The first light of dawn seeped through layers of silk curtains, softening the harsh glow of lanterns that had burned through the night. The Palace of the Drifting Wind, normally serene, now hummed with the aftermath of chaos and relief. Eunuchs hurried along lacquered corridors, servants whispered reverently, and guards stood a little taller—the imperial family had gained a new star.
But inside the birthing chamber, serenity was nowhere to be found.
Empress Lang Chen, her hair plastered to her temples, her complexion pale from exhaustion, lay propped against cushions. Despite the grace that normally defined her, she now wore the unmistakable mark of a woman who had endured nine months of discomfort and a night of battle.
Her eyes narrowed dangerously at the man standing before her.
"Long Ming," she growled, "if you breathe loud one more time, I'll personally throw you out of this window."
The emperor, who had defeated rebel kings and commanded armies, stiffened. His expression turned solemn and wise—like a scholar reconsidering the meaning of life.
A reprieve arrived just in time.
A man's head poked into the doorway.
"Ah?" the newcomer blinked, hair disheveled, expression puzzled. "Did I come at the wrong time?"
Lang Chen's anger wavered. Then she let out a small, exhausted giggle.
"Fang," she muttered, "looks like this habit of yours runs in the family."
The emperor shot her a wounded look.
She ignored it.
The newcomer—Fang, older brother of the emperor—patted his robe, straightened his posture, and bowed dramatically.
"I sent him," Lang Chen teased, pointing at her bewildered husband. "My big, bumbling hubby."
Fang clasped a hand over his heart. "Ah, I almost forgot—your loyal minister greets you, Sister."
"Don't call me 'Sister' like you're some saint," Lang Chen snorted. "I got this crabbiness from Ming, not from you. It's contagious."
"Hey," Long Ming protested weakly.
But neither of the siblings acknowledged him.
The emperor turned sharply to his brother, voice low and urgent.
"Quick. Let's talk outside."
Ming leaned close, whispering as though passing state secrets.
"Save me, brother. I'll repay you later."
Long fang nearly choked. Apparently, he wasn't the only one under the Empress's morning wrath.
A boisterous laugh burst from Fang.
"Ahahaha! Sister," he announced, wiping imaginary tears of joy, "may I borrow your husband for a moment? I promise to return him unharmed. Mostly."
Lang Chen sighed as though the heavens had burdened her personally.
"I had so many requests for him this morning, but fine. Take him."
Long fang watched sweat drip down his little brother's temples and realized, with a mix of pity and amusement, that ming had been humbled long before he arrived.
Just as they turned to leave, Fang froze.
"Oh! I nearly forgot why I came."
He spun back around, eyes gleaming.
"Let me see my niece."
Lang Chen's exhaustion vanished at once.
"She's all yours," she declared with a triumphant laugh. "Though be warned—after nine months of suffering, she looks exactly like her stupid, thick-skulled father."
Long Ming coughed.
Fang snorted.
Mina, trembling with pride, carried the swaddled newborn to the emperor's brother.
He knelt, reverently accepting the bundle.
One glimpse was enough.
Fang's legs buckled.
He collapsed onto the padded floor and whispered hoarsely, "Brother… if I ever had to choose between you and this little one… you would die without regrets."
Lang Chen threw her head back and laughed, despite her pain.
"HAHA—"
But just as the second laugh left her lips, her body jolted.
"Ow—hah—ow! Ming! You idiot! Don't laugh that much! You're going to make my wound reopen!"
Long Ming immediately abandoned dignity, fear striking him like lightning.
"Wife! Don't move! Don't laugh! Why are you yelling? Stop yelling!" you reopen your wound.
She glared up at him, sweat dripping down her brow.
"You took away my ability to walk for a few months, you thick-headed oaf. Now I can't even laugh."
Fang watched, fascinated.
The mighty emperor of Huaxian, the man feared in courts and battlefields, was being scolded like a misbehaving child. And he accepted it. Fully. Without resistance.
"This is unbelievable," Fang muttered. "My fierce little brother is this gentle with a woman?"
Long Ming scratched his cheek and muttered something incoherent.
Lang Chen silenced them both with a pointed look.
"So? Enough affection for the morning? Didn't you say you wanted to talk about something?"
Ah. Right.
Long Ming perked up and looked at his wife with wide, pitiful eyes.
"…Can I go?"
Lang Chen stared at him. Then, despite her exhaustion, pinched his cheeks between her fingers.
"Who's stopping you, you big idiot? Go."
Ming lit up, bowed deeply, and nearly tripped over the doorframe.
Fang poked his head back in and waved.
"Tata—! Bye, Sister!"
"Get out!" she barked.
The two brothers exited into the Garden of a Thousand Blossoms, where cherry trees formed soft pink clouds over winding stone paths.
