Morning light filtered through the carved lattice windows of the Yuan estate, dust drifting like pale gold. Servants moved in and out of Madam Li's private wing with soft, practiced steps, bringing tea, documents, small trays of untouched breakfast dishes. Yet despite the quiet domestic rhythm, an unmistakable heaviness clung to the room.
"Madam," a maid whispered from the doorway, "the girl is awake. She and her maid are preparing themselves as instructed."
Madam Li lifted her hand to dismiss the messenger. The door slid shut, leaving her alone once again.
She did not immediately rise.
Instead, she stared at her husband's empty seat across the table—an ornate rosewood chair, engraved with dragons and clouds, untouched since his assassination three months ago.
President Yuan had held many ambitions.
Some realistic.
Most dangerous.
A few… catastrophic.
But the one ambition that cost him his life was the one Madam Li could never forget.
--
FLASHBACK — THE PRESIDENT WHO WANTED MORE THAN A REPUBLIC
Three years ago, her husband—President Yuan Wei Shi—stood by the window of this very study, staring at the courtyard with a scowl.
"They question every decision I make," he muttered. "Every minister. Every general. Even the foreign envoys think they can lecture me."
Madam Li set down her embroidery. "You are the President. Why should their opinions matter?"
"Because," Yuan snapped, "a president's power is never whole. It is borrowed. Conditional. Today they follow me because I am strong. Tomorrow they can tear me down if they choose."
He turned toward her, eyes sharp with frustration.
"What is the use of this title if it comes with chains? If I must bargain with parliament like a merchant? If generals obey only when it suits them?"
Madam Li's breath stilled.
Yuan whispered, almost reverently:
"I don't want borrowed authority. I want absolute power."
The word absolute echoed in the room like a forbidden prayer.
Madam Li said nothing, but her heart pounded.
Her husband continued pacing.
"Think of the emperors before us. They may have been flawed, corrupt, inept—but one thing they possessed was unquestioned authority. No parliament. No votes. No factions tugging at their sleeves."
He looked at her, fierce and hungry.
"An emperor rules. A president negotiates."
Madam Li felt heat rise in her chest—not fear, but exhilaration.
Her husband lowered his voice.
"If we build a dynasty, our sons inherit the throne. Their sons after them. Our family becomes eternal."
Madam Li swallowed.
This was no passing fancy.
This was ambition distilled to its purest form.
And she—
She wanted it too.
She wanted her sons born into unparalleled legacy.
She wanted her grandchildren to inherit crowns, not offices.
She wanted her family written into history, not as a political footnote, but as an unbroken imperial line.
She whispered:
"How do we begin?"
Her husband smiled slowly.
"With a princess."
--
FLASHBACK — THE IMPERIAL TRUTH MOST DID NOT KNOW
It was in this same study that President Yuan explained the imperial succession with surgical clarity.
"Li Shan may be emperor," he said, "but he is not the true imperial bloodline."
Madam Li frowned. "He is still of the Aisin-Gioro family."
"By adoption," Yuan corrected. "He is the son of the previous emperor's younger brother. A convenient choice. A political patch."
Madam Li blinked. "You mean…"
"His claim is shallow," Yuan confirmed. "The conservatives know it. The loyalists know it. Even the foreign observers know it."
Madam Li's pulse quickened.
"And the princess?"
Yuan's expression softened into something close to reverence.
"Wan Li is Emperor Gongxu's direct daughter. His only legitimate child. His blood."
He tapped the table with deliberate rhythm.
"She is the trueborn descendant of the last ruling emperor. Her claim is ten times stronger than Li Shan's."
Madam Li felt her breath catch.
Yuan continued:
"If Li Shan were captured, dethroned, or discredited, Wan Li becomes the natural heir—the only uncontested link to the dynasty."
He leaned forward.
"And whoever marries her inherits that legitimacy."
Madam Li understood instantly.
Their son—
Yuan Kezhen—
could be that man.
