He passed by several houses down the pathway in the middle of the village towards the westwide outskirts, head straight and ears vigilant, following the sounds around and any shift in the air.

Legs trudged along the road, the edge of his heels against the grains of sand. He looked to the front where a distant red wall loomed in the blue shadows of night, which he could not see but feel and remember the small peephole and the ancestral tree lined with white strings. Perhaps he felt to himself that it was for the better, or maybe for the worse—there was not much to have lost in the past…aside from a few exceptions.

“They probably think I'm dead anyway,” he snickered.

The moons up above the sky shone brightly in half moons: Chria, Hesta, and Aredese are the names given after the three Patron Banes of Incardia, the other two believed to have passed on to death. Zihun was no history enthusiast nor did he find particular joy in learning antiquities or religion. It was simply common knowledge to gaze at the celestial bodies and recall the titles.

He continued down the path and a bit further down the road to see a familiar face as stoic a man who had never drunk a pint of alcohol in his life, sleepy eyes and perpetual frown. Zihun approached the man donned in steel cuirass and purple underclothes, his hair tied back in a bun.

“Xiaowei Mao,” he deadpanned, eyes void of emotions. He pointed to the back of a carriage that was pulled by a horse, a technology that originated from a far Northern kingdom from Tianchao. Mostly having seen carts drawn by donkeys or little rides drawn by a man, Zihun didn't mind getting used to this particular type of carriage—a bit ostentatious, yet comfortable, he supposed.

Zihun nodded his head. A soldier who frequently found himself with the Huang Di of Tianchao, and the color of his apparel was a good signifier of his position. The emperor is observing my movements…

“What’s your problem?”

He didn’t react, expression as assertive as it can be. Simply turning away, he quietly lead Zihun to the carriage.

Zihun crossed his arm and followed along. He didn't mind a lot of things—but Banes forbid that a rat be sent to follow him. His eyes followed along the soldier until both left the lonesome village of Lingxi at the peak rising of the moons.

A certain type of silence, one that is attributed to both knives to throats and formalities where two bowed to one another, lingered in the cushioned interior of the carriage. The two of them didn't spare much as a glance at the other, but Zihun could feel the heavy air of the other crawling under his skin.

Finally, he sighed and shot a side stare at the soldier. “Huang Di must feel very blessed to have a soldier as loyal as you by his side.”

He raised his head but chose not to respond, almost like a taunt in the way he bore his eyes into Zihun's.

“Huang Di was concerned for Xiaowei, given the late time and the time it would take to travel back to the capital.”

Concerned was an interesting thing that he somehow expected to hear. Zihun wasn't quite sure that that was a word that he would use to describe what the emperor would feel. Of course, he would also be a fool to say his thoughts out loud.

“Hm, allow me to offer my gratitude to the emperor—”

“It's late tonight; perhaps another day, Xiaowei.”

Zihun stared at the man. “What do they refer to you by?”

“Why is the Xiaowei of Zhongguog curious about a lowly soldier's name?”

“Precisely because you are a lowly soldier that I dare ask your name so blatantly, unless you are saying that even that is something that I cannot ask from a low-ranking officer?”

The soldier pressed his lips tightly, to which knew Zihun hit the jackpot. “There is no reason to feel so offended, soldier. Personal grievances cannot be used universally.”

“...I was given the name Yifan. I have no courtesy name.”

“Yifan? I see, I see.” Zihun kicked one leg over the other, resting his folded on his lap. “Is there a specific reason why a low-ranking soldier such as yourself was sent to fetch me? Or is it precisely because of that reason?”

“There is no particular reason, Xiaowei. I was ordered by my superiors.”

Superiors? Zihun already knew who ordered him. “That's good. Don't forget to report to Huang Di once we arrive.”

His eyes went wide for a second, before a stone face returned. Zihun pretended not to notice the change in expression, and after a few minutes, the carriage came to a halt.

Chao was frozen for a second and didn't look at Zihun, “It is late now, Xiaowei . It is best to rest. Now, goodnight.”

Zihun felt a tightness in his jaws. His words are as sharp as a blade, and the way he looks at Zihun was always void of emotions, even after such confrontation, or maybe he feels so little respect that he cannot bear to spare him his thoughts.

He sighed and nodded. “Very well. Goodnight.”