The morning breeze fluttered the petals into gentle spirals, masking the heavy tension between them.
Fang exhaled deeply once they were alone.
"The situation isn't good."
"No," Ming agreed. "It isn't."
They walked in silence for several steps. Birds chirped overhead. A carp pond reflected the early sun.
Finally, Fang spoke.
"The warlords. They're stirring again."
Ming's jaw tensed.
"They dare?"
"After years of peace, they think they can rebuild their private armies," Fang continued, hands clasped behind his back. "The nomad war ended only months ago. Their impatience is astounding."
A humorless laugh escaped him.
"Do they believe the twin dragons of the Long family are mere decorations?"
Long Ming paused, looking up at the blossoms.
"We cannot allow it," he said quietly. "Not when the empire has just welcomed its next heir."
Fang nodded but then hesitated.
"Ming, I've been thinking."
"Mm?"
"Why don't we create a new army?"
Ming blinked.
Fang continued, expression brightening with inspiration.
"Not one built from old nobles or greedy generals. A new force, trained from childhood, loyal to the throne alone. We draw them from rural towns, border villages—anywhere the empire's light does not reach. Let them grow with discipline. With purpose. With patriotism."
He paused, energized.
"From them, many great ministers and generals could rise."
Ming stared at him.
Fang waited.
Ming continued staring.
Fang's excitement dimmed.
"…What?"
"We're seventeen," Ming said flatly.
"...So?"
"You want to reform the military, rebuild a national force, train children from infancy, reorganize administration—while we're seventeen."
Fang opened his mouth, shut it, and coughed lightly.
"Well," he muttered, "I mean… you already got married and have an heir. It's only natural I plan for the future too."
Then his expression twisted dramatically.
"Also, it's not fair."
He pouted.
"You found a wife while I was bedridden for months after that stupid bandit stabbed me. You already have a child. I want to leave the palace and find my own destiny too!"
"We're ruling a country," Ming reminded him stiffly.
"Yes, but destiny!"
Ming's composure cracked.
A faint smirk emerged.
"Your destiny is apparently getting stabbed."
"HEY—!"
They walked deeper into the cherry grove, their bickering echoing lightly against stone lanterns and mossy statues.
The path curved upward, leading to the Michen Cliffs, where ancient wind-carved stones overlooked the vast emerald plains of Huaxian.
Few places felt as sacred.
Few places grounded the mind so sharply.
The two brothers stood side by side, robes fluttering in the high wind.
Below them, the world stretched endlessly—the rivers like silver ribbons, the fields like green silk, the palace roofs glinting under the sun.
Ming's eyes softened.
Fang's expression grew solemn.
"Ming," Fang said quietly, "the world won't stay peaceful."
"I know."
"You have a daughter now."
"I know."
Fang exhaled sharply, annoyed.
"At least pretend to be serious!"
Ming's lips curved.
"Brother. I am serious. More than ever."
The wind lifted his long black hair, revealing an expression rare in emperors: a mix of uncertainty, pride, and a fear that no warrior training had prepared him for.
"I was ready to die on the battlefield," he said softly. "Ready to protect the throne, the land, the people. But when I held her… she weighed nothing. Yet it felt like the mountains pressed into my arms."
Fang did not speak.
Ming continued.
"It terrifies me."
Fang rested a hand on his shoulder.
A simple gesture.
But full of understanding.
"Ming," he murmured, "great rulers are not the ones without fear. They are the ones who continue forward despite it."
The emperor closed his eyes for a moment.
When he opened them, resolve hardened within.
"Then we move forward."
Fang nodded.
"We will deal with the warlords."
"Yes."
"We will build the new force."
"Yes."
"And—"
"…What now?"
Fang grinned.
"And I will go find a wife."
Ming groaned.
They stood together on the cliffs as the wind carried petals through the sky like drifting snow. Two young men—only seventeen—bearing the weight of an empire yet still capable of laughter, bickering, and foolish dreams.
The empire below them breathed softly.
The future remained uncertain.
But for a moment, the world felt light.
Fang smirked, nudging Ming's arm.
"By the way, your daughter really does look like you."
"That is a blessing."
"No, it's a tragedy."
"…Fang."
"What? Should I lie?"
"You are unbearable."
"I love you too."
Ming exhaled, long and slow.
The emperor and his brother—two dragons carved from the same jade—stood together as morning fully broke over Huaxian.
And thus, the day the empire welcomed its princess became also the day two brothers renewed their vow:
To guard their home.
To safeguard its future.
To protect the little girl whose birth had shaken heaven's breath.
Cherry petals swirled around them.
The wind sang.
And Huaxian's destiny quietly shifted.