Chapter 7: The Ashes of Authority
You'd think the fall of an emperor would come with trumpets.
Drums. Fireworks. Screams in the courtyard. Something big, something loud.
But no.
It started with a whisper.
A stable hand's whisper, to be exact.
I was passing by the stables with an armful of old scrolls—copies of terrain maps from the southern borders—when I heard it.
Just a boy. Maybe twelve. Small, wiry. Dust on his nose and mud on his ankles. He was brushing a Celestial Charger, one of those massive white warhorses reserved for nobility, murmuring to himself like he didn't think anyone was listening.
"They say the Emperor choked in his sleep… Eyes wide open. No bruises. No blood. No poison, either."
I paused mid-step.
Did he just say—?
"Sorry, what?" I asked.
The boy startled. Almost dropped the brush. "N-nothing, sir."
I crouched down a little, just enough to meet him at eye level. "Hey. You're not in trouble. Just… say that again. Please."
He glanced left, then right, as if the stone pillars had ears. Then leaned in, voice barely above breath.
"My uncle works in the lower kitchens. He heard from one of the bed-chamber servants. The Emperor's heart just… stopped. But not like a normal death. They said his face was frozen like he'd seen something. Something bad."
The charger snorted. The boy jumped again. I thanked him softly and left.
But the words stuck.
Like fog in the back of my throat.
Back in the academy halls, nothing looked out of place—at least not to the untrained eye. But if you paid attention, really paid attention, you'd see it:
The way no one laughed.
The way the palace pigeons didn't land on the garden rails that morning.
The way the incense burned too fast, curling into dark, strange shapes.
Death had a scent.
Metallic. Dry. Old.
And it had settled quietly into the very bones of Jiutian.
I ran into Baoyu near the South Pavilion. He was holding two cups of fermented plum tea, eyebrows already raised at my expression.
"Let me guess—you heard, too?"
"From a horse boy," I muttered.
"Better than me. I heard it from a maid who can't go five sentences without gossiping about shoes."
We sat by the stone railing, steam curling from our cups, and watched the koi ripple the still water.
"You think it's real?" Baoyu asked eventually.
"The Emperor's dead?" I nodded slowly. "Yeah. It smells real."
"You and your 'smell' theories…"
"It's not a theory. Death lingers. Like burnt oil."
Baoyu was quiet. Then, under his breath:
"He wasn't old, Tianhe."
"I know."
"And he wasn't sick."
"I know."
We both stared ahead for a while.
"You think Zhao Rui…?" Baoyu didn't finish.
I didn't answer.
Did I think Zhao Rui—ambitious, calculating Zhao Rui—had something to do with this?
No.
I didn't think.
I knew.
But knowing and saying are two different things.
By midday, the academy was humming with a different kind of silence. Not peaceful. Not calm.
More like the silence of a mountain before it erupts.
And sure enough—by dusk—the bells rang. Not funeral bells. Ceremonial bells.
And the rumors turned to protocol.
The next morning, Zhao Rui stood at the center of Jiutian's Grand Court, draped in imperial crimson, his robe lined in black phoenix thread. A color no one else dared wear. A color that hadn't been seen on anyone but the Emperor for two decades.
He looked taller somehow. Not physically. But like… the space around him bent to his presence.
"By decree of the Heaven-Mandated Council," the Herald called out, "Lord Zhao Rui shall serve as Regent, protector of the realm, until such time as the constellations deem a new Son of Heaven."
Not King.
Not Emperor.
But close enough to own the sky.
Later that day, I found myself in a quiet corridor between the meditation gardens and the old scholar's wing, staring at my reflection in the bronze-plated door.
I could still hear the whisper:
"Eyes wide open."
And see the way Zhao Rui had smiled when the phoenix threads were wrapped around him.
Baoyu walked up beside me, his voice soft.
"So… what now, strategist?"
I didn't answer right away.
Because deep inside me, I felt something shift.
A heat.
A flicker.
A question I couldn't yet shape—but couldn't ignore.
And above us, clouds drifted slowly across the sun.
As if they, too, were waiting to see what I'd do next.
Let me know if you'd like to follow this with how Tianhe internally processes the implications, or jump straight into the tension of his next confrontation with Zhao Rui.
The next morning, Zhao Rui wore imperial red.
---
---
The day Zhao Rui took the throne, everything felt off.
Not in a dramatic, lightning-crashes kind of way. Just… off. Like the air was too still. Like the ground wasn't quite solid. Like we were all standing on something that was quietly shifting underneath us, and no one wanted to admit it.
There's a weird weight that comes when power changes hands. You don't always see it. But you can feel it. Like your balance's just a little off, and no one tells you why.