With that, Zihun pushed the carriage doors open and strolled across the white pavements of Heibaocheng, a direct contrast to the black buildings and walls surrounding the palace complex. The pavements of Yinghua are black, unlike Heibaocheng, and certainly the buildings are not black. The pure lack of color, black, did not represent the late god Heibao, but rather the divinity of the emperor, if emperors can even be called divine.

Down the path, Zihun closed his eyes and didn’t bother looking around. The grand space and size of this place was an authoritative statement of its power over Tianchao, but now, it served as a stark difference to the rest of the nation.

Outside of a beautiful porch of the guest palace with three other rooms. he pushed open the black doors, patterned by petals of cherry blossom, the national flower of Tianchao, and an insignia with swirl-like patterns. Down the hallway, Zihun glanced to the side towards a room, dimly lit by candlelight. Xiaowei Lin didn't seem to be asleep, but it was best not to disturb her. She had other responsibilities, such as he did. She surely received her own letter from the emperor.

When he slid open the door, the fresh smell of clean wood and changed bed sheets filled his lungs. Earlier in the morning, palace maidens cleaned the area, but strictly inspected before leaving, lest they steal whatever that was confidential, which was many things.

He took a deep breath and hearty exhale with his back against the door. Kicking off his shoes after releasing the clasps, he threw the shirt and pants off to dress in sleep wear. He let his body lose strength as he fell forward against the soft cotton and down pillows.

Dull sounds like a blowing breath roused him, soft yellow light through the windows. The morning sun brightened the dark wooden floors in a honey glaze, and he opened his eyes and sat up.

“Oi! Wake up,” a spirited voice of a young woman called out. “It’s Lin. Are you still asleep?”

“Lin, shut up for one minute!” Zihun yelled only to nearly cough from his hoarse throat. “Can’t you just leave alone just for a second?”

A second goes by, another. Zihun grimaced. It was a bit too quiet—utterly silent, frighteningly so. He pulled the blanket off, eyes narrowing at the door to wait for anything to happen, whether it be thunderous slams against the door frame, a parroting voice. He stares continuously, straining his ear to make sense of whatever it may that was occurring behind the paper-thin sliding door.

Nothing.

She's acting weird, completely unlike herself. Zihun cleared his throat and called out, “Lin, are you there?” A long moment went by. His body felt cold. Since their days in the military for the past ten years, there had never been a day that had gone by that she was as quiet as death when it involved mornings.

He nearly shivered from the temperature change on his feet. With a push and trot out of the bed, creaks followed my footsteps. Finger grasped the ring handle, and he slid open the door, greeted by staring with a blank expression. Donned in a blue ruqun, a common clothing worn by women in Tianchao, hair tied back in a high ponytail, the tips hanging right above her shoulders, Lin smiled.

“You’re awake now, huh? I already knew that you would be over here if I stayed quiet.” Snickering like a mischievous child, she flicked her hair back. “Anyway, You forgot, didn’t you?”

Zihun blinked his groggy eyes.

Her smile disappeared faster than a snap of a twig; now a dark shade of fury brightened her cheek into red. Zihun instantly sighed inwards, and knew exactly what was going to happen.

“I asked you to talk to the emperor last night, but you didn’t even do that!”

Zihun cringed against her voice with a hand over his ear.

“Why did you forget to do that, and why did you return so late?”

Zihun looked away and swallowed, swiping back his shoulder-length hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I was just really tired and I…had other things in mind. I was going to go and see him, but something came up before that.” A sigh slipped past. “I was talking with a high-ranking soldier who was most likely sent to fetch me to observe me, and I was going to talk with the emperor as soon as I returned. But I clearly forgot..”

They both kept to themselves: no words, no movements, nothing. It was nice to believe that she probably felt the same as him, but knowing Lin, he was sure that she was caught in-between both anger and whatever else emotion. He lifted his eyebrows to catch a glimpse of her, just to find her staring straight at him with taut lips.

When he lifted his head, she turned her gaze the other way, a few glimpses here and there. Zihun shifted around his feet.

“Sorry.”

He stiffened at her words

“I was really mean just now. I…I was trying to avoid it for a few days, but I’ve been really out of my mind.” She exhales before continuing, “I’m sorry for asking you so late last night. I should’ve asked you earlier.”

He stared blankly, and just as he parted his lips, she bowed. “I will go now. There are some things that I gotta do before evening. I’ll be fine now, I promise.”

