That evening, when the palace lamps had been lit and the capital's streets glowed beneath lines of lantern-fire, Luo He went personally to meet the emperor.
He entered without ceremony.
The emperor had dismissed most attendants, keeping only two trusted eunuchs at the far edge of the chamber.
A brazier burned low in one corner, giving off a faint scent of sandalwood. Scrolls lay scattered across a heavy desk tax reports, military dispatches, petitions, complaints, demands.
The weight of a nation reduced to paper.
Luo He bowed deeply as custom required. Then, instead of taking one of the honored seats nearest the emperor, he chose a simpler chair placed lower and farther away.
A gesture of humility. The moment he spoke, however, the room changed.
He addressed the emperor not like a subject pleading upward, but like one ruler discussing problems with another.
Measured. Direct. Without fear.
The emperor had already learned something important about Luo He:
When they were alone together, titles mattered less than capability.
And in such rooms, Luo He behaved as though command naturally drifted toward the most useful man present.
The emperor no longer found it shocking.
Only dangerous. And strangely comforting.
Luo He leaned back slightly. "I've spent several days listening." "That is already more than some ministers do," the emperor muttered. "I noticed." A faint smile touched Luo He's lips. Then it vanished.
"You have four categories of crisis," he said. "Factional decay. Treasury collapse. Border humiliation. Weak military response." The emperor gave a tired sigh. "When listed so neatly, it sounds even worse."
"It is worse," Luo He replied calmly. "Because neatness hides scale." The emperor rubbed his temple. "Then tell me, strategist. Which fire do we extinguish first?" Luo He did not hesitate.
"The border conflicts concern you most?" He asked. "Yes." The emperor replied.
"The Wu Kingdom has won several engagements," the emperor said grimly. "Each victory emboldens them. I keep reinforcing the frontier with hired troops and emergency gold."
"Hence your treasury bleeding itself to delay embarrassment." Luo He said with out hesitation. The emperor gave him a long look. "You truly speak like an equal."
"No," Luo He said. "Equals flatter each other more." He laughed slightly.
The emperor barked a laugh despite himself. Then Luo He's eyes sharpened.
"Our first target must be the Nang family." Silence fell. Even the eunuchs lowered their eyes. The emperor's expression became cautious.
"That is not a small suggestion." The emperor said. "It is the only intelligent one." Luo He leaned forward. "You cannot defeat outer enemies while inner rot profits from weakness.
Your taxes vanish through corrupt channels. Your courts bend. Your city trades fear for favors. Your third prince grows stronger because parasites feed him."
The emperor's jaw tightened. "You speak boldly of men who have served my court for decades." He said with a slight hint of hidden anger. "I speak accurately of men who have eaten it for decades." Luo He said.
The emperor stared at the brazier flames.
"And if I move against them and fail?"
"Then you confirm your weakness." Luo He reasured. "And if I succeed?"
"You become emperor again in the peoples eyes."
That answer lingered in the chamber.
At length, the emperor exhaled.n"Very well."
A pause.
"How do we begin?" Luo He smiled.
"By making them feel safe." Wine was brought. The emperor drank like a man trying to silence his own mind. Luo He took only two small sips, then set his cup aside untouched.
"You distrust palace wine?" the emperor asked. "I distrust unnecessary fog." He said without hesitation. "Young men should enjoy pleasure." The emperor said. "Young emperors should enjoy solvency." Luo He said with a hint of flattery meaning both of them are still young.
The emperor laughed harder than the joke deserved. Because he needed to.
When Luo He finally rose to leave, the emperor called after him. "You really think we can win?"
Luo He paused at the doorway. "That depends." He said. "On what?" The emperor asked curiously. "Whether you want victory more than comfort."
Then without a word he left letting it sink in.
That night, Luo He returned to Jin Mulan.
She was adjusting the straps of training armor when he entered. "You're smiling," she said suspiciously. "I found entertainment." He said.
"That usually becomes my problem." she said. "It already has." He stepped closer. "I have discovered a better training method than drills." She folded her arms listening. "Which is?" Jin Mulan asked.
"Real danger." Luo He answered.
He took her through the sleeping streets of the capital beneath cloaks and masks. Through alleys rich men never walked. Through districts where lanterns were redder, laughter rougher, and knives more common than etiquette.
At last they descended stone steps beneath an abandoned warehouse.
