The sun stood high over the Imperial Palace of Huaxian, scattering golden light across its layered roofs like molten silk. Cicadas hummed in the court gardens, and the drifting petals of early-summer cherry blossoms swirled with the lazy grace of dancers half-asleep. It was an hour of peace, a rare luxury in a realm ruled by steel, ambition, and fragile dreams.
Under the ancient jade tree near the eastern wall, two men sat in the shade. The elder, Emperor Long Ming, leaned back against the trunk with a soft exhale. His posture looked relaxed, but an imperceptible pallor dulled his complexion, as if some color had quietly drained from him while no one was watching.
Beside him, Fang, his older brother and dearest companion through all the tides of their youth, stared at him with a seriousness that didn't match the warm day.
"So it's true," Fang murmured, his voice thinner than usual, stripped of its usual blunt assurance. "Your… condition."
Ming's eyes drifted toward the palace rooftops. "How many more years?" Fang pressed softly.
Ming's reply took a heartbeat too long. "Until thirty-one," he said. "But… it will worsen earlier. Twenty-seven, perhaps. Maybe sooner." A distant look flickered behind his gaze, as though he was searching for a word he had misplaced.
A silence settled between the brothers, heavy but familiar.
Fang pressed his palm to the grass. "Never in my life have I had to face this kind of grief," he muttered. "We fought armies, storms, politics. But this…" His jaw clenched. "Knowing what your wife is facing… why is Heaven so cruel to good people?"
Ming chuckled, but there was no edge, only resignation. "I have no regrets," he said, a ghost of a smile tracing his lips. "At least you have a heir to work with."
"You say that as if it's a blessing," Fang snorted. "The brother I loved, my partner in crime, is—"
"Don't," Ming cut in gently. "We both knew… that night… something would change." His breath hitched as if he couldn't recall which night he meant. He looked away. "I married young. I see life differently now. Had it not been for her, I might have been gone long ago."
Fang swallowed. "Does she know?"
"No." Ming's voice grew firm for a moment, as though anchoring itself. "Don't tell her. Swear it."
"Fine, fine," Fang sighed. "I won't steal your good days."
They sat quietly for a time. Wind rustled the leaves above them, scattering small shards of sunlight across Ming's face. His eyes drifted shut. For one fragile moment, Fang feared he had lost him mid-sentence—but Ming opened his eyes again with a lazy blink, as if waking from a nap he didn't realize he had fallen into.
Shortly after, the peace dissolved into duty. Both brothers stood in the grand court reviewing an urgent case.
"Why did that lordship do such a thing…" Fang rubbed his forehead. "Infuriating. Brother, I may have to trouble you to handle this."
Ming seemed dazed, as though trying to recall the details. "Ok," he answered softly.
Fang's eyes narrowed. He studied Ming's unfocused stare but swallowed the worry. In this court, concern was a blade; show it too openly, and others would seize it.
Suddenly, a soft knock sounded on the great doors. A head poked through—no, bobbed nervously. A boy of sixteen peeked inside, face bright as polished jade and grin wide enough to disarm warlords.
Ki.
The youngest of the Long siblings. Mischievous, brilliant, annoyingly charming. A walking calamity wrapped in silk.
Both Fang and Ming lit up instantly.
"Ki!" they exclaimed, rushing forward and hugging the boy tightly.
Ki groaned dramatically. "You two are way too energetic. How has training been at the academy?"
But before he could escape their arms, a soft cry echoed down the hall.
Ki froze.
Into the room strode Chen, empress of Huaxian and feared demoness of temper when provoked. She stood with a single raised eyebrow that could cow entire battalions.
Ki's face drained of color.
He mouthed silently to his brothers: HELP ME. HELP MEEE.
Chen seized him by the sleeve. "How rude. Not greeting your sister-in-law properly. Have we raised a disobedient cub?"
"Wait wait wait! Mercy! I was going to bow!"
"You were going to run." Chen narrowed her eyes and dragged him away.
As Chen pulled Ki down the corridor, Ming and Fang exchanged a glance.
"Finally," they whispered in unison, "the scapegoat has arrived."
They suppressed their laughter like wicked children hiding mischief behind polite masks.
At the tea house by the rear garden, Ki sat stiffly across from Chen. Her gaze was sharp as moonlit steel.
"Did you find any clues this time?" she asked.
Ki looked away. "No… not this time."
Silence draped the table. Ki's fingers tapped nervously against the porcelain cup. His mind churned.
If I tell her the truth… Brother will kill me. And I can't break his final wish. Sorry, sister… this is for the best.
"I searched everywhere," Ki said, forcing a sigh. "But I found nothing. Sorry, sister."
Chen leaned back, weary yet graceful. "You work hard," she murmured. "Let's go see Yulan. It will lift your spirits."
Ki's whole body brightened. "Yes! Please!"