“No, it's okay. How is your husband?”

She smiled at his words. “I'm not quite sure; I haven't received a single letter from him for about three months now. Sorry for the trouble. I’ll speak with you later at Liang Teahouse.”

“Wait, Lin!” He grabbed her shoulder. “Be careful. Huang Di is observing us.”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

“Thanks, I'll keep it in mind.” She left as quickly as a bird. Zihun sighed as her footsteps grew silent; it was not something he was not used to from her for the past few months. She may have realized by herself that she was being incompetent these past few days, and the previous night was the nail to the coffin.

I don't understand. Why is her husband not replying to her letters? It is unlikely that her pigeon was unable to travel to and fro from the port after being brought all the way to the port. So if it's not that, then what is going on with her?

Zihun stretched his arms. Thinking about it is troublesome. The first thing he had to do was complete his duty—find the Heibao prince, or as the Emperor of Zhongguog likes to call him, the low-born prince. Zihun heard little things about this bizarre prince, save for the magnanimous display from the last major conflict when the rebel prince was forced out. Nothing was known, much less who he was or what he looked like.

Although he inquired many times about this prince, especially from the Huang Di of Tianchao, given that they are blood uncle and nephew, he almost spat a fit of blood when the emperor so bluntly said that he had no idea what his own nephew was like. Even Zihun had a limit, and this was ridiculous to hear. Surely, although they may hate each other and wish death upon the other, hate made it easy to remember faces.

Even his own emperor, Tianzhi of Zhongguog, was of no help.

“This is definitely the most irritating thing I've done in a long while.”

Once every week, both he and Lin made sure to visit Liang Teahouse. Returning to the place more than once was no problem, but idling a visit for more than a week was foolish. After that, gathering more information around the city center later in the late evening when the streets brim with people who look to fill their pockets, and those whose heads are muddled by the joys of the night, was not excusable.

Zihun paced around the room and came to a halt. He looked around and took at least glances at the same spot, most of which were the door and windows. A quick swallow and hardening resolve, his arm lifted up and a quick sniff sent a hand over his mouth, gagging so loudly it echoed.

I smell like fucking rotten eggs.

“Damn. Before the emperor's disease gets to him, he might die from whatever my body smells like right now.”

He coughed and sauntered over to the desk, quick to sit and straighten his back, and picked up the inkbrush. As long as he was quiet, he eyed the letter beside him and bit his lower lip. One finger, the second, and a trail of drumming along the edge of the paper inched it closer.

Relieved of his duties—what did that mean for him? All his life, one thing was certain: he was a weapon of war, a spear for the emperor, whether that was in Tianchao or Zhongguog.

“Xiaowei Mao, please excuse me, but breakfast is ready.”

Zihun grabbed the letter and slipped between the gap to a drawer, right up to his feet. “You may enter.”

Like the sound of shifting bedsheets, the door opened in a flash, and a stream of four palace maids entered, two with floor tables in their hands, both decorated with fine dishes of rainbow. Another maid brought with her a pillow and fresh water to wash his hands.

The one in finer robes bowed her head after the others placed what they brought. “Xiaowei, excuse our intrusion. This morning, we brought fresh produce from the gardens. There is no meat for this meal, but for dinner there will be peking duck and lion’s head meatballs. Now.” They all simultaneously lower their heads in a deep bow. “May Xiaowei Mao enjoy the morning’s food.”

Sitting down for breakfast atop the cushion on the floor, he placed the chopsticks between his fingers, and the maids streamed out the room and the door thud closed.

He placed the chopsticks back down and looked at the clock above his bed; it was already past six, and the two tables were clear of food. Usually, people do not eat as much as he did, but given his job, all his muscle and fat would melt away.

He leapt to his feet, grabbed the towel and hurried down the hallways as the maids entered his room with a deep bow.

Steam rose to the stone ceilings adorned with arts made from precious stones and gems. Some of them were regular stones painted in various colors, specifically blue and green, to show the serenity of the bath. Slipping deeper into the water, he groaned at the tingles against bare skin. He blinked slowly, open and closed eyes repeatedly, one of the methods to calm himself and indulge in the moment.

He looked down at his body, and closed his eyes. A bold scar across his chest—as thick as a wooden fan and ragged at the edges like paper—sent twitches down his spine. Tender and fleshy, he ran his fingers along the line.

