smile before hardening again. His voice sank, heavy as an edict inscribed on stone. "One more vow, Shixuan. Give her one hundred chances. If she falters, guide her. If she fails, forgive her. But if, after a hundred chances, she proves unworthy — then you must leave. Withdraw your hand from this throne. Let Heaven reclaim what it has given."
The weight of the vow crushed him. Duan Shixuan bowed lower, his body trembling. "By Heaven and Earth, by my blood and honor, I swear: I will give her one hundred chances."
Behind the curtain, Du Lianhua bit her lip until blood welled. One hundred chances? Father did not trust her. He had tied her to a man she did not choose, then weighed her worth like a child's. She was not heir to be guided, she was a burden to be tolerated. Resentment rooted itself in the soil of her grief.
The emperor exhaled a final sigh, his hand slipping from Shixuan's grasp. Silence fell, broken only by the toll of the great bell outside, deep and mournful. The dragon throne was empty.
And in the shadows, Du Lianhua's tears burned with fury more than sorrow.
---
Three Years Later
The Du Dynasty no longer trembled. Its borders stretched farther than ever, fields yielded twice their grain, caravans of silk and salt returned to the capital. Armies stood vigilant at the marches, their banners unbroken. Rebellions had been crushed, traitors executed, fortresses rebuilt.
All this had been carved through the iron service of Duan Shixuan. He had led campaigns without rest, borne the weight of famine and plague, quelled warlords and pacified lands. Yet at thirty-seven, his body bore the ruin of the struggle. His face was hollowed by sleepless nights, his step heavy with scars that never healed. The empire hailed him as savior, but he knew himself a man ground down, withering before his time.
Upon the Dragon Throne now sat Empress Du Lianhua, nineteen years old, radiant in vermilion silk embroidered with golden lotuses. A phoenix crown glittered in her dark hair, jewels flashing with each turn of her head. She had grown from a girl in the shadows to a woman who ruled from on high. Her beauty was a weapon, her smile a mask.
At her side stood Jiang Wenyan, the imperial scholar. Barely twenty-four, delicate as carved jade, he was famed for brilliance and elegance. He had passed the eight examinations at an age when most scholars still dreamed of recognition, rising swiftly to Zhuangyuan and into the late emperor's circle. Now, with whispers of old favors clinging to his name, he stood in closest intimacy with the young empress — her shadow, her confidant, her secret flame.
"Your Majesty," he murmured as the court assembled, his voice soft silk meant only for her ears. "The Chancellor grows weary. The empire no longer needs his grip. Why not let him step aside… or stumble?"
Empress Du Lianhua's lips curved faintly as her eyes fell on the figure kneeling in the hall. "Patience, Wenyan. He thinks himself my shield, my husband by decree. But chains bind both ways. Sooner or later, he will choke upon his own vow. I will be waiting."
From below, Duan Shixuan raised his head. His sharp eyes flicked toward the scholar, noting the soft smile, the silk robes, the uncalloused hands. He had known many enemies: rebels with swords, traitors with daggers. But this — the sweetness of scholars and courtiers — could cut deeper than steel.
---
The Audience
The jade court filled with ritual as rows of officials bowed low. "Long live Her Majesty, the Empress of Great Du. May her reign be eternal!"
Upon the throne, Lianhua raised her hand, serene as a lotus upon water. Her gaze swept over them all, then rested on the kneeling chancellor.
"Rise, Chancellor," she said.
He rose stiffly, bowing. "This servant greets Your Majesty."
Jiang Wenyan stepped forward with a scroll. "The Chancellor presents his report on the northern borders. Tribes have yielded, tribute flows, but the frontier remains fragile."
Shixuan's voice was steady despite fatigue. "I recommend additional garrisons. Without them, rebellion will return."
Murmurs rippled. More garrisons meant more taxes. Ministers shifted nervously.
The empress's smile was sweet, her tone edged. "Chancellor, must we bleed the coffers forever? Peace is built on trust, not endless spears."
His eyes met hers. "Your Majesty, peace bought by blood must not be squandered on illusions. If we falter, we invite knives in the dark."
Her smile stiffened. "And yet the people groan. Must they bleed for your caution?"
Before he could answer, Wenyan spoke, smooth as a reed flute. "If I may — perhaps wisdom may serve where swords would only weary us. Men of letters to govern, so steel need not be drawn."
The empress's gaze softened toward him. "Well said. Chancellor, wisdom must temper strength. You will consider this."
Shixuan bowed again, though his jaw clenched. "As Your Majesty commands."
But in his heart, he marked another tally.
---
Whispers in Shadow
After court, ministers clustered like ravens. Zhao Jingde, elder statesman with a beard white as frost, whispered, "Did you see? The phoenix spreads her wings. The Chancellor bends, but unwillingly. This balance cannot last."
Another murmured, "But the generals love him. The people call him savior."
Zhao's lips curved thinly. "Then let him crumble first. We will see if the empress can stand alone."
At the edge, Jiang Wenyan lingered, his silence more dangerous than words. He did not need to urge them; they bent toward him as trees toward sunlight.
---
One Man's Secret
That night, in his study, Duan Shixuan sat before candlelight, scrolls scattered. His hand touched a small bamboo slip, worn smooth. Upon it, he had carved strokes, tally marks, his silent ledger.
Ninety-nine.
Ninety-nine times he had given her a chance.
When she faltered before generals, he spoke to shield her.
When her decree emptied granaries, he covered the loss with his own stores.
When rebellion spread and she hesitated to act, he took the burden of slaughter.
Ninety-nine times.
Only one mark remained uncut.
No one knew. Not the empress, not the ministers, not even the late emperor, whose soul still believed his vow untouched.
Shixuan's hand lingered over the bamboo. "Your Majesty… she has failed you ninety-nine times. But I have not. When the last chance comes…" He exhaled, voice breaking. "…may Heaven grant me strength."
A knock interrupted. His aide delivered a scroll — a petition signed by Zhao Jingde and others, urging withdrawal of frontier garrisons. And at the bottom, Wenyan's elegant seal.
A trap. If he opposed, he opposed "the people." If he yielded, the army lost faith.
The final chance drew near.
---
Phoenix Palace
That night, in the Phoenix Palace, silk curtains drifted with autumn wind. The empress reclined, hair cascading down, phoenix crown removed. Wenyan sat close, scroll open.
"They gather behind you," she murmured. "Even Zhao Jingde bends."
Wenyan bowed. "They heed not me, but Your Majesty. I am only the brush to your decree."
She smiled faintly. "The Chancellor resists. He is bound by oath, but he will never yield the army. Not while he breathes."
Wenyan's eyes glimmered. "Then let him stumble. A vow will not shield him from history's judgment."
Her smile sharpened. "He swore a hundred chances. How many remain, I wonder?"
Neither of them knew. Only Shixuan did. And the last tally burned beneath his hand.
---
Moonlit Resolve
The bells tolled the second watch. Duan Shixuan walked the colonnade alone, moonlight pale on golden tiles. His body ached, his spirit wearied. He looked toward the empress's chambers — his sovereign, his wife, his burden.
Ninety-nine gone. One remains.
He closed his eyes. When the last chance comes… would he keep his vow? Or break it, and let the dynasty fall?
Far away, laughter drifted faintly from the Phoenix Palace, bright and youthful, untouched by vows.
The Chancellor walked on in silence, knowing the final chance had already begun.