Yan Yue stretched and yawned as she pored over mountains of impossibly dull legal texts. The Qin Empire had a long, long history of bureaucracy, and a complicated legal framework with dense layers and thousands of years of edicts and precedents to untangle.

In the millennia since its founding, the empire had created entire fields of study dedicated entirely to its ‘rich and complex’ legal system. As far as Yue was concerned, once you cut through all the propaganda and patriotism, there was only one word to describe the laws of Qin—messy.

In the early days, the God-Emperor’s edicts were everything, but no ruler could account for every little issue, so of course he did what anyone would do and delegated responsibility. From that, came the Great Sects—the vaunted institutions tacitly trusted to enforce the will of the empire as they saw fit. Until they didn’t.

Just about as soon as the Great Sects were granted their authority, they started abusing it—trying to suppress their rivals while enriching themselves, all at the expense of the common people.

To gloss over a thousand years of conflict, the solution they reached was a hierarchical system of codes. The God-Emperor’s direct edicts overruled the Great Sects, who overruled smaller sects within their territory, who overruled the mortal communities they oversaw, who were then finally given the freedom to govern themselves as they saw fit—within the bounds of all of the systems above them.

Conflicts within these systems were common, and even expected, and resolving those conflicts wasn’t quite as simple as just choosing whichever rule sat higher on the order. The conflicts were seldom clear enough for a solution like that, with only part of a rule conflicting with part of another.

It was in those conflicts that the imperial family had found their place in the increasingly tangled legal system. It was the prime minister’s duty to resolve such conflicts, and though there had only ever been the one—First Prince Qin Yongliang—he could not handle every case by himself. Once more, he had to delegate, but unlike his father he was more careful in his distribution of authority. His appointed representatives were always members of the imperial family, and he hand-picked each one to serve a term of only ten years.

It was a clever system. The imperial family had very little to gain from the sects, which made them resistant to bribes and lobbying, and if Qin Yongliang was unsatisfied with their performance, he could simply choose not to reappoint them—far less offensive than stripping their rank.

And so, the empire had operated under that system, each new edict and precedent set by the God-Emperor and Qin Yongliang dutifully recorded and filed away for later reference by scribes and scholars.

For ten. Thousand. Years.

It was a nightmare. Yue had always known that the law was complex, but the more she read the less she understood. It was an impossibly tangled knot of conflicts, exceptions, and strange corner-cases that scholars dedicated their lives to unraveling, only to end up driven mad by the sheer ferocious depth of it.

Worst of all, it was mind-numbingly dull. Legal scholars weren’t exactly poets. They had been, in the early days, but as more and more of their time and effort went into just understanding the awful morass of imperial law, readability—or in some cases legibility—became a tertiary concern.

Yue leaned back in her seat and rubbed her temples, groaning in frustration.

“There has to be something here I can take advantage of. What are you afraid of, Yan De...?”

She was interrupted by one of her handmaidens stepping into the room and bowing politely.

“Lady High Arbiter, you have a visitor.”

Yue raised an eyebrow.

“At this hour?”

It was the middle of the night, and the number of potential visitors who would bother going through her staff but not get turned away was vanishingly small.

“Ah. Put on some tea, then. I’ll meet him in the east wing sitting room.”

The maid bowed and slipped away to comply with her orders while Yue stood and stretched. She could use a break anyway, and despite sponsoring his stay in Jiaguo she hadn’t actually had many chances to catch up with Zheng Long.

After briefly tidying up her appearance—mostly out of habit, really—Yue made her way down to one of the rooms she used for meeting private guests, where Zheng Long was already waiting patiently.

“Are you trying to start rumors, Zheng Long? This is the second time you’ve come calling to my private residence—and in the middle of the night, no less.”

He stood and bowed, scratching the back of his head.

“My apologies. I wish I could say it was urgent, but the truth is that I was just worried. Nobody apprised me of what happened with Shen Yu—not that you’re obligated to, of course.”

Yue sat across from him and crossed her legs, taking a sip of the tea that had already been prepared for her.

“You knew about that, did you?”

“I may be weak, but I am still a xiantian cultivator, and his aura is difficult to miss once you’ve met him.”

“I suppose so. Nothing you need to concern yourself over. Yoshika worked out a truce with him, that’s all.”

His eyes widened.

“Truly? I’m impressed. I never expected such influence from them.”

“They’ve come a long way from the subjects of your schoolyard bullying, haven’t they?”

Zheng Long averted his eyes and coughed awkwardly.

“Just so, yes.”

“How are you enjoying their city? It’s come quite a long way too, hasn’t it?”

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“I suppose so. It’s more urban than I’d like, but the people are very welcoming. It’s a little shocking how little deference they give towards cultivators—even a xiantian like myself.”

Yue laughed.

“You can blame our illustrious empress for that. I think she’d eliminate every form of hierarchy if she knew how, but her dedication to equality still shines through. Anyone can become a cultivator simply by joining the academy and being a cultivator doesn’t really earn you any special privileges. If anything, cultivators have less power here.”

Zheng Long cocked his head curiously.

“How so?”

“The academy isn’t just a school, it’s an academy, and the alumni are generally expected to contribute in some way. Joining the academy is free, but it comes with responsibilities, and the further one progresses, the greater those responsibilities become. Councilor Pan Zixin is a mortal, yet he has more political influence and fewer duties than Lin Xiulan—a xiantian cultivator.”

“That sounds so backwards. Even back in my village, the people consider my word to be above that of my father-in-law, despite the fact that he’s the mayor.”

Yue shrugged and took another sip of tea.

