The night sky shimmered with a quiet elegance, the stars twinkling like scattered diamonds across the vast, inky expanse. Below, the world was just as alive, though veiled in darkness. The Imperial Capital of the Central Plains never knew rest, even under the weight of nightfall. Lanterns glowed softly, casting golden hues upon the streets, illuminating the intricate architecture of the city. Hundreds of siheyuan-style buildings stood clustered together, their geometric layouts creating a labyrinthine pattern. Despite the late hour, the streets teemed with life. Carriages rattled along the cobbled roads, while men and women in flowing hanfu robes moved gracefully through the city, their conversations and footsteps blending into the gentle hum of the night.

The city sprawled like a maze, an intricate web of twisting alleyways and broad streets that led to every corner. New structures were constantly being erected, adding to the complexity of the city’s design. Every few streets, towering pagodas stood proudly, each one bearing a large plaque with bold characters denoting the name of the district it overlooked. These served as waypoints for travelers, helping them navigate the immense expanse of the capital.

This was the Imperial Capital of the Central Plains—a city that never slept. Even on the longest nights and during the harshest days, the capital pulsed with an unending rhythm of life. Home to over a million souls, it was a living, breathing entity unto itself, always bustling, always awake.

At the heart of this vast metropolis stood the "Imperial Palace District," a name prominently displayed on a grand pagoda that marked its boundaries. This district was the crown jewel of the capital, constructed with the finest materials the continent had to offer. Marble, jade, and gold adorned its structures, symbolizing the wealth and power concentrated within. The district was a city within a city, so expansive that many referred to it as the Imperial City itself.

Here, towering pavilions, elaborate gates, and majestic towers surrounded a myriad of mansions, all built in the traditional siheyuan style. Each of these mansions served a specific purpose, housing officials, courtiers, and servants, while the grandest of them were reserved for members of the imperial family. Each ministry within the imperial government had its own pavilion entrance, marking the seat of its power. Large administrative offices sat alongside residential quarters, specifically designated for the staff working within that ministry. The sprawling layout of the district ensured that each branch of governance operated independently, yet harmoniously within the whole.

The palaces dedicated to the imperial family were slightly smaller compared to the central palace but no less impressive. Each was adorned with intricate carvings and symbols of authority, their residences surrounded by gardens and ponds that exuded serenity. These palaces also had their own administrative centers, where officials and aides managed the affairs of each royal family member.

At the center of it all stood the "Celestial Dragon Palace," the beating heart of the empire. This towering structure loomed over the entire city, its gilded rooftops glittering even in the dim light of the night. A colossal statue of a golden dragon, carved from stone and polished to a gleaming sheen, coiled upward toward the sky, a symbol of the emperor’s divine right to rule. The Celestial Dragon Palace was not just a residence; it was the seat of ultimate power in the Central Plains. Within its towering walls resided the emperor, the most powerful mortal in the entire empire.

The palace grounds were vast, with sprawling gardens, tranquil ponds, and courtyards that seemed to stretch endlessly. In addition to the emperor's personal residence, two massive mansions stood nearby, housing the administrative offices of the imperial court and the numerous bureaucrats who kept the empire running smoothly. The Celestial Dragon Palace wasn’t just a residence—it was the embodiment of imperial authority, where decisions that shaped the empire were forged. Tonight, the palace was unusually active, far more bustling than on most nights. The reason for this heightened activity was the five-year official meeting of the Central Plains Martial Alliance. This gathering, held in the grand central hall of the palace, brought together the leaders of every sect within the empire to debate, request, and report on the affairs and progress of the past five years.

The atmosphere inside the central hall was tense, as representatives of the Seven Great Sects sat in heated discussion. Their voices echoed off the intricately carved walls, laden with the weight of political maneuvering and hidden agendas. Amidst the clamor of voices, there was one notable absence: the Empress, Momo Zhou, who usually sat at the emperor's side during such high-profile events. She had excused herself, claiming fatigue, and retired early. But instead of resting, as she had said, she was in her private quarters, attending to a matter of far more personal importance.

Within her own palace, adjacent to the Celestial Dragon Palace, Empress Momo reclined on a plush, long chair, draped in luxury. Her hair was intricately styled, adorned with jade pins that gleamed faintly in the soft candlelight. The rich fabric of her elaborate hanfu accentuated her elegant figure, its deep hues of crimson and gold a stark contrast to her flawless jade-white skin that shimmered under the moonlight filtering through the windows.

She lazily plucked a grape from the porcelain dish beside her, savoring its sweetness as her sharp, dark eyes fixed on the man sitting across from her. Her beauty was unparalleled, renowned throughout the empire; even now, in this private setting, she looked every bit the most beautiful empress in Central Plains history. But behind that beauty was a dangerous mind, one sharper than any blade.

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The man sitting across from her bore a striking resemblance to her—similar sharp features and an air of authority that mirrored her own. His finely tailored, luxurious robes clung to a toned but slim body, the perfect balance of strength and grace that many martial artists aspired to. His handsome face, framed by long, dark hair, could easily make noblewomen across the empire swoon, confessing their love in a heartbeat.

This was Nianrong Wu, her younger brother, and the closest confidant to the empress. He sat there, meeting her gaze with equal sharpness, but there was tension in the air between them—a tension born of bad news.

“So,” Empress Momo began, her voice as smooth as silk, yet cold as ice, “you’re telling me they failed to assassinate him? After all this time, after a decade of waiting, after the fortune I’ve spent bribing the Left Ministry, they failed?”