They walked together through bright halls, speaking lightly about trivial things. Small laughter softened the grim air around them. Yet beneath their words pulsed a quiet unease neither addressed.
They reached the empress chambers. Inside, on silken bedding, lay a small bundle of life.
Princess Yulan.
A fragile miracle.
A tiny existence carrying both the weight of the empire and the hope of a family struggling to remain whole.
Yulan stirred at the sound of their steps. Her soft little hands wiggled into the air, reaching blindly for a world she did not yet understand.
Ki froze. His knees buckled and he sank to the floor as though struck by divine lightning.
Chen burst into laughter. "You brothers all react the same way. Your idiot brother did exactly that when he first held her. Now you're doing it."
Ki clasped his hands together reverently. "What can I say… she's too cute."
He leaned forward, voice trembling with awe. "May I… hold her?"
Chen nodded and carefully placed Yulan in his arms.
The baby blinked. Then a tiny smile bloomed on her face.
The first smile she ever gave him.
And Ki's heart shattered into warm dust.
The room glowed.
A moment of peace. A moment of grace.
A moment the world could not afford to lose.
But peace was never meant to last. After several tender exchanges, Chen took Yulan back, and she and Ki walked to the administrative hall where the rest of the family waited.
Ming was inside speaking with an attendant, though his voice trailed off strangely mid-sentence. He blinked at the parchment in his hand as if seeing it for the first time.
Fang noticed.
Chen noticed.
Ki especially noticed, his fingers tightening at his sleeve.
But none said a word.
The room was filled with light laughter and quiet banter as they gathered. Yet beneath the warmth lingered a creeping heaviness. Like roots winding beneath earth, unseen but steadily growing.
Fang brought tea.
Chen held Yulan.
Ki leaned against the table.
Ming watched them, smile gentle, eyes calm. But for a flicker of a second, confusion washed across his features, soft and fleeting, like a cloud passing in front of the sun.
"Ming?" Chen asked quietly.
He blinked. "Sorry," he said, regaining himself. "Just… tired."
His hand reached instinctively for the armrest, missing it once before finding it. Only Ki caught the slip.
And Fang.
The two exchanged a silent look.
He's slipping faster.
The realization sat like a stone in their stomachs.
Yet the emperor spoke with calm authority, reviewing matters of state. His voice remained steady. His presence commanded the room. But every now and then, he repeated a small detail. A name. A location. A phrase.
Once.
Then again.
Then a third time.
And each repetition cut Fang a little deeper.
Chen, still unaware, gently rocked Yulan. Ki forced himself to smile, to laugh along, to maintain the illusion that all was well.
They were masters of masks in this world.
But even the strongest masks crack.
After a while, Yulan fussed softly. Ming's face softened. He approached Chen and reached for the baby.
The child stilled in his arms.
"Look at her," Ming whispered. "My little blossom."
Chen brushed a hand across his sleeve. "She will be strong," she murmured.
Ming nodded slowly. "Yes… strong…" He paused, brow tightening. "What… what was I saying?"
Chen looked at him, puzzled. "You were speaking about her strength."
"Ah… yes. Strength."
Ki's stomach twisted.
Fang straightened his robe and cleared his throat loudly. "Yulan's future," he said, intervening, "will be one we build together."
Chen smiled. "Of course."
Ming nodded distractedly, eyes drifting downward as if following thoughts that refused to stay in one place.
Ki forced a laugh. "Brother Ming, didn't you say earlier that her tiny fists looked fierce enough to punch a warlord?"
Ming blinked. "Did I?"
"You did," Fang lied smoothly. "Twice."
"Oh…" Ming chuckled. "Yes. I remember now."
But his eyes said he didn't.
Night settled quietly outside, draping long shadows across the palace floors. Lamps flickered to life, casting warm halos around the family as they settled into soft conversation.
Ki watched his eldest brother carefully.
Ming's gaze moved with deliberate slowness, not out of laziness but as if he were fighting through fog thickening around him.
On the other side, Chen happily played with Yulan's tiny fingers, blissfully unaware of the shifting tide around her.
Fang kept himself composed, but his jaw remained tense.
The emperor's hair, dark as obsidian, shifted with the warm glow of lamplight. His eyes softened when he looked at his wife and daughter. But when he glanced away, the distant emptiness returned for a heartbeat.
A hollow pause.
A small tremor.
A fleeting shadow.
Then gone.
The air tightened.
Ki closed his eyes. I won't betray him. And I won't break my promise. But how long can we hide this?
Yet even in the storm of his thoughts, a small miracle happened again. Yulan, nestled in Chen's arms, cooed softly and reached out.
Ming smiled fully for the first time that day.
And in that smile, the palace felt whole again.
For a moment.
A precious moment.
A moment they all hoped would last forever, even as the cracks in Heaven's Mandate deepened quietly beneath their feet.