The throne room was usually full of noise—footsteps, chatter, ceremonial gongs, the usual court gossip floating like incense smoke. That day? Quiet. The kind of quiet that makes you feel like you should whisper, even if no one told you to.
No announcements. No fanfare. Just Zhao Rui, already standing at the front in those deep crimson robes. Not the faded ones they give officials—no, this was imperial red, dyed with dragon root and ceremony. The kind of red that says, "You don't question me."
He didn't smile.
Didn't wave.
Didn't make a grand speech.
Just looked at the room like he'd been there forever, and finally everyone else was catching up.
Then he said, calm and clear, "I serve only the Will of Heaven."
That was it.
And yet… you could almost hearing the sound of people kneeling too fast. Like they'd practiced. Like they knew better than to hesitate. The kind of bow that doesn't ask questions.
I stood near the edge, half-hidden behind one of the marble columns, scrolls still tucked under my arm. I wasn't on the guest list, exactly. But no one had stopped me either. Maybe I just blended in. Or maybe they wanted me to see.
Zhao Rui didn't look at me.
Not directly.
But at one point, his eyes moved slightly, just enough to notice something out of place.
Just enough to let me know like he knew, I was there.
And for a second, I forgot how to breathe.
---
That same week, my name appeared on a brass slip nailed to the southern board.
Li Tianhe – Junior Strategic Advisor, 5th Tier
Fifth tier. Technically still junior, but high enough to speak directly to officers, even provincial lords. An unheard-of promotion for a first-year.
Baoyu gawked at the posting like it had slapped him.
"You did it," he muttered, then looked around like someone might overhear. "But how did you do it?"
"I didn't."
"Don't give me that. You're glowing. Like, not metaphorically. You actually have a blue shimmer under your eyes. What's happening to you?"
I had no answer.
He wasn't wrong. Something was happening. Ever since the blue flame… ever since the old official with the silver ring whispered "Sky Resonance" like it meant something ancient and forbidden. Ever since the stars in my dreams started humming like tuning forks.
But none of that would explain the appointment.
And it certainly wouldn't protect me from what came next.
---
Hate is a quiet thing in a place like this.
It comes in glances that flick too fast. In greetings that leave your name out. In messages that never arrive. And in sparring matches where people 'accidentally' aim for your throat.
I didn't blame them. Not entirely.
Most of the other advisors had trained five to ten years. Some were war veterans. Others were sons of nobles with entire bloodlines steeped in strategy.
And then there was me. An introspective scholarship student who wandered into the meditation yard and lit the air on fire.
The whispers came fast.
"Pet project."
"Sky boy."
"Raraswati's mistake reincarnated."
That last one stung more than I admitted.
---
I kept my head down.
That was the first rule you learn when you don't come from a noble house and somehow land a seat at the royal war table.
I showed up to briefings early like, annoyingly early. Just me, the fire still dying in the wall lanterns, and the smell of damp ink from yesterday's scrolls. I'd take a seat near the back and set up my notes like I was preparing for an exam I'd already passed three times over. Most of the others walked in late, casual, like they owned the air in the room. Maybe they did.
I didn't speak unless spoken to. Even then, I kept it short.
"Yes, Advisor Lin."
"No, Commander Hu."
"I'll revise the report by nightfall."
I took notes during every meeting, even if I already knew what was being said. Asked questions I already knew the answers to. Just to show I cared. Just to prove I was still learning. Still humble. Still grateful.
"Look at him," one of them whispered once, probably not even meaning for me to hear. "Trying to play the part of a loyal mutt."
I heard it anyway.
Didn't say anything. Just smiled like it didn't sting.
Late at night, after the others left for drinks or sleep or whatever it is that comfortable men did after comfortable work, I stayed back. Reviewed maps until the lines blurred. Drank that awful, bitter army tea that could probably revive a dead horse. Ran drills in my head until I could recite formation codes backwards in my sleep.
I did all that.
And still, I wasn't invited to the internal War Games.
Which—let's be clear—wasn't about ego. Not really.
It was about trust.
War Games were where the real decisions got tested. Where strategies were sharpened. Where you found out who was good at theory… and who could lead men when it mattered.
They didn't want me there.
Too new. Too young. Too low-born. Too… something.
I never got a reason.
Until the day someone tried to sabotage the Games.
It started with a misfiled supply order.
"Three dozen lances and six crates of blank scrolls gone missing," whispered Captain Shen as he passed me in the hall, pretending to talk about the weather. "All bound for the northern edge of the test field. You know anything?"
"No," I said. "But I'll look into it."
I did.
And what I found wasn't just missing gear—it was re-routed communication signals, forged orders, and a fake map layer slipped into the simulation core. It would've led the commander team straight into a trap if I hadn't caught it in time.
So I brought it up.
Quietly. Respectfully. Like someone who wanted to help, not accuse.
