YUN RONG XIAN (雲榮羡)

  Day 29, 4th Month of the Lunar Calendar, 6000th Year of the Yun Dynasty, Taishan Province, Tian’an Sect

  He said nothing. And that was, perhaps, the most dangerous thing of all.

  Since my sister’s imprisonment, the Emperor had become a man of silence. He was never considered emotive, but now his baseline expression had settled into something cold and controlled. But beneath that control was a rage held too tightly.

  The compressed kind.

  His disapproval didn’t need to be voiced. It hovered in the air between us, as tangible as smoke.

  The study had changed, too. Along the walls were new additions—rows of bows and arrows, each one in a different stage of construction. Some half-strung, others laid open to reveal their inner workings, sinew and lacquer gleaming in the morning light. A disturbing attention to detail.

  Evidently, the Emperor had acquired a new obsession.

  Not a pastime. Not a courtly diversion. No, this was something else—something methodical. Repeated trials, clear adjustments to form and weight. This wasn’t leisure. This was preparation.

  I watched the Emperor’s gaze linger on a freshly carved longbow, its spine still dark with oil. His fingers brushed it once, briefly, like a man assessing the edge of a blade rather than a piece of wood.

  I said nothing. Words only gave shape to the already obvious.

  “Yun Hui.”

  “Yes, Royal Father.”

  “The Imperial Autumn Hunt is approaching.”

  Not a question. Merely a marker of time. Despite its name, the hunt was always held at winter’s edge, when the land turned brittle and the wind unpredictable. The changing weather introduced just enough uncertainty to be useful.

  But the Emperor expected every detail prepared in advance. He expected. He demanded. He received.

  “Yes, Royal Father.”

  He tested the string of a freshly polished bow. The draw was too slack for any real use. He placed it on the table absently.

  “I presume the investigation into Hongchen City’s epidemic also goes well.”

  He shifted conversation subjects with the ease of someone discussing the rainfall. No indication of genuine interest, only the expectation of efficiency.

  “Yes, Royal Father.”

  He studied me for a beat too long. Then, a short scoff. A dismissive sound. He circled behind his desk, slow and deliberate.

  “Eunuch Sun, prepare a seat for the Crown Prince.”

  “Royal Father, I do not dare to sit before you have taken your seat,” I said.

  Still, Eunuch Sun brought a stool. He did not hesitate.

  “Sit,” Emperor Tai Quan said, without looking at me. Then to the eunuch, “It is starting to get cold.”

  “I will fire up the brazier at once, Your Majesty.”

  I sat—carefully. My palm ran over the cushion’s edge, confirming there was nothing hidden beneath the fabric. A blade? A needle? Poisoned pins? Nothing today.

  The Emperor remained standing. He retrieved a sealed document from a lacquered tray but made no move to open it. Light streamed in from the tall windows, white and sharp, unhindered by clouds. It was too warm for the season. My court robes, thick with embroidery and layered lining, clung heavy against my back.

  I said nothing. Even as the coal brazier flared, and the air thickened, I said nothing. The discomfort was a calculated pressure.

  He was waiting. That much was clear.

  And he wanted me to witness whatever would follow.

  So, we waited together—him standing, me seated, the air between us filled only by the hiss of flame and the methodical bellows of Eunuch Sun tending to the fire.

  Eventually, I heard steps.

  “Your Majesty,” they chorused.

  Grand Secretary Zhao, Grand Chancellor Deng, and Yu Haifei. Interesting combination.

  They repositioned themselves towards me. “Crown Prince.”

  “Oh, you’ve all arrived?” the Emperor mused, voice feather-light, as if their presence were a surprise. It was not. He had timed this gathering down to the final breath.

  Grand Secretary Zhao bowed low. “This servant apologises for making Your Majesty wait.” His theatrics were polished, but hollow.

  “Then what do you think should be done?” His Majesty replied.

  The Grand Secretary froze.

  “Eunuch Sun,” the Emperor turned, “I think Minister Zhao is cold. Fan the flames.”