With a shake of my head, he sunk deep into the water, lips just at the borders. After a few more minutes, he slipped out of the bath, dripping water creating a song of its own every time it fell back into a body of liquid. This was a bath made specifically for guests of this palace, and Zihun had to admit that it was a spoil for more honorable guests of Heibaocheng, or high-ranking envoys of different nations.

The water slapped against the wooden floor, and after a while, he grabbed the towel hanging next to the entrance to the changing room, where a fresh zhongyi, something that was typically worn as sleepwears or home casual clothes, was prepared for guests.

He tousled his shoulder-length hair and left as quickly as possible. There was no more time for me to loiter around like a child. I rush out the bath section of the place, hurrying to wear the zhongyi.

He took off from the room and down the Hall of Mental Cultivation. He almost groaned at the headache-inducing memories of back-and-forths between palace officials, the emperor, a school of fools like fish, and many more sets of vindictive men who would sink their teeth in Zhongguog. From a simple question of mostly, ‘have you found out anything about the Heibao prince?’ and such things, there would be an immediate uproar.

Down the pathways of the palace complex, a group of young ladies gathered behind a pillar nearby, huddled closely with faces alight in wonder, swinging their bodies side to side like a reed. Zihun loved himself a few gossips and inched closer to hear whispers: “It’s the pinnacle lady.”

He folded his hands behind and swayed his body alongside them.

What's gotten them so—

There was a saying that was often spoken in Zhongguog: a fine woman is one who can be painted when fierce winds blow. With steps that can walk across a puddle and cause no ripples and a back so straight with a neckline tended with discipline.

Zihun has heard about this lady-in-waiting a few from officials, palace maids, or simply from regular civilians. The ‘Pinnacle Lady’ kept her thin eyes towards the ground, slender nose pointed a bit upwards, and willow lips in red complemented the mature bearing of her reputation and her status.

Hailing from a famous clan of scholars and poets, there was none much like her. She was enchanting, beautiful. Zihun’s gaze lingered, and for some reason, she stopped. Zihun froze.

Her eyes reflected his form.

He could feel her gaze, and just before he reacted, dimples dipped into her cheeks, and her eyes squinted like the fine line of a paintbrush.

For some reason, he felt that he would meet her again soon. Was that a good or bad thing? He wasn’t quite sure—but considering her status, there was doubt that it could be anything negative.

Along the way to Heibaocheng, the trail of pink petals of cherry blossoms sprouted on the roads of the palace complex. Mingled with vermillion crabapple flowers that drift to the weaves of wind, the sun peeked through the shades, like some utopia in the tangible world.

Zihun took a deep breath, filled with the perfume of flowers.

So many people in all of Ridonia call Tianchao the Nation of Eternal Spring. When he first arrived in Zhongguog and was assigned to the military barracks, they all asked: is the place as breathtaking as people say.

Zihun could give his true thoughts on the nation: it was beautiful, but what was this nation to him; what did it offer him in terms of patriotism or pride? The memories were always to the room.

That room.

“Forget it. What’s done is done. I don’t feel bothered by this, and if I am, so what?”

There was no memory that was too hard to suppress, although at times, hard. But he just had to do what he always did—put his hands through his hair “It’s alright. I’m not afraid anymore.” He pulled in another breath, then pushed two fingers into his cheeks. “Come on, it’s fine, Zihun.”

That’s all he had to believe, and he could straighten his clothes and act like nothing had happened, because nothing did happen. But his hands sunk into his palms.

Endowed in water lilies beyond the crystal waters of Lan Lian Ting (Blue Lily Pavilion), the green-roofed pavilion stood above the pond, its long bridge stretched across like a winding snake.

Zihun didn’t mind this change of scenery. A lot better than having to look at cranky old men, or vicarious court officials in a black and gloomy hall. The Hall of Mental Cultivation was just a glorified place where people would go to become blind from the dark interior. Perhaps listening to the bird’s callings and the gentle rippling of the waters was a good change.

Only if this was not in private with the Huang Di of Tianchao.

“Huang Di, Minister Gao has sent over the reports after hearing of the illness of bixia.”

Back straight as a needle with arms stretched forward and palms facing skyward, it was the Zaixiang, Chancellor of Tianchao. His aquiline nose had a prominent mole that stuck out, and his face was folded for many years, wrinkling at the creases as his face drooped. The black robes chimed along the bells around the pavilion, similar to the emperor’s only in color.