She spoke calmly, but her dark eyes gleamed with a dangerous light, sharp and unyielding like the edge of a finely honed blade. She put down the grape she was holding, her fingers curling into a fist as her gaze bore into her brother’s.

Nianrong’s posture remained composed, though he could not escape the tension that flickered between them. He, too, spoke with measured calm, but his words carried the weight of disappointment. “Yes, sister. They failed. There was an unexpected element that turned the tide. Minfe himself couldn’t anticipate it. He said he would report the details in person.”

Nianrong didn’t flinch under her scrutiny; instead, he boldly reached out and plucked a grape from her hand, popping it into his mouth with nonchalance. His eyes, thoughtful yet challenging, met hers. “This is why I told you we should’ve involved brother-in-law. Now, with the second prince’s escape, we’ve lost our leverage over the Frost Kingdom.”

Empress Momo’s gaze hardened. She took a grape herself, biting into it slowly, her expression unreadable. “And if we had involved him? He would have tightened security around Han Ming, making it impossible for him to escape. How am I supposed to eliminate him if he’s surrounded by guards at all times?”

Nianrong smirked slightly, grabbing another grape. “At least involving him would have preserved the peace between our nations. Now, with the second prince gone, there will be chaos. All of this just because you didn’t want your daughter to marry him.”

Her eyes narrowed, becoming sharper than the finest blade. In a cold, controlled tone, she replied, “I don’t want him marrying my daughter.”

Unfazed, Nianrong met her glare head-on, speaking with measured calm. “I understand that, but at this point, it may be the only way to negotiate with the Frost Kingdom. With Han Ming no longer in our custody, brother-in-law will almost certainly suggest a peace treaty. And he will likely propose fulfilling the marriage alliance as part of the negotiations.”

The empress straightened in her seat, her eyes burning with fury. She looked like she wanted to lash out, but her voice remained deadly calm. “I don’t want that marriage to happen.”

Nianrong, undeterred, continued in his usual composed tone. “I know, but it's the most plausible path forward now. The Frost Kingdom has no reason to remain passive anymore. The marriage might be our only bargaining chip.”

For a moment, neither spoke. The room seemed to freeze as Momo’s mind raced. Then, she sat up, her voice tight with impatience. “You said there was another way. What is it? Tell me.”

Nianrong’s eyes gleamed with calculated intent. “You’d have to convince father.”

The room fell into a deeper silence as the implications of his suggestion hung in the air. Empress Momo’s expression shifted, her sharp features softening into a mask of contemplation. She understood what her brother was suggesting, and despite the distaste it left in her mouth, she knew it was their best option.

She finally sighed, nodding slowly. “I suppose that’s the only way left.”

With that acknowledgment, the siblings silently agreed on their next course of action. Though their plan remained veiled in secrecy, the wheels had already begun turning. Whatever maneuver they were planning, it was certain to further complicate the fragile balance between the Central Plains Empire and the Frost Kingdom.

As the first light of dawn broke over the Jing Mountains, casting long shadows across the rugged landscape, an ominous tension gripped the air. The Greenwood Brotherhood, notorious for their ruthlessness, was on the hunt. Like a pack of wolves, they scoured the mountains with brutal efficiency, sweeping through the region in search of their prey. Their mission was clear: eliminate or subjugate every bandit brotherhood they encountered, and destroy any remnants of the once-feared Thunder Sky Brotherhood.

The bandits moved swiftly through the dense forest, armed with crude but deadly weapons, their faces grim and determined. Smoke from burning camps and the sound of war cries echoed across the valleys, a grim reminder of the violence spreading like wildfire. The Greenwood Brotherhood left no survivors in their path—those who resisted were slaughtered like animals, their bodies left to rot in the dirt. The women were taken as spoils, destined for unspeakable fates.

This morning, Gu had ventured out from the cave. His intent was simple—gather information, maybe find a way to broker an alliance with another bandit faction but the sight that greeted him in the forest was a grim reminder of their bleak reality.

Greenwood bandits marched through the woods in organized formations, their faces cold and determined. Gu saw the glint of steel as they brandished swords and axes, ready for more bloodshed. Smoke from burning camps twisted upward, and in the distance, faint but unmistakable screams filled the air.

His heart pounded as he crouched behind the brush, watching the bandits move with ruthless efficiency. They were systematically slaughtering every brotherhood in their path, leaving no one alive unless it served their twisted purpose. The message was clear: surrender or die. The Greenwood Brotherhood was intent on wiping out any competition.

He turned and made his way back to the cave, his heart heavy with dread. As Gu approached the hidden entrance, the gravity of the situation hit him hard. He couldn’t afford to show weakness—not now. Inside the cave, Minho and the others were counting on him to stay calm, to lead. They were already on edge, each of them feeling the looming threat of annihilation.

Bursting into the cave, he quickly scanned their faces—tense, pale, and weary. He had no time for gentle words. “We need to stay quiet,” he whispered urgently, his voice barely audible but thick with warning. “The Greenwood Brotherhood is out there. They’re killing everyone they come across. If we don’t hide, we’re dead.”

Minho and Tao exchanged a glance, their anxiety spiking as the reality of Gu's words sank in. Shun, usually quick with a response, said nothing, his face ashen.

For a moment, the cave was silent, save for the faint sounds of battle echoing through the forest outside. The weight of Gu’s warning pressed down on them all, stifling the air. There was no plan, no strategy left only survival. And in this war-torn land, even that was beginning to feel impossible.

Gu took a deep breath, fighting the panic rising in his chest. He couldn’t let them see his fear. He was the only thing standing between them and utter despair.