The moon hung high over the imperial palace, casting a silver glow on the glazed tiles of the Inner Court. Beneath that cold light, the Eastern Pavilion lay silent—but not asleep. Guards patrolled in pairs, eunuchs whispered like shadows, and somewhere deeper inside, schemes were being born.
Liang Yi sat quietly at a carved rosewood table, his fingers tracing the edge of an imperial edict that hadn't yet been unrolled. The flickering candlelight caught in his eyes, making them gleam gold like a beast waiting to strike. Dressed not in princely robes but in a modest scholar's tunic, he looked more like an attendant than the hidden son of the dragon throne. But behind that modest facade was a mind sharper than any blade.
He was waiting.
Not for an audience, not for a messenger—but for confirmation. The wheels he had set in motion during the Phoenix Banquet were spinning faster than he anticipated. General Luo had begun moving troops without imperial permission. Minister Fang, sensing instability, had summoned a secret meeting of the civil officials. And Empress Lu? She had retreated from the public eye entirely—claiming illness, though Liang Yi knew better. She was plotting something. Perhaps even against him.
A soft knock at the side door broke the silence.
"Enter," Liang Yi said, without looking.
The door opened just enough for Shen Zhi to slip through, hood pulled over his silver hair. His presence was always quiet, but tonight it was colder than usual.
"It's done," Shen said, voice barely above a whisper. "Zhao Yuan has been discredited. The evidence reached Minister Fang's hands an hour ago."
Liang Yi's lips curved into the faintest smirk. "And?"
"The Minister will call for an emergency court assembly by morning," Shen replied. "But… there's more. Grand Tutor Wu sent someone to speak to the Emperor tonight."
That gave Liang Yi pause.
His twin brother, Crown Prince Liang Feng, had grown increasingly unpredictable since the banquet. He no longer asked questions about court politics or sought his mother's counsel. Instead, he had begun visiting temples, meeting with obscure scholars, and—most concerning of all—writing decrees behind closed doors. Shen's spies couldn't confirm whether those edicts were ever issued.
Liang Yi stood, walking to the window. He gazed out over the palace rooftops, where the silhouette of the Dragon Throne's tower loomed against the night sky.
"He's preparing something," he murmured. "And Grand Tutor Wu is giving him the final piece."
Shen tilted his head. "Should I intervene?"
"No," Liang Yi said softly. "Not yet."
A pause.
Then: "But keep our people near the Hall of Heavenly Edicts. If he signs anything tonight, I want to know."
Shen bowed. "As you command."
Once alone, Liang Yi returned to his table and finally unrolled the scroll before him. It wasn't a forged decree or a coded report—it was a letter. Handwritten. With the Emperor's own seal.
He read it once more, though he had already memorized every word.
"You were born in shadow, my son. Not because you were unworthy, but because you were too dangerous to be seen. One day, this throne will need someone ruthless, not righteous. When that day comes, I hope you are ready. The empire will not survive another gentle king."
Liang Yi folded the letter carefully and placed it back in its box, locking it shut.
He was not the Crown Prince. Not in name. Not in law.
But the Emperor had known, even then.
He had chosen him.
And now, Liang Yi would make sure the world understood why.