Except people don't like being helped when help sounds like "You almost got outsmarted by a junior advisor no one invited."
That night, I got summoned.
Private audience. No name on the slip. Just the imperial seal.
I thought I was in trouble.
I almost didn't go.
The room they led me to wasn't a cell. That was the first good sign.
It was a side chamber in the War Hall; small, round, with a single lantern and two cushions on the floor. Bare stone walls. Quiet. No guards.
Inside sat General Zhao Rui.
Not Emperor Zhao Rui.
Not in full robes. Not wearing the crown.
Just General Rui, sleeves rolled up, sipping from a plain clay cup.
"Tianhe," he said without looking at me. "Come, sit."
I did.
He poured me tea. Didn't offer sugar. I drank it anyway.
Then he looked at me, yes he really looked. The way a hawk looks at a mouse deciding whether it's worth swooping down for.
"You saw it, didn't you?"
"Yes, Your—sir. I flagged the routing mismatch two hours before the test."
"You fixed it?"
"I reported it to Command. Then stayed up all night double-checking every channel."
"You didn't tell the council?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I figured… they already knew. Or would think I was overstepping."
Zhao Rui smiled. Barely.
"You're learning."
I didn't know what to say, so I didn't.
He leaned back, set his cup down, and let silence fill the space.
"Tell me," he said finally, "do you think they'd trust you more if you stopped being so good?"
It wasn't sarcasm.
I blinked. "Honestly? I think they're waiting for me to mess up."
He nodded. "That makes two of us."
That stung more than I expected.
"I'm not here to be a threat," I said, too fast. "I just want to serve."
"I know."
"Then, why not let me?"
He stood. Walked a few steps toward the shadowy edge of the room. "Do you know what fear tastes like, Tianhe?"
I didn't answer.
He turned, voice low. "It tastes like potential. Just enough of it to make people wonder what you'll become. And that wondering? That's what keeps knives hidden and hands from clapping."
"You think I'm dangerous?"
"I think you don't know what you are yet. And that's the most dangerous kind of person there is."
I exhaled slowly. "So… am I being removed?"
Zhao Rui studied me again. "You're being promoted."
I froze.
"Effective tomorrow. Junior Command Tier. Strategic division. War Games inclusion."
"But,..."
"You earned it. Just… don't expect a warm welcome."
I almost laughed. "Wasn't counting on one."
Zhao Rui smirked.
Then added, softer: "Watch your back, Tianhe. Not every war starts on a battlefield."
The next day, I walked into the War Games simulation chamber for the first time.
No one cheered.
No one even looked up.
But I saw the shiftthe flicker in their eyes when they saw me walk through that door.
Like gravity changed again.
Like someone tilted the floor just a little more.
And this time?
I didn't keep my head down.
---
It started with a missing draft. Then two. Then a misaligned simulation that nearly collapsed the entire winter siege model. On paper, it looked like system error.
But I noticed something.
Every mistake followed the same pattern—minor shifts that benefited the Eastern Coalition in theoretical engagements. Sabotage by subtle bias.
I brought it to Instructor Shen.
He stared at the data for a long time before finally saying, "You're either paranoid, or correct. Either way… congratulations."
"For what?"
"You're now the youngest on the internal War Games committee."
---
The seat they gave me at the next meeting was at the edge of the circle. But it was still in the circle.
Zhao Rui entered halfway through.
He didn't sit. Just stood behind us, expression blank.
"We are being tested," he said. "The borders pulse. Bandits no longer act like bandits. And there are whispers of movements beyond the Celestial Sea."
The room stilled.
"I want new eyes on the board," Zhao Rui continued. "Eyes not born into habit."
And then he looked at me.
For half a second, the room seemed to inhale.
Then exhale in hostility.
I didn't flinch. But I felt the target burn between my shoulder blades.
---
After the meeting, I didn't head back to my quarters. My head was too full, my hands too twitchy. I just… wandered. The palace was quieter than usual, despite the tension still thick in the air. Even the guards seemed more distant, like they were holding their breath.
I found myself outside, on one of the higher balconies that overlooked the garden and the southern ridge beyond. The air was cooler up there. Still and golden, like the last warmth of the day was trying to hold on before nightfall.
I leaned against the marble rail, elbows pressed into the stone, eyes following the line where sky met hill. From this angle, the horizon almost looked soft. Peaceful. Like the world below hadn't changed.
But it had.
I heard the door creak open behind me and soft footsteps approach.
"You good?" Baoyu asked, his voice low but casual, like he didn't want to scare off the silence.
I didn't look at him right away. Just exhaled through my nose and shook my head. "No."
He leaned beside me without saying anything. He didn't have to. The quiet between us had always been comfortable, like a blanket we both pulled over our heads when things got too loud.