  Eunuch Sun inclined his head and began stoking the brazier. The room was already stifling.

  “I should be punished!” cried the Grand Secretary, pressing his face into the floorboards.

  “Oh, really? Why is that?” The Emperor gestured again, and Eunuch Sun pumped harder.

  The Grand Secretary swiped his forehead of sweat. “Your Majesty, I should not be punished.”

  “Oh, really? Why is that?” His Majesty repeated, now barely disguising his amusement.

  Minister Zhao looked between me, the Emperor, Eunuch Sun. Then down again. “Your Majesty! I should be punished but I don’t know why!”

  “Mmm.” The Emperor wandered aimlessly, the image of casual indifference. He stopped. “Grand Chancellor Deng, how should he be punished?”

  Minister Deng bowed. “Your Majesty, I trust in your wisdom.”

  “My wisdom tells me to ask you.”

  Minister Deng hesitated. “I don’t think it’s appropriate.”

  “Are you defying my order?”

  “Never, Your Majesty. I would not dare.”

  Emperor Tai Quan looked down at his ministers as if they were something at the bottom of his shoe.

  “Face each other.”

  They hesitated.

  “I said: face each other.”

  Grand Chancellor Deng and Grand Secretary Zhao faced each other in what could only be described as uncomfortable.

  “Now speak. Friends should speak freely, no?”

  “Your Majesty…” they began in perfect unison.

  “What, no words now? Yun Hui, look at them. They had so much to say during court but now they’re mute.”

  They prostrated at that comment, begging for forgiveness. They understood. This wasn’t about justice or principle. It was about power. They had turned the court into a battleground and tried to use the Emperor’s authority as their cover. But the Emperor hated being used. Everything they wielded came from his hand, and he demanded remembrance of that fact.

  And all of this—every moment of posturing, each goaded word—was a performance for me. He wanted to know which one I would side with.

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  “Royal Father, your royal ears shouldn’t be dirtied by their complaints,” I said. I am not affiliated with them.

  The Emperor snorted. “You inherited your mother’s flowery tongue.”

  I knelt. “I speak only to serve you.”

  He touched my shoulder, briefly. “Of course.”

  Then he placed one hand on each of the ministers’ shoulders. “Of course. You were all just speaking to please me.”

  The words hung there like smoke. Grand Chancellor Deng flinched first. “Your Majesty, I return the Tally of Hongchen City.”

  “That is right. You should have done so long time ago.”

  People said the Emperor favoured the Grand Chancellor. They were wrong. He used the Grand Chancellor as a counterbalance to the Grand Secretary. Nothing more.

  “But I have a condition: Your Majesty mustn’t give it to the Blossom Deity, An Lingqi.”

  It was a fair conclusion to come to.

  The Blossom Deity was known for making miraculous cures. Given the escalating situation of the epidemic, the most likely candidate to weld the Tally would be her.

  His Majesty raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

  The Grand Chancellor ploughed forth. “Please, Your Majesty. No matter what, you cannot give it to her.”

  “Are you ordering me?”

  “Your servant would not dare.”

  The Emperor scoffed. “I think you would. You’ve become so bold to determine who should have the Tally. But it was never yours to give.”

  The Tally of Hongchen City not only gave its owner political immunity. It was also the key to controlling Hongchen City—the land rich in copper and tin. For centuries, it had been held by the Yun Household…only recently given to the Grand Chancellor as a show of the empire’s goodwill.

  “She is not loyal to the crown.”

  A pause. Then: “You presume to advise me on loyalty?”

  The Grand Chancellor stayed bowed. “Your Majesty cannot trust her.”

  “The epidemic began under your care. I turned a blind eye to your spies. Do not mistake that for ignorance.” The Grand Chancellor stared onwards, as Eunuch Sun approached with an empty bamboo tray. “Hand it over.”

  The Grand Chancellor bowed deeply, forehead to ground. “I beg Your Majesty to reconsider.”

  The Emperor plucked his bowstring idly.