Through marriage, the Yuan family would not seize power by force—they would inherit it.
Yuan spoke with rising vigor:
"Imagine it. Kezhen, with the princess by his side, declared the unifying figure of a new monarchy. At first as regent, then as emperor. And once the nation accepts the bloodline—our dynasty begins."
He straightened, eyes blazing with the magnitude of his own vision.
"And our grandchildren will rule after him."
Madam Li pressed a hand to her chest.
This was no fantasy.
No whimsical dream.
This was a blueprint for empire.
And Wan Li—
the quiet, timid girl raised behind vermilion palace walls—
was the keystone.
Madam Li murmured:
"If this works… our family will rise higher than any republic could ever allow."
Her husband nodded.
"That is why her engagement to Kezhen is essential."
It was then—
watching the man she married transform into a man meant for history—
that Madam Li accepted the plan.
Wholeheartedly.
Openly.
She too wanted the crown.
--
FLASHBACK — RUYI'S RELUCTANT AGREEMENT
The day Empress Dowager Ruyi arrived at their residence in secret, Madam Li saw in her the fragility of a crumbling dynasty.
Eyes haunted.
Posture tense.
Hands clenched in her sleeves.
But beneath it was a mother's steel.
"For my daughter's life," Ruyi whispered after hours of negotiation, "I will agree to the engagement."
President Yuan bowed deeply.
"You have my word. Princess Wan Li will be protected by our family. And through her, the new monarchy will rise."
Madam Li saw it in Ruyi's eyes—
the realization that the Qing would end with her daughter unless she placed her in new hands.
Only later would Madam Li understand that Ruyi never sought to save the dynasty.
She sought to save her child.
The Yuan family sought both.
--
FLASHBACK — ASSASSINATION
Great ambition draws great enemies.
Madam Li remembered hearing the explosion first—
then the gunshots—
then the screams of citizens outside their gates.
By the time the messenger arrived, covered in blood, the truth had already spread like wildfire:
President Yuan had been assassinated.
Foreign agents whispered.
Internal rivals celebrated.
The cabinet fractured within hours.
Madam Li remembered how she had collapsed, her grief so sharp she couldn't breathe.
--
Back to the Present — Widow, Strategist
The memory dissolved, leaving Madam Li alone again.
Her fingers drummed once on the table, slow and deliberate.
So much had changed.
Her husband was dead.
Assassinated.
Cut down because his ambitions threatened too many powerful men.
The monarchy had not returned.
In fact, it seemed more impossible now than ever.
But one thing had not changed:
The young girl sleeping under her roof carried the purest imperial blood in China.
Keeping her was dangerous.
Revolutionaries would kill her.
Republican officials would imprison her.
Foreign powers could use her.
Warlords might parade her as a puppet empress.
But letting her go?
Letting another faction—another man—another family acquire the last legitimate daughter of Emperor Gongxu?
Unthinkable.
Wan Li might be a small spark of possibility…
or she might be a loaded gun.
Either way, Madam Li refused to let someone else pull the trigger.
Her husband's dream may be dead.
The monarchy may never rise again.
The world may never return to what it used to be.
But a symbol like Wan Li…
symbols survive.
And symbols can be used.
Safeguarded.
Controlled.
Weaponized.
Better under her roof than under another.
Better watched than lost.
Better a liability she owned
than a danger someone else wielded.
Madam Li exhaled softly.
"Yes," she murmured to the empty room, "she stays."
Hidden.
Quiet.
Contained.
Not because the dream was certain—
but because power, even dead power, attracted predators.
And Madam Li would not let a rival be the one to seize it.
--
A Knock on the Door
"Madam Li," the maid called gently from outside. "The girl is ready. Shall I bring her in?"
Madam Li smoothed her sleeves, rose gracefully, and set the teacup aside.
"Yes," she answered. "Let us see the princess."
Her eyes gleamed, cold and calculating.
"Let us see what future she holds."
And with that, she stepped out of her chamber.
--
TBC