After a moment, he said, "Want to run away?"
"Desperately."
He chuckled. "We won't."
"I know."
"But it's nice to fantasize, right?"
That pulled a small smile from me. Just a twitch at the corner of my mouth, but it was there.
"I used to dream about disappearing into the forest," Baoyu said. "Just me, a fishing rod, a house with a leaky roof, and no one asking me about war reports."
"Sounds… peaceful."
"Sounds fake," he replied, laughing. "I wouldn't last a week without hot baths or someone to complain to."
"You'd bring your tub into the woods."
"I *would*, actually." He nudged me with his elbow. "And you'd come visit. Pretend you don't miss this place."
I tilted my head. "Would I miss it?"
Baoyu was quiet for a beat, then shrugged. "Maybe not the politics. But the people? Some of them, yeah."
He didn't say it, but I knew he meant me. And I didn't say it, but I knew he was right.
I watched a small group of birds fly across the sky in a wide, almost lazy arc. Something about their movement felt… wrong. Not bad. Just unfamiliar. Like they weren't following their usual path.
"Baoyu…"
"Yeah?"
"Do you think something's changing?"
He raised an eyebrow. "You mean besides the emperor dying, the palace shifting power, and our circle of trust shrinking by the hour?"
I shook my head slowly. "Not just here. Bigger. Like… like the sky's about to say something."
He stared at me. Then blinked. "You've been reading your mom's journals again, haven't you?"
I smirked. "Maybe."
"You know, every time you talk like that, I start to think I'm in a poem."
"I'm serious."
"Okay, okay." He crossed his arms and leaned against the rail, looking up. "So what exactly do you think the sky's trying to say?"
"I don't know yet." My voice was quieter now. "But it's like… it's humming. Like when you touch a string before it plays a note."
Baoyu's lips pursed thoughtfully. "You always had a weird sense for this kind of thing."
I glanced at him. "Do you think I'm wrong?"
"I think you feel things before the rest of us do. You always have. That's why I listen."
That warmed something in my chest. He didn't always say things like that, but when he did, he meant it.
"Promise me something," he added after a moment.
"What?"
"If the sky speaks… promise you'll translate it before anyone else hears."
I smiled again. This time, a little wider. "I'll try."
Baoyu gave a satisfied nod, then pointed to the horizon. "That cloud looks like a goat."
"What?"
He grinned. "Look—right there. Two horns. Sort of a beard."
"That looks nothing like a goat."
"You're blind."
"Or maybe *you're* just bored."
"Fair."
---
There was a pause. Comfortable again. Until it wasn't.
Baoyu shifted, his tone lowering. "Hey… I heard something weird."
My attention sharpened. "From where?"
"One of the scribes. Said a few of the old storage rooms have been sealed. Quietly. Like someone's locking away scrolls they don't want found."
"Which wing?"
"East. Under the archive. You know, that part no one goes to unless they're sent."
I frowned. "Did he see who gave the order?"
"No. Just that it came straight from one of Zhao Rui's direct aides."
I pushed off the railing. "That's not good."
"Nope."
"Do you think it's related to Master Yan?"
Baoyu didn't answer right away. Then he said, "I think everything's connected now."
I nodded slowly. The air felt thicker again. Not with heat. With something else. Like a storm waiting just outside hearing distance.
Baoyu turned to me, voice gentler. "You okay?"
I thought about lying.
Then said, "No. But I'm trying."
"That's enough."
"Is it?"
He looked at me seriously. "It has to be."
---
The lanterns began to flicker on below as servants lit the garden torches. The golden light was fading fast, and soon the palace would be wrapped in its usual twilight mask, soft, beautiful, and completely full of shadows.
I didn't know what would happen tomorrow.
But I knew I wasn't alone tonight.
Baoyu clapped a hand on my shoulder. "Come on. Let's get dinner. Before the kitchen closes and we're stuck with dried lotus cakes again."
"I like lotus cakes."
"You like suffering. That's different."
I laughed. Real, this time. A small crack in the weight pressing on my chest.
And for that moment, under that fading sky, it was enough.
---
Night time, Baoyu found me leaning against the balcony rail, watching the evening turn gold.
"You good?"
"No," I admitted.
"Want to run away?"
"Desperately."
He grinned. "We won't. But it's nice to fantasize."
I smiled too. Just a little.
"Baoyu… do you think something's changing? Not just in the palace. But… bigger. Like the sky's about to say something."
He blinked. "You've been reading your mom's journals again, haven't you?"
"Maybe."
"Well, if the sky speaks… promise me you'll translate it before anyone else hears."
"I'll try."
---
That night, I dreamed of flames again.
But this time, they weren't blue.
They were gold.
And they whispered my name.
---