  Eunuch Sun tutted. “You should know when to yield, Grand Chancellor.”

  Minister Deng’s voice was low. “If I yield now, it would be treason.”

  That stilled the air.

  Eunuch Sun broke the silence. “Please, Grand Chancellor. Raise your head.”

  He did. Slowly. And eyes passed by Yu Haifei. Then closed. He reached into his sleeve, producing a grey falcon-shaped tally, and placed it on Eunuch Sun’s tray.

  He had realised it too late—this was not about loyalty, nor about An Lingqi. The Grand Chancellor had withheld intelligence on qìjiàn—withheld it from the Emperor. That was unforgivable.

  The moment he chose self-preservation; he had lost the game.

  But there was another bird downed by the Emperor’s stone.

  “Your Majesty, may I be excused?” said the Grand Chancellor

  The Emperor flicked his fingers. The minister left with a heavy frown. Yu Haifei watched him go.

  By casting doubt on An Lingqi, the Grand Chancellor had insulted Yu Haifei, the grandmaster of Shuishang. And as a shrewd man, the Grand Chancellor knew it was unwise to make enemies at that moment.

  No one here acted in service to the state.

  Grand Secretary Zhao smirked. He had won—for now.

  “Eunuch Sun.”

  “Your servant is here, Your Majesty.”

  “I’m cold.”

  Eunuch Sun slapped his wrist. “This servant deserves death.” He began stoking the brazier again.

  “Minister Zhao, have you chosen your punishment?”

  Minister Zhao startled like a struck bird. “Your Majesty, I…” He bowed deeply. One might have thought he was a very loyal minister. But everyone in this room knew he was just floundering for words. Unlike the Grand Chancellor who earned his way to the top, the Grand Secretary had been handed a silver spoon.

  The Emperor chortled. “I was just kidding with you.”

  He gestured to Eunuch Sun, who doubled the bellows.

  “Have a look,” said the Emperor.

  The Grand Secretary lifted his head and gazed about, first at the Emperor, then me, then Yu Haifei, and finally on the hot coals. He adjusted his collar. “Your Majesty, I’m not sure what I’m meant to be looking at.”

  Eunuch Sun cleared his throat. Minister Zhao glanced at him. Eunuch Sun flicked his gaze toward Grandmaster Yu Haifei.

  Zhao Qingshan snapped to attention. “Oh right. Yes, Your Majesty. I think it’s too hot—”

  Eunuch Sun aggressively coughed.

  “—too cold. My brain isn’t working.”

  He faced Yu Haifei. “Greetings, Minister Yu.”

  “Minister Zhao,” came the calm reply. The grandmaster’s navy robe shimmered with threaded golden koi.

  Minister Zhao looked to the Emperor as if seeking instructions.

  The Emperor leaned forward slightly. The disappointment in his expression was unmistakable.

  Minister Zhao hit his head to the floor again. His usual silver tongue was missing. Evidently, the Empress hadn’t given him a script for such an occasion.

  “Today we will settle grievances,” the Emperor said. He gestured to Yu Haifei. “Begin.”

  Hi Majesty easily slipped into the role of mediator despite being the lead instigator.

  “Of course, Your Majesty.” Yu Haifei’s voice was smooth, rehearsed. “Shuishang Province has been gravely insulted by Grand Secretary Zhao.”

  He dropped a ledger at Minister Zhao’s knees. Minister Zhao picked it up and flipped through. “What’s the matter?”

  Yu Haifei spoke to the Emperor, not the minister. “Your Majesty, our alchemical research requires rare tools and herbs. But our funds have been…intercepted.”

  The Grand Secretary interjected. “They haven’t.”

  “Do you lie to the throne?”

  Silence.

  The grandmaster revealed his qi, attracting the ledger toward his hand like metal to a magnet. He snatched the ledger and siphoned through the pages, before landing on one. “One more chance.”

  Grand Secretary Zhao didn’t need to think twice. He grovelled at the Emperor’s feet. “Your Majesty, your servant has been wronged!”

