"As far as I know," Mingyu said, voice calm but clear, "we only have one Emperor. And he is destined to reign for the next thousand years."
The air thickened.
Across the banquet hall, hands froze mid-reach. Even the dancers stilled at the edges, white sleeves suspended mid-twirl like caught breath.
The Emperor smiled—but it was the kind of smile that made you wonder what knife he was sharpening beneath the table. "You've grown clever," he said mildly, accepting a new cup of wine from a servant. "Though you forget—clever men rarely die of old age."
Mingyu bowed his head in polite deference. "Then I will try not to be clever."
A rustle of stiff laughter moved through the court like a dry wind. Forced. Shallow. No one wanted to be the first to show teeth.