The underground fighting pit. The air below was thick with sweat, blood, oil smoke, cheap liquor, and anticipation.
Torches burned along circular walls blackened by years of soot. Wooden stands rose around a sand arena stained dark in places no scrubbing had ever cleaned.
Crowds packed the seats dockworkers, gamblers, mercenaries, failed nobles, hidden officials, thrill-seekers, and criminals with enough coin to wager.
Roars rose like thunder every time steel met flesh.
Luo He spoke near her ear. "This place is funded by the Nang family." Her eyes narrowed. "Illegal?" she asked even though she was fully aware. "Profitable. Therefore tolerated." Luo He replied.
"And tonight?" She asked. "Tonight," he said softly, "you are my champion."
He presented her with new armor.
Red lacquered plates shaped for speed rather than brute defense, lined with lighter chain beneath. Golden embroidery curled across the edges like living flame.
Flexible shoulder guards, reinforced bracers, thigh plates designed for lunging movement. Then a mask.
Crimson, elegant, edged in gold.
It hid the upper face while leaving the mouth and nose clear enough to breathe and speak.
When Jin Mulan donned it and let a faint heat gather around her spear, nearby spectators began shouting before she had even entered the arena. "Firecracker!" The name spread instantly. Luo He approved.
The early rounds were slaughter. Her first opponent was an axeman who relied entirely on intimidation. He charged with a roar. Jin Mulan stepped aside so narrowly the axe split empty air beside her shoulder.
Her spear butt struck his knee sideways with a crack. As he dropped, the bladed end reversed and pierced his throat.
The crowd exploded.
Second opponent was using twin daggers. He danced fast, aiming for tendons and openings. Jin Mulan retreated in circles, reading rhythm, then thrust one false line high and pivoted low.
The spearhead pierced his shoulder clean through.
Third opponent was a shieldman. She vaulted onto the shield itself, used it as a step, and drove him backward with three descending strikes before planting him face-first into the sand with her spear stuck on the back of his head.
Luo He watched impassively.
"She's still too naive," he murmured. Across the bracket another masked warrior advanced just as cleanly. Blue armor with white engravings. White mask. Sword in hand. Elegant footwork.
No wasted motion.
Even before seeing the style fully, Luo He knew. He leaned close to Jin Mulan before her semifinal. "That one is the Third Princess." Jin Mulan turned sharply.
"You brought me here for her?" She asked already knowing the answer.
"I brought you here for training," he said smoothly. "Her presence is a bonus."
Then, casually: "I may have her as a wife one day." Luo He whispered. Even through the mask, he felt the temperature around Jin Mulan rise.
"Good," he added. "Use that."
The princess's semifinal began. Her opponent was a giant of a man wielding a massive two-handed sword. Each swing howled through the air, heavy enough to split ribs through armor. She did not meet force with force. She flowed. One step in.
One step out.
Blade tapping, redirecting, forcing overcommitment. The giant grew frustrated. He swung horizontally with murderous commitment. She slid backward, her boot brushing the sand.
A thin glaze of frost formed beneath his leading foot. Invisible beneath churned dirt. He stepped. Slipped. Fell sideways with a curse. Before the crowd even understood, she lunged and drove her sword straight through his left eye.
The body spasmed once and stilled.
The audience erupted in savage approval. Most thought luck had caused the fall. Luo He laughed quietly. "She cheats beautifully." He said to him self.
Then Jin Mulan's semifinal. Her opponent was a wrestler built like a gatehouse, chest broad as a cart. He wanted one grip. One throw. One crushing hold. She gave him none. He rushed with arms wide.
She spun past, three illusion-spears blooming around the real shaft like reflections in shattered glass. He hesitated for half a heartbeat. Enough.
The true spear entered pierced his soft armour beneath his collarbone and punched into the heart. He staggered.
Dropped.
The crowd screamed itself hoarse.
Filled with battle-rush and irritation still burning from Luo He's earlier words, Jin Mulan seized the dead man by the hair, tilted his face upward and spat into his mouth.
For one stunned breath, the pit froze.
Then cheers detonated like war drums.
Luo He laughed openly.
{In the underground fighting pits, spitting upon a worthy foe was not insult. It was acknowledgment. Brutal cultures made brutal gestures sacred.}
Dawn threatened by the time the final began. Torches burned low. Coins had changed hands a hundred times. Blood had dried dark in the sand. Now all waited.