In the study, curls of incense smoke drifted through the air, thin and ethereal.
Shangguan Qingyun sat across from Prince An, Luo Wuyan, who was draped in opulent robes. They were locked in a silent match of Go.
As his opponent placed a stone, Shangguan Qingyun stroked his beard, sinking into deep thought.
During the chaotic struggle for the throne years ago, he had backed the wrong horse. That mistake, coupled with the incompetence of his heirs, had caused the Shangguan family to slide into a slow, agonizing decline. If he couldn’t reverse this downward spiral, they would soon be stripped of their status as one of the four great families of the Capital.
Fortunately, the daughter he had always looked down upon had actually proved useful, catching the eye of the current Empress.
Even if she was merely serving the sovereign with her charms, she could still squeeze a few favors out of the arrangement for the sake of the Shangguan family. However, these meager benefits were still a far cry from what the clan truly desired.
Perhaps the only way was…
Qingyun’s gaze flickered almost imperceptibly toward Prince An. His mind raced. If the Shangguan family wanted to ascend further, they might have to take the most perilous step of all.
But Prince An was born timid and cowardly. He had never been a favorite of the late Emperor and held very little actual power. He was hardly an ideal partner for a conspiracy.
Yet, he was the only “intact” prince left from the previous generation.
Sigh… forget it.
I should observe him a little longer.
From what he could see, the Prince seemed perfectly content with his current situation. Whether that contentment was genuine or a well-crafted facade remained to be seen.
As the black and white stones filled the board, Qingyun’s mind drifted back to the past.
The tenth year of the Mingde era had been the bloodiest year of the succession struggle. The princes had exhausted every scheme and cruelty in their quest for the crown. No one could have predicted that within a few short months, the late Emperor’s sons would be dead or maimed one by one, leaving only the unremarkable Luo Wuyan unscathed.
Just as everyone assumed Prince An had been the most cunning of them all and was poised to take the throne, a sudden upheaval changed everything.
Overnight, the late Emperor died. The person named as heir in his final edict was not a son, but his daughter—Luo Wushuang.
In the centuries of the Luo Dynasty’s history, there had never been a female ruler. The decree sent shockwaves through the imperial court. At first, the officials believed it was a forgery. Even after it was confirmed to be the Emperor’s own handwriting, many ministers stood their ground, shouting that it violated ancestral laws and threatened the very foundation of the state. It was, in their eyes, an act of supreme rebellion.
Confronted by this wall of opposition, the young and seemingly innocent Luo Wushuang did not retreat a single inch. Instead, she displayed a ruthless decisiveness and a capacity for bloodshed that far eclipsed her father’s.
With a gentle smile, she employed iron-fisted methods to purge dissenters and elevate those loyal to her. She stabilized the court with lightning speed and ascended the throne.
When the cries of “Long live the Empress” finally echoed through the palace, the only witnesses to the cold-blooded reality of the imperial house were the severed heads rolling before the Hall of Pure Harmony and the dragon-carved reliefs stained crimson with blood.
That year, Her Majesty was only fifteen.
In the three years that followed, she reorganized the bureaucracy, crushed the salt smuggling rings, and pacified the southern tribes. Her speed and decisiveness were nothing short of breathtaking. Eventually, the ministers who had once fought her tooth and nail were forced to fall silent, crawling obediently at the feet of their new sovereign.
And then…
Once she had secured her grip on the court, the inevitable happened: the ministers began to pester her about marriage.
Luo Wushuang, determined never to be a puppet for their interests, reached out her claws and snatched the Sixth Young Lady of the Shangguan Manor, Shangguan Liqian.
Recalling those events, Shangguan Qingyun let out a long sigh. He still didn’t know when his daughter had met the Empress, nor did he understand what the Empress saw in her.
Suddenly, the sound of hurried footsteps came from outside the door.
“Master! The Sixth Young Lady has returned!”
The voice from the hallway caused Qingyun’s hand to pause mid-air. He glanced at Prince An’s expression before a cold light flickered in his eyes. He asked tonelessly, “Oh? Is there anyone else with her?”
Even though he knew his master couldn’t see him, the servant kept his head bowed low. “Only a few guards and a maidservant.”
It wasn’t surprising that the servant had misidentified Luo Wushuang.
As a servant, he understood the dynamic of subservience better than anyone. Luo Wushuang’s attitude toward Shangguan Liqian was more attentive and humble than any common servant’s toward their master. Even though her clothes were clearly expensive and she carried an air of nobility, the servant never even considered she might be someone of high rank.
After all, why would a superior person bow and scrape to someone beneath them? At most, the servant figured she was just a particularly high-ranking or unusual maid.
It was this very misunderstanding that led Shangguan Qingyun to believe that Liqian’s return was just like her previous visits—that she had begged and pleaded for a momentary reprieve from the Empress.
Consequently, he didn’t take her arrival to heart. He gave a casual instruction: “Take her to the guest hall.”
Then, he returned his focus to the game. He needed a submissive pawn, not a daughter who would try to negotiate for her own benefit. He already knew why she was here; she likely wanted to beg him once again to find a way to get her out of the palace.
To Qingyun, this was utterly irrational.
In his view, she had already lost her virtue and her reputation. Rather than wasting such a golden opportunity, she should be making her meager contribution to the prosperity of the clan. As for her well-being, he had never cared about it. He had even considered that if she ever lost her utility…
As her biological father, he wouldn’t mind “sending her off” personally, ending a father-daughter bond that probably shouldn’t have existed in the first place.
Another stone clicked onto the board. The situation in the game was becoming murky, as if veiled by a thin shroud—much like his own heart. He despised the fact that Liqian had stained the family name, yet he couldn’t bear to let go of the “azure ladder” she provided for the family’s young men to climb to power.
As the black and white stones clashed, the tension grew.
Prince An glanced at the old fox across from him. A faint, dark glint passed through his eyes as he asked with feigned interest, “It must be rare for the Sixth Young Lady to leave the palace. Aren’t you going to see her, Lord Shangguan?”
The nobles of the Capital always spoke of the Shangguan family’s Sixth Young Lady in hushed, secretive tones. Everyone knew she had been taken into the palace by the Empress, and that Her Majesty was obsessed with her, guarding her fiercely. But…
Sigh.
They were both women. Even if the Empress had taken her by force, no one expected the flame to last. They were convinced that the Empress’s obsession was merely a result of her youth and a lack of experience with the pleasures of love. Once she grew older, she would surely find her way back to the “proper” path.
To them, the lowly Sixth Young Lady was nothing more than a temporary diversion for the Empress. It wasn’t to be taken seriously. No matter how much interest the Empress showed now, it was only a matter of time before the girl was discarded.
There were those who watched the Shangguan family’s situation like a circus, and those who were secretly envious—perhaps wishing they had such a daughter to bewitch the sovereign for the family’s gain.
Shangguan Qingyun heard the mockery in the Prince’s voice, but his expression remained calm as he placed a stone. He didn’t answer.
Yet, despite the outward stillness, the currents beneath the surface of the chessboard were beginning to surge.