“You think it’s backwards because the empire is all you’ve ever known. Not that I’m any different, but I suppose it’s easier to understand a system I had a hand in creating. Really, though, did five years out in the frontier turn you into some sort of country bumpkin? I could put you up in one of the surrounding villages, if you like.”

Zheng Long chuckled and shook his head.

“I suppose they might have. There’s a certain peace in just cultivating the land and taking care of one’s community. Metaphorically, anyway—it’s actually quite hectic in practice.”

“Sounds like you’ve found quite a harmonious path for yourself—I’m a little envious.”

He smiled.

“Perhaps. I actually did visit some of those villages, by the way. I even ran into Xiao Chong—or I suppose she calls herself Yang Qiu, now.”

“Oh dear. Not too catastrophic a meeting, I hope?”

“It was...awkward, to be sure. Miss Yang seemed—I hesitate to use the word apologetic, but contrite perhaps. She seems to be constantly punishing herself.”

Yue leaned back in her seat and sighed.

“Yes, and it’s something of a problem. We need her to be an example for demons trying to overcome their natures, but she’s too busy self-flagellating to step up and show them how to be better. I haven’t seen someone so driven by self-loathing since I first met An Eui.”

Zheng Long frowned.

“Do you really think it’s possible? I don’t mean to criticize the nation you’re building, but the demons do seem like an extreme risk.”

“It is. Yoshika proves it’s possible, and though the method needs refinement, we will not abandon those people simply because it’s expedient.”

“By the emperor, you’ve changed so much I barely recognize you.”

Yue scoffed and waved dismissively.

“I’ll take that as a compliment. I wasn’t a very good person before.”

“It was meant as one. And I suppose I wasn’t either. We all have a bit of self-loathing to defeat, don't we?”

“That we do. And it’s much easier to do so once out from under the yoke of a tyrant who brings out the worst in us. If only I could find a way to rid myself of him for good.”

He cocked his head.

“Having trouble?”

Yue bit her thumbnail and frowned.

“A bit. I know why he wants me to marry you. It allows him to reverse his decision to name me his heir, returning full control of the sect to him and stripping me of the right to recognize Jiaguo as a branch of the Awakening Dragon—which is almost certainly the only thing that’s stopped the other sects from attacking us.”

“Right. Though I’m not sure why he doesn’t just disown you or something.”

“Aside from the fact that it would be humiliating? He can’t. Due to a number of very complicated coups among the early Great Sects, the laws around succession are utterly labyrinthine. His options are quite limited and most of them involve stepping down as sect grandmaster entirely. But what’s really bothering me is that I don’t know why he’s so worried about me marrying someone else.”

Zheng Long shrugged.

“If what you say is true, then it would mean he can never regain full control of the sect.”

“Hardly. He still has primary control, and if all else fails, there’s always assassination. As long as nobody can prove he’s responsible for it, my death would be a very tidy solution to his problems. Not only that, but my status as scion of a great sect means that my husband’s demesne becomes part of the Awakening Dragon Sect.”

“In other words, no matter who you marry, Yan De benefits.”

Yue nodded.

“Even if I choose to enter the imperial harem, Jiaguo would officially become an independent sect recognized by the God-Emperor, and my status as heir would be annulled. Near as I can tell the worst case for my father would be that I refuse to ever marry at all. Yet, if I assume that he’s not stupid enough to think I’d actually marry you, that seems to be his intention.”

Zheng Long scratched his head and grimaced.

“So he wins no matter what?”

“No. That’s just what he wants us to think. I have a feeling that there’s something he’s trying to avoid at any cost—something he knows that we don’t. I’ve been driving myself insane trying to find it.”

“All that just for a feeling?”

Yue crossed her arms and sighed.

“Yoshika has taught me that such feelings are important. Perhaps it leads nowhere, but it’s worth pursuing. In the worst case, I just go back to my Plan A of luring him into a direct confrontation with Yoshika—perhaps I can bait him into breaking Shen Yu’s truce...”

Zheng Long shook his head in disbelief.

“Your confidence in her is incredible. I’ll be the first to admit that they have a habit of breaking expectations, but with the way you revere her I’m surprised you don’t just marry her instead.”

“Ugh, why does everyone think I want to—?”

Yue froze, her eyes widening. There was no way. With a wave of her hand, she dumped several of the books stored in her dimensional ring onto the table, knocking aside the tea carelessly.

Zheng Long gaped at her in shock.

“Is that the same ring that—?”

“Shut up! Just give me a moment...”

Yue dug through the books, flipping briefly through each one in search of something to disprove the theory she was beginning to develop. It was too stupid to be true.

“No... Not this one... It must be in here somewhere...”

She began to grow hysterical as she tossed book after book aside, until there was nothing left. Yue sat back on the couch and laughed.

“I cannot believe it. What a ridiculous loophole.”

Zheng Long blinked.

“Um, care to explain?”

“There’s one case that is worse for Yan De than any other. Not because of any specific law around it, but because there isn’t a law. It’s that uncertainty he fears above all else—especially after Qin Zhao and Qin Yongliang have already shown Yoshika some degree of favor.”

“There is? That’s good isn’t it? If you play your cards right, you could establish a brand new precedent in your favor! What’s the trick?”

Yue shook her head and sighed.

“I’ll need to look into it further—there are a lot of peculiarities, and it’s an extremely specific scenario. There’s no end of provisions for what should happen depending on who my husband ends up being, but...”

She hesitated. Was she seriously considering this? Certainly she’d entertained the idea before, but there was a world of difference between confiding uncertain feelings with her closest friend, and actually taking permanent—potentially life-changing action.

“It seems nobody ever thought to ask about the female heir of a great sect taking a wife.”