“This servant has compiled all documents for the day. Only…” his hoarse voice stopped short. “May Huang Di be blessed today and forever—Glory to Tianchao.”

Light footsteps croak the wood beneath, moving across like a leaf upon waters. Hands folded into the sleeves, he caught a glimpse of Zihun who stood in front, moving to the side as he drew closer.

Zihun held his fist in the other palm and took a deep bow. “Daren.”

“Xiaowei.” He gave a deep bow before taking his leave, a pass taken right beside him. As he left, Zihun looked forward and nearly grimaced.

Euh…those black eyes that are black as tar and as cold as stone are of the Imperial family. He lowered his gaze from the emperor’s and took several steps forward.

The sunlight scattered crystals and dust of stardust in flickers. Apart like pilings on a broken pier, three red-crowned cranes hold their heads high like they stood in formation of an array. Their slight movements ripple the water, sending waves that rocked the lilies and the fish beneath before plopping into several more waves.

Chime. His eyes closed to the sound, like the breezes had a breath of their own, Yang residence…the wind chimes, the white strings upon the ancestral tree.. How far a memory returned.

“Xiaowei Yang, thank you for coming to see zhen.”

The speckles of gray on a black beard, sunken eyes, ashen skin. If someone were to tell Zihun, a Xiaowei from Zhongguog who has met and acquainted oneself to countless members of the imperial family who were known to be a superior form of humans, that the man in front of him was an emperor of pure blood descent—the sun would have fallen before it was true.

Even so, it was true.

He slightly turned his body to face Zihun as he made it clear with his gaze that went from feet to head.

Zihun kept his back straight, unwilling to bend to the Huang Di of Tianchao

Holding his long sleeves in place as he rubbed his chin, the emperor’s gaze lingered on his face, going down to his fingers. Sometimes he would take a step forward, and sometimes back.

Zihun slightly nodded in agreement. “Not at all, Huang Di.”

“Xiaowei Yang, Zhen is a bit curious. Would you hear it out?”

“Of course,” Zihun paused for a moment. “Huang Di.”

He closed his eyes. Although frail in constitution, his face was as composed as a painting, and his eyebrows and lashes are full and never failing. He was indeed an emperor—even when he was looking at the Xiaowei with a gaze that clearly spoke, obey.

He continued, “Zhen is aware of the celebrated power of the Xiaoweis. A military leader who is not only in charge of thousands of soldiers, but military leaders who have a right to contend against an emperor, your Tianzhi, or even the auspicious Chancellor of Zhongguog. The Mandate of the Monarchy is not law, but can be contended by military leaders—it is an interesting political system.”

He was right. It was also the very reason Zihu had no reason to bow in his presence. Before anyone else, the Tianzhi of Zhongguog was first in terms of power. Then came the Cidi, the rulers of the three states of Zhongguog: Han, Wakoku, and Zhou. But even if there were three states, the Xiaoweis represents the will of the people, and the voice of the civilians—they were not court officials, but if there was a mandate sealed by all five stamps of the Xiaoweis of Zhongguog, it could override even the Tianzhi’s orders and laws, and even one Xiaowei was enough to discredit the Chancellor of Zhongguog.

With that in mind, it was understandable why the Emperor of a monarchy could not understand Zhongguog.

And from where Huang Di stared, Zihun had a good idea…that he was at his unwillingness.

“Does Xiaowei Mao refuse to bow and show due respect even to the Tianzhi of Zhongguog?”

His voice was as soft and as guarded as a butterfly—but one might not know if it was poisonous. That was the way of speaking to incriminate a person, but Zihun kept his head up.

Why should I bow to him?

“I must apologize for my lack of explanations for my actions.” His eyebrows flinched at the word ‘I,’ and it was difficult even for the emperor to hide. Zihun continued, “Although it may seem unbecoming, I wish to ask of the emperor that I be spared dignity to offer my loyalty and life to Tianzhi of Zhongguog.”

Loyalty—bullshit. Zihun was the last one to be called loyal, but he did not have the energy nor time to deal with an ego issue. Huang Di had no right and no reason to argue with his sound words; they were the words of a filial and fiercely loyal soldier.

Although as unreadable as a rock, his jaws clearly were locked in tight. The emperor sighed, “If Xiaowei so much as treasures the loyalty to be only for the Emperor of Zhongguog.”