  “I do have eyes, Zhao Qingshan.” The Emperor gave a practiced smile. “Grandmaster Yu, how shall we resolve this?”

  “I ask only for what was promised. Otherwise, we cannot contain the epidemic.”

  His Majesty nodded. A rare concession. But he hadn’t survived millennia without knowing when to yield. “Sounds fair. What say you, my beloved minister? I know you’ve been storing some gifts from—what was his name—Minister Shuo? And of course, Minister Sui. And didn’t Minister Gu drop by your quarters yesterday?”

  The Grand Secretary scrunched his face up. “This servant deserves death!”

  “Yes, yes, you always do. But I’m willing to waive it all if you pay for the debt.”

  Even if Zhao Qingshan handed over all his bribes and salary, it would scarcely cover a fraction of the stolen funds that had accumulated from years of corruption. The Emperor knew this.

  And so did Yu Haifei. How interesting. The grandmaster who kept aloof to monetary matters, found himself at the centre of an embezzlement case.

  “Your Majesty!” cried Zhao Qingshan. “You are driving me to my death. I cannot afford it!”

  “I think it’s not hot enough,” said the Emperor, flicking his hand at Eunuch Sun who was sweating buckets at the edge of the brazier.

  Zhao Qingshan looked about, then managed to flatten his body further. “Your Majesty, have mercy.”

  Emperor Tai Quan gave a passing glance but landed his eyes upon mine. “Here is my decree. Minister Zhao and his household will repay the funds. Dismissed.”

  Zhao Qingshan opened his mouth, but the Emperor continued. “Your children can help you.”

  Grand Secretary retorted, “They are young. Your Majesty cannot do this to me!”

  And that was his undoing.

  Youth was the most valuable asset an Immortal could possess. By describing his children as so, Zhao Qingshan did what any respectful father would never do: put a sweet price on his children.

  Of course, it wouldn’t have become like this if the Emperor hadn’t pushed him to it. But that was for Minister Zhao to learn of the consequences. If you rob the empire, you sell your children.

  Grand Secretary Zhao pinched his mouth, his eyes slightly teary. He then hunched his shoulders and slunk out of the room, barely offering an acknowledgement to the Emperor.

  Eunuch Sun gently returned the poker to the side of the brazier and postured himself in the courtesy manner expected for eunuchs. Emperor Tai Quan continued picking his nails.

  Yu Haifei stepped forward. “Your servant thanks Your Majesty for justice.”

  A grunt in return.

  “Your servant takes his leave.”

  “Yu Haifei.”

  “At your service, Your Majesty,” the grandmaster replied. His head was inclined towards the Emperor, and his tone sure and steady. But I could feel his watchful gaze on me.

  His Majesty gave him a curt nod—a silent message.

  Yu Haifei bowed and exited.

  Comfortable.

  Gleeful.

  Relieved.

  Because the act was done.

  Who would have thought that Taishan and Shuishang would form an unlikely alliance.

  This was the Emperor.

  This was my father.

  Yu Haifei offered me a glance of acknowledgment as he moved past me with silent feet.

  “You’ve been investigating that girl. Su Tang, was it?”

  “Yes, Royal Father.” Instinct. He had no intention of letting me rest. This entire charade had been a lesson.

  He tapped the marble desk and silenced stretched between us.

  I maintained a neutral expression. The investigation was meant to be a secret. But by now, it would be na?ve of me to believe that the Emperor didn’t have eyes and ears everywhere.

  It was just disappointing how easily people could be bought with the lure of wealth.

  He waited. Watching. I gave him nothing.

  Sometimes, I doubted that he had even sired me. There was no warmth or affection in his gaze or his voice. He spoke to me as a lord addressed their heir, perhaps even as a master commanded his servant.

  He collected tools of worth. And when those tools lost their gleam, their magnetic sparkle, he tossed them out; usually, in carefully and surgically divided parts.

  “Good.”

  It might have sounded like praise. But all I could hear and see were his hidden words.

  I could never lower my guard.

  I could only trust his punishment.