Perspective: Zhuge Su Yeon
After a few more seconds of reflection, I simply let out a long sigh.
In the end, even with all the chaos piling up around the throne, there wasn't much I could do — at least not right now.
Resolving family politics was never my specialty, and frankly, I wasn't in the mood for it.
First, I would have to speak with Zhuge Han.
Or rather — try to speak with him.
Han had always been calm, kind, and absurdly rational — far too rational for someone raised within the imperial court.
But the problem with rational people is that, when they finally decide to feel something, they feel it completely — without restraint, without balance.
And now, from what Yui Lan had told me, he seemed to have found someone who made him forget all sense of reason.
I didn't blame him for that.
But I also couldn't allow that distraction to turn into a political crisis.
Before making any decision, I needed to hear him out.
To understand how much of this "romance" was real, and how much was simply youthful impulse.
I would not be the man to force my brother to spend the rest of his life loving someone only because of a diplomatic alliance.
That would be hypocrisy — even for me.
And I'm certain not even the magnificent scoundrel — our father — would approve of such a thing.
He may have been a walking disaster as a husband, but ironically, he believed love should never be imposed —
neither by power, nor by duty.
Either way, that was a problem for another day.
For now…
For now, I had the rare privilege of enjoying a moment of peace.
And honestly, I intended to savor every second of it.
I turned toward my little sister, who still observed me with that calm, silent expression.
Her blue eyes always seemed to hide something.
But out of habit — or maybe instinct — I never insisted on deciphering her.
"All right," I said, softening my tone, "thank you for telling me, Lan."
I smiled warmly, letting the air of formality dissipate a little.
"I'll handle the situation soon."
She lowered her head slightly, bowing with perfect grace — precise, elegant, exactly as palace etiquette dictated.
Then she replied with that serene composure of hers:
"It is my duty, brother."
Her voice was gentle, yet firm.
There was something almost ceremonial in the way she said those words — as if duty was her second name.
I didn't question her further.
I didn't ask how she'd found out, nor why she thought it necessary to tell me.
The truth was that the arranged marriage between Han and the princess of the White Flame Empire had never been a true secret within the palace —
just like none of my other brothers' political engagements.
At court, those matters were the spiritual fuel of endless conversations —
especially among the palace women.
In fact, discussions about alliances, marriages, and future heirs were almost a sport among my sisters.
And how could they not be?
Among the twenty-seven daughters my father had left behind, not a single one was engaged.
Meanwhile, all seven sons — without exception — had been promised since adolescence.
It was one of those absurd imbalances that could only have been conceived by our beloved imperial father.
And to be fair, there was a certain logic to it — distorted, but still logic.
Knowing male desires and flaws better than any man on the continent, he probably feared marrying off his daughters.
Perhaps he worried they might fall for someone exactly like him —
a handsome, powerful, irresistible scoundrel.
After all… the man did look a bit like me.
Ironically, that was almost noble —
a desire to protect his daughters from the same fate he had inflicted upon so many women.
Pathetic and admirable at the same time.
Typical of him.
And, as strange as it sounds, I agreed with that sentiment.
That's why, even after I took the throne, I kept things exactly as they were.
None of my sisters would be forced to marry.
Not while I was emperor.
After a few more words with Yui Lan — short, polite, marked by comfortable silences — I took my leave.
As much as I wanted to spend more time with that quiet sister who rarely visited me, duty was calling once again.
Or rather — Su Lan was.
My other sister, the de facto empress — even without the title — was already demanding my presence on the palace terrace.
And knowing Su Lan, postponing a summons from her was equivalent to tempting fate itself.
I took a deep breath, adjusted my mantle, and walked toward the golden doors that led to the imperial terrace.
Behind me, Yui Lan remained still — like a living painting, serenity embodied.
And for a moment, as I walked, I thought about how strange my family truly was.
So powerful, so chaotic, and yet so absurdly functional in its own way.
But well…
that was the price of being born Zhuge.
As I made my way through the palace halls, I could hear the commotion spreading through the corridors.
The echoes of my little "scene" before the Shu Clan still reverberated everywhere —
stifled laughter, whispered gossip, servants pretending to work while their mouths spread rumors faster than spiritual arrows.
It was almost amusing.
Imperial servants, after all, were the best messengers in any empire.
And best of all — I didn't have to pay them a single gold coin.
Within hours, they had already turned a political duel into a legendary spectacle.
"Our emperor single-handedly defeated an entire Shu army!"
"He destroyed a thousand cultivators with a single glance!"
"Even the heavens trembled when he raised his hand!"
I didn't need to listen long to guess where the stories were headed.
Within a day, the entire capital would be singing of my "great feat."
And before the sun set again, half the island would have heard of the "divine light" that descended upon the palace.
Exaggerations, of course.
But useful ones.
I didn't care how distorted the stories became.
In fact, the bigger they grew, the better.
All of it worked in my favor.
Good for my reputation.
And most importantly — good for the throne's stability.
Fear and respect travel faster than any imperial decree.
I let the noise fade into the background as I walked down the main corridor toward the palace terrace.
With each step, the chatter dwindled, replaced by the cold wind blowing from outside.
And then, just before reaching the terrace, I saw something that made me pause for a moment.
Three figures awaited me.
At the center, arms crossed and expression unreadable, stood Su Lan.
Her gaze struck like a blade of ice — firm, calculating, unwavering.
It seemed as if even the air around her obeyed her will.
Her white-and-blue robes billowed gently in the wind, and the dark strands of her hair brushed against her porcelain face.
She didn't say a word — she didn't need to.
Her silence alone was a demand.
Beside her stood Bai Xuan Hua — my fiancée.
Honestly, I still had no idea how she'd managed to get there so quickly.
Maybe she'd sprinted straight from the eastern hall to the terrace.
Or maybe she had simply felt the Qi of commotion and decided to appear — as she always did — just in time to publicly complicate my life.
Her expression was the complete opposite of Su Lan's.
While my sister embodied ice, Hua was fire made flesh — impatient, sharp, dangerous.
Her silver hair fell freely down to her waist, and the faint smile on her lips was pure deception; her eyes, however, betrayed the truth — a storm about to break.
And then there was the third.
The one I sincerely wished I wouldn't have to see today.
Bai Hu Yan.
Heir of the Bai Clan.
My future brother-in-law.
And, probably, one of the few people on Zhuge Island capable of actually giving me a headache.
Hu Yan was the opposite of most nobles — tall, calm, sharp-eyed, the kind of man who hid intention behind courtesy.
A born strategist, the sort who spoke little, observed much, and acted only at the perfect moment.
The fact that he stood there, beside my fiancée and my sister, could only mean one thing:
the peace I'd earned would last less than a cup of tea.
I sighed.
The trio looked at me as if I personally carried the blame for every calamity in the world.
And, well… maybe I did — at least for the last twenty-four hours.
I adjusted my imperial mantle and kept walking, already bracing myself mentally for another "diplomatic dialogue" disguised as a family meeting.
When peace lasts less than an afternoon, you learn to savor it between one problem and the next.