“Many thanks, Huang Di.” Folding his hands behind, he held his chin up. “Xiaowei Gong is not feeling very well these days, so she is recuperating in her quarters until further notice.”

“Zhen is listening.”

Zihun was very much aware of the emperor’s dislike of the presence of the Xiaoweis of Zhongguog within the borders of Tianchao. If the Huang Di could somewhat diminish the effect or influence—or cut down resources of the Xiaoweis—he might find some peace of mind.

So far Tianchao was struggling in a civil war, a de facto coup. Although it was not obvious in hindsight, the economic state of Tianchao was knee deep in corruption and the rate of displaced families into the slums rose every gel (half a month). At this rate, it would collapse, regardless of the de facto coup. Another thing to consider was the assassination and restoration of the Mark of Heibao to the Zhongguog imperial family. Ultimately, an order directly from Tianzhi himself.

What Lin asked Zihun to handle is simple: to reinforce the southern gate of the walls of Yinghua. Due to the structure of the city, there was a mountainous area behind the capital that was an advantage in terms of defense against invasions from foreign nations, so there was not a lot of caution put into that area, despite being a merchant hotspot and where the Red Light district was.

Zihun had to be careful. He closed his eyes and sighed.

“Huang Di, as you may be aware, the issues around the slum are growing at a fast rate, and that concerns the security of the Southern Gate and the surrounding businesses. During the patrol of Xiaowei Lin, there has been growing concern over the lack of stationed soldiers in the front and around the whole Southern Part of Tianchao.”

His gaze slowly turns to Zihun, hooded and tired, still full of vigor although given his condition. Zihun maintained his posture, staring straight into his eyes. If he showed a sign of weakness of submissive cowardice, The Huang Di would latch onto it—that studious gaze took into account every little movement.

“Xiaowei Yang,” his voice is low and gentle. “Why has Xiaowei Gong concerned herself over the security of Yinghua? Perhaps the benevolence of her soul is far-reaching.”

“Huang Di is concerned over the thoughts of Xiaowei Gong, yet her concerns are not far-reaching. There is little that can be discussed in terms of the state of the economy. This can affect not just the unstable distribution of security, but also the overall state of the flow of money in the Southern Gate commerce.”

His gaze hardened. “Xiaowei Yang, you were sent here alongside Xiaowei Lin to handle the matter about the Mark of Heibao and the suppression of the rebel forces. What use is there to know the economy and the supposed unstable distribution of soldiers around Yinghua?”

Fuck! Zihun immediately composed himself. “The matters are only regarding the Southern Gate. Xiaowei Lin is an observant soldier. There is concern over the security and economy, as that may suggest the effect of the rebel forces causing instability, more so that it can cause a breeding ground for growing agenda and territory. What Xiaowei Lin is concerned about lies in the possibility of countless bases and even the headquarters of the rebel forces.”

“Then why is there a need to speak of the economy and safety concerns?” His voice came out stronger, like a relentless tide pushing to crack the borders. “Is Xiaowei Lin…concerned for the lives of civilians?”

“That…”

He couldn’t say yes or no. If he said no, it was directly admitting that Lin was a coldhearted dog of Zhongguog. If he said yes, then that meant that Lin was vulnerable to suspicion that she was trying to collect information about the nation’s state to Zhongguog—whether it be for war or threatening.

”No, she is not concerned over the lives of civilians here. Her concerns are for the rebel forces. It was my concern for the civilians.”

The emperor froze, his mouth agape. “You…Xiaowei Mao?” For a second, his gaze became cold and frigid. “Zhen finds it difficult to believe, especially after the display of great cruelty during Shamo Datusha, that massacre.”

His body broke into cold sweat. “There is no reason for the emperor of another nation to concern oneself with the war of another nation from the past. It is history.”

The emperor closed his eyes. “It is the history of what made you a Xiaowei. Zhen still remembers you, Xiaowei Mao, as a young man barely into adulthood ten years ago. To have returned to Tianchao as a Xiaowei, a Tianchaoren who was once a bastard child of General Yang. It would be ridiculous for Zhen to believe that Xiaowei Mao rose to such position if hands had not been filled with blood”

“That is none of the emperor’s concern.” Zihun curled his fingers inwards. “Please look over what I have suggested. It is not only best for Tianchao, but it is in best interest of Zhongguog.”

“Very well.”