Nobody truly knew what it meant for an empire like Qin to go to war. Officially, they never had before—with border disputes and skirmishes largely being the business of the sects, rather than the empire itself.

The empire did not have centuries of history fighting over territory with Yamato. That was the Great Austere Mountain sect, who controlled most of Qin’s southern border. It was not Qin who lost Kucheon—the city’s original name long since forgotten by most—but the Great Silver Orchard who failed to defend itself from Seong Heiran’s legendary campaign of aggression.

It was, in theory, the emperor’s sole discretion which could command the sects into action against a foreign enemy. A discretion he had never exercised. But there was nothing to prevent them from doing so at their own discretion. That it had never occurred was mostly a result of petty differences, infighting, and a single unavoidable fact that made a coordinated war effort nearly impossible.

Qin was massive.

It wasn’t quite accurate to claim that the continent had been split in two by Jiaguo’s unification of Qin’s rivals. The southern half of the continent was narrower and less densely populated. Goryeo’s population was crammed into the shield cities, while Yamato’s largest population centers were concentrated along the coastline.

Qin, on the other hand, was so large that the northern and southern parts of the country barely even considered each other to be the same people. The north was more insular, full of mountainous terrain and home mainly to wealthy cultivation dynasties. The imperial capital itself was in the north, and Yoshika’s impression of northern Qin was shaped primarily by the Yan clan and their Great Awakening Dragon sect.

The southern part of the empire gave way to more lush territories as the rivers flowed down from the highlands and supported great forests, lakes, and farmable land. Most of the nation’s food was produced in the south, and even the sects had a more rugged culture—at least by Qin’s standards.

Most of the people Yoshika knew from Qin were southerners. Xin Wei and Guan Yu—the first imperials Jia had ever met—were from the south, and in hindsight it did a lot to explain the differences between them and, say, Yan Yue or Zheng Long.

Such distances made cooperation between the sects difficult not only in a logistical sense, but also in an ideological one. The southern sects were far more martial—with the Austere Mountain even infamously selecting their grandmaster based on a test of combat prowess, rather than bloodlines as most did. The Silver Orchard maintained a host of elite combat cultivators dedicated entirely to rooting out demons and nascent fiends, and Sun Quan—their leader—was said to be among the strongest fighters in the world.

By contrast, the north preferred a policy of isolation. Northern expansion had stalled for centuries, with only the most desperately impoverished people daring to brave the treacherous cold and poor soil that plagued the northern frontier. The frontier, as they saw it, was the south’s problem.

That divide had built up resentment over thousands of years, and it was unlikely that anything short of direct imperial decree could overcome that history. Or at least, that was how Lin Xiulan explained it.

“In truth, if the princesses themselves have made such a declaration, then something must have pressured them to do so. Normally I’d have guessed Shen Yu, but you have a truce with him. Unfortunately, my husband is in no position to provide any insight.”

Eunae furrowed her brows as she traveled northwest across the wilderness with Xiulan. They were headed to Kucheon, skipping the roads in order to arrive ahead of the armies already en route.

“Are you worried about him? I feel bad for causing you so much trouble.”

Xiulan laughed, though her aura left an icy trail through the air as they flew.

“It was my own choice to move to Jiaguo, dear. I am upset, and yes a little worried, but I don’t blame you. Besides, Xin Hai and Guan Yu are strong. They’ll weather any storm.”

“Is it hard being apart for so long?”

“I still get regular visits from Wei’er. Hai...we’ve been together quite a long time, you know? You’re immortal—arguably even more immortal than I am—but you’re still young. You’ve yet to have the chance to grow numb to the passage of time. What’s a measly decade apart? I’ll see him again, soon enough.”

Eunae pursed her lips, failing to entirely hide her smile.

“It’s only been a little over five years, Xiulan.”

She waved dismissively.

“Tsk, why even bother asking, then? You’ll understand in a thousand years or two.”

“If we can even survive that long...”

The two landed at the edge of a forest, making their way back onto the road leading into Kucheon so that they could approach the checkpoint on foot. Xiulan smiled confidently at Eunae.

“I doubt you have anything to worry about. I heard about the feat you performed during your ascension. Claiming a tribulation’s power for your own is something even a grandmaster of the great sects could only dream of.”

“Maybe so, but I’m just one person. I can’t fight all of Qin by myself.”

“You are objectively not just one person, and I never suggested that you could. Only that whatever else happens, you will assuredly live to see whatever future unfolds.”

Yoshika thought about that as they approached the checkpoint at the edge of Kucheon’s shield formation. The city was in sight, now, and mage soldiers were already preparing to meet them.

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Lin Xiulan was only partially correct. Yoshika was certainly powerful, and she couldn’t allow humility to blind her to that. To pretend that she was weak was to neglect the responsibility that came with the application of her power. However, that power was not entirely intrinsic to her.

She had the Sovereign’s Tear, a limitless source of divine essence that constantly empowered her soul. She had the vault of artifacts from Chou’s tomb—powerful tools and weapons which she could use to reinforce her most trusted allies. She’d already started distributing them to key people within her inner circle.

More than any of that, however, it was her people that empowered her. Yoshika’s domain was Unity, first and foremost, and it was that unity which gave her strength. Her domain had expanded to encompass so much of the Jiaguo empire because of the people’s faith in her, as empress. If she failed—if she lost the war that Qin brought to her—then that faith would be shaken, and much of her power would disappear.

