Inside the Imperial Study, a bright yellow decree slammed onto the desk, breaking the deathly silence.
"The Third Prince, Xiao Zhan, is hereby titled 'Prince of Zhan.' His fief shall be—Zhanchuan," the Emperor of Great Qi declared, his voice carrying a trace of unquestionable ruthlessness. "Immediately following the grand wedding, he shall depart for his post. Without a summons... he is never to return to the capital."
On the surface, this decree appeared to be an honor—granting a title and land to a Prince marrying the daughter of a hero. In reality, it was a precise execution.
In the Emperor's eyes, Xiao Zhan had no maternal clan for support, and Zhanchuan was a bitter, frigid wasteland on the northwestern frontier. It was sparsely populated, consisting of nothing but a few remote mountain stockades housing refugees and laborers struggling to survive. To the high-and-mighty Emperor, it was a scorched earth—tasteless to eat, yet a pity to discard.
This move granted a Princedom but effectively severed Xiao Zhan's path to the throne. Simultaneously, it ensured that the lingering light of the Chu family's "General Star" would be extinguished forever in the desert sands.
As the news spread, the capital's elite snickered, mocking the union as a "ridiculous marriage between a sickling and an orphan." However, in the frigid depths of an underground palace, someone saw a vastly different chessboard.
Deep Night: The Underground Vault of the Imperial Observatory.
Bronze lamps burned with ghostly blue flames, illuminating star charts on the walls like flickering phantoms. The State Preceptor, clad in profound black robes, stood fiddling with an old military tally engraved with the word "Chu." His gaze was deep enough to make one's blood run cold.
"The Third Prince has accepted the marriage decree," the Preceptor said calmly, as if everything were unfolding exactly as predicted.
Several black-clad men below him looked up, confused. "Master, why did His Majesty insist on shoving Chu Zhaoning toward the unambitious Third Prince? The Chu family is dead and gone; what is the point of this?"
"Because you only see that the Chu family is dead, but you fail to see—that the Chu Army is still alive." The Preceptor smiled thinly, turning to point at a map of the border on the wall.
"North of Fengyuan, there are thirty-seven military stockades. In the Emperor's eyes, those are merely 'civilian camps' Chu Zheng established to house refugees and reclaim wasteland. But in my eyes, those are the shields and swords Chu Zheng forged with his own hands." The Preceptor's withered finger traced the map. "Those people eat the Chu family's grain; they bleed the Chu family's blood. Ten decrees from the Emperor in the capital are not worth a single word from Chu Zhaoning."
"But she is just a weak woman... what storm can she possibly stir?"
"Wrong. She is Chu Zheng's blood," the Preceptor interrupted coldly. "The Chu Army doesn't want just any General; they want 'Legitimacy.' As long as Chu Zhaoning lives, this army soul—capable of changing the tides of the world—will never surrender to anyone. And now, the Emperor has personally tethered that legitimacy to Xiao Zhan."
A deathly silence fell over the vault.
"If Xiao Zhan lives, the chessboard will be overturned. Chu Zhaoning is the key; Xiao Zhan is the door. Once that door opens, the throne of Great Qi will no longer be for the Emperor to decide." A sinister arc touched the Preceptor's lips. "All living beings are ants. If I miscalculate even a single step in this game, I am unworthy of presiding over this Observatory."
The Preceptor sat back at his bronze desk, the candlelight reflecting off his frigid features. He thought of Chu Zheng, the God of War who had once made him wary.
Chu Zheng was a man of peerless martial skill and striking looks, but he was too proud. He disdained shadows and schemes, repeatedly rejecting the Preceptor's attempts to recruit him. "If I cannot recruit him," the Preceptor whispered, "I can only destroy him."
No one knew that the star which should have fallen on the northwestern plains was currently impaled through the shoulder blades by black iron chains, imprisoned in the deepest cell of the underground palace. The God of War of a generation was now reduced to gasping for breath in the darkness.
This was the Preceptor's deepest trump card. As long as General Chu was in his hands, those military camps would never dare move. As long as Chu Zhaoning continued to dance on his chessboard, the game would remain under his control.
"Chu Zhaoning..." The Preceptor stared toward the lights of the General's Manor in the distance, letting out a dry, raspy chuckle. "You think holding legitimacy allows you to sway the game? You are but a lone pawn walking across my board, subject to my every calculation."
He turned toward a heavy, closed stone door behind him. Behind the door, the sound of chains scraping against the floor was faint and piercing.
"General Chu, your precious daughter is about to be married," he whispered into the darkness, his eyes predatory. "Tell me, will she obediently play the role of the Prince's Consort, or will she discover—in the wind and sand of the Northwest—the secret that you, the 'God of War of Great Qi,' are still alive? Chu Zheng, this game has only just begun."
A hoarse roar erupted from behind the stone door: "Xing Chen! You lunatic...!"
Inside the vault, only the blue flames flickered. Meanwhile, far away at the General's Manor, Crimson Nine was looking at a data analysis provided by her system.
[System Warning: Hidden military units detected in the Northwest Zhanchuan region.]
[Data Analysis: Hostility: 0% | Loyalty Alert: 100%.]
[Conclusion: This region is not a 'wasteland.' It is a potential—SSS-Rank Military Base.]
Crimson Nine rubbed her fingertips, her gaze shifting toward the Northwest. This exile? She accepted.