Could she survive, even then? Would she still have the power to fight back against the forces that threatened her and her people? Yoshika didn’t know, and hoped never to find out. After all, if she lost the people who gave her strength—what would she even have left to fight for?

As they arrived at the Kucheon checkpoint, the soldiers immediately kowtowed.

“Your Majesty! These unworthy subjects welcome you back at last to your true home!”

The greeting immediately made Eunae’s skin crawl. News traveled fast in Goryeo, even without Jiaguo’s communication infrastructure, so it was no surprise that they recognized her. It was the way they recognized her that rankled. There was a zealous fervor in the man’s voice, and in the auras of everyone present.

This was more than just a matter of recognizing their new ruler. They knew her—or thought they did.

“Rise, Magus. I do not wish for you or anyone else to prostrate themselves before me.”

The soldiers rushed to scramble to their feet.

“Of course, Your Majesty! Allow this worthless cur to take full responsibility for such a failure. I will submit to any punishment you deem necessary!”

It felt so wrong. The lieutenant wasn’t just willing, but eager to be punished for his so-called ‘failure.’ Not in the way that Ja Yun might be—bless her—but in a strangely twisted sort of patriotic masochism.

It was no wonder why Minhee had been so cagey about Kucheon, or why Misun practically spat every time the place was mentioned. Eunae tried to observe the souls of the men and women present for any signs of tampering, but there were none. They were just...like that.

“It’s fine, Magus. There was no harm done, I forgive you—all of you. I sent word ahead, but I’ll need to speak to the city administrator.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. Right this way, please!”

Nearly the entire garrison escorted her and Xiulan into the city, except a few unlucky scouts who drew the short straw and had to stay behind to man the checkpoint.

It was a deeply uncomfortable feeling to have so many people staring at her with such raw admiration. Yoshika was used to drawing attention when making public appearances in Jiaguo, and she commanded the respect of her people, but this was different. Perhaps because it wasn’t her that they were seeing but...

The statue in the middle of the city square answered the question that Eunae had desperately been trying not to ask. She knew the answer already, but she didn’t want it. Alas, it found her anyway. Nearly twenty feet tall, in immaculate condition, and so delicately carved that she could make out individual strands of fur intricately detailed into the nine tails of solid stone.

Seong Heiran, the Fox Princess. The tyrant queen who’d ruled Goryeo without ever taking the throne, whose gaze turned men and women alike into her loyal servants. Her aunt, who was much more closely related than Eunae had ever realized, and the one from whom her own power was inherited.

It was the first depiction of her that Yoshika had ever seen. She was often described, but few renditions existed—as though they feared that her bewitching powers would somehow be conferred through any medium that portrayed her.

There was no such fear in Kucheon. For the city had been created by Heiran. Snatched from the Qin empire by right of conquest, and transformed into her own personal playground.

She was beautiful, as all of Seong’s sisters were, her stony face gazing down lovingly at the people of Kucheon. Her people. And they were still her people, even centuries later. As Eunae made her way through the square, the people of Kucheon stared. Some fell to their knees, weeping tears of joy at the sight of her. Their queen had returned.

Returned. Eunae felt like she was going to be sick.

When they arrived at the city hall, she had to ask for a private room to collect herself. The administration was more than happy to accommodate her, and made it clear that they would drop whatever else they were doing to attend her at her convenience.

Only when she was alone with Xiulan in a lavish sitting room that was far too large for them—clearly meant for receiving the entire entourage of a noble dignitary—did she snap a set of privacy wards in place and let out a huge exasperated sigh.

“Ancestors, I hate every single thing about this place.”

Xiulan covered her mouth and giggled.

“They’re rather intense, aren’t they? I can see now what Princess Minhee was talking about.”

Eunae shook her head in disbelief.

“They’re not even—nothing’s been done to them! She’s been dead for hundreds of years! Why are they still so...? So...?”

“Enthralled?”

Yoshika grimaced at the choice of word, but it fit disturbingly well.

“Yes! Exactly!”

Xiulan sighed and gazed out the window, where even with the privacy wards blocking the view from outside, she could see a small throng of people gathered, hoping to catch a glimpse of their precious fox princess.

“You get the same sort of fervor for the God-Emperor in some of the northern cities. You don’t need to tamper with souls to create zealots. Perhaps it started that way, when your ancestor created this place, but after that...?”

She gestured at the statue in the square outside.

“It’s self-sustaining. Seong Heiran’s curse passed down not by any sort of true inheritance, but rather just...simple culture. And here you come, the spitting image of the idol they all worship, the rightful ruler reclaiming her throne at last.”

“Ugh, please don’t.”

Xiulan smiled sympathetically.

“Apologies. I’m sure it’s very uncomfortable for you, but if centuries of time wasn’t enough to break the Fox Princess’ grip on Kucheon, then I doubt there’s much you can do except take advantage. Any other ruler might struggle to gain the full cooperation of this place—and judging from how isolated it is, they did—but they’ll do anything you want.”

“What I want is for them to stop worshiping me as the reincarnation of the single worst person in Goryeo’s entire history!”

“Ah...”

Her smile shifted into a more rueful expression.

“Anything, perhaps, except for that.”