Perspective: Zhuge Su Yeon
If someone asked me to choose the strangest clan on the entire Zhuge Island, it would undoubtedly be the Bai Clan.
And not for one single reason — but for many.
Reasons that, even after all these years, I still struggle to fully understand.
First of all, the Bai Clan is the oldest clan on Zhuge Island.
In fact, it would be more accurate to say that the Bai Clan is older than the island itself.
Ancient spiritual records claim that, when the island didn't even have a name, the Bai were already here.
And despite the passing of millennia, wars, invasions, and the rise and fall of countless dynasties, they remained.
Untouched.
Unbroken.
Neither stronger, nor weaker.
Just existing.
That alone would already be a mystery worthy of an imperial investigation.
But what truly makes the Bai Clan strange is that, despite their age, they have never shown any ambition for power.
They don't fight for territory.
They don't compete for resources.
They don't interfere in imperial politics.
And they rarely leave their own lands.
They live in isolation, as if the rest of the world were nothing more than a distant inconvenience.
The gates of their ancestral mountain are always closed, and their disciples are almost never seen beyond its borders.
They are, essentially, an invisible clan — one that seeks nothing, and because of that, remains untouchable.
Few people know this, but Zhuge Island — before bearing my family's name — was originally called White Island, in reference to the Bai themselves.
They were the first inhabitants.
The first to study the spiritual flow of ice.
The first to understand that cold was not an enemy — but an essence.
Naturally, they know far more about this island than any other existing clan.
And that's precisely why, at his first opportunity, my imperial father decided to form a direct alliance with them.
A marital alliance, of course.
And who else could serve as the main bargaining piece, if not me?
The imperial firstborn — the most valuable coin on the political chessboard.
Thus, when the Zhuge Clan began to consolidate its rule and the island was renamed, the alliance was sealed with a promise: a marriage between our bloodlines.
A promise that the Bai Clan would never be forgotten, and that, no matter how the throne changed names, the ancient history of this land would always have a place within the new empire.
And that's how Bai Xuan Hua, the Bai Clan's firstborn daughter, became my fiancée.
Honestly, I never knew if the Bai Clan truly cared about it.
They seemed… indifferent.
As if the idea of joining the imperial family was just another irrelevant event — a political formality they accepted simply because it wasn't worth refusing.
But whatever their true intentions, my father had made the deal.
And I never had reason to complain.
Complaining about marrying Bai Xuan Hua would have been impossible.
Even if I wanted to fake displeasure, two seconds of looking at her would be enough to realize how absurd that would be.
Besides, after what happened recently — something that, judging by how she still can't meet my eyes without blushing, she also hasn't forgotten — pretending indifference would be pure hypocrisy.
Still… dealing with the Bai Clan and their countless secrets, cultivated with such devotion over millennia, requires more patience than any war ever could.
They speak little.
Act even less.
But they're always watching.
And the problem with being watched by a clan like the Bai is that you never know how much they truly know — and how much they merely pretend not to.
Bai Xuan Hua's brother — Bai Hu Yan, heir to the clan — is the perfect example of that: polite, calm, and always smiling like someone who has already read the ending of a story you're still writing.
I genuinely admire their self-control.
But at the same time, it's infuriating.
Deeply infuriating.
They show no interest in ruling anything — and yet, they know more about the empire's workings than most ministers who spend their lives arguing about it.
The Bai Clan is a silent, constant presence.
A name that has survived everything and everyone — simply because they've never given the world a reason to eliminate them.
And perhaps that's it.
That's their secret.
That unbroken neutrality.
That calm which never cracks, not even under pressure.
Maybe that's why I've never been able to tell how far they stand as allies — or how close they stand as observers.
But regardless, I don't have much choice.
All I can do is learn to navigate the frozen waters surrounding the Bai.
I may not understand all the secrets they keep, but I've learned at least one truth:
When you can't break the ice — the best thing to do is learn how to dance on it.
And that's exactly what I was about to do.
I drew a slow breath and put on the expression the entire court had come to know — the perfect mask of imperial cordiality.
The light smile, the calm eyes, the tone crafted to sound friendly and distant all at once.
The art of appearing satisfied while weighing every word spoken before me.
"Hu Yan…" I began, my voice carrying that deliberate mix of warmth and etiquette, "this emperor is very pleased by your visit."
I stepped forward, keeping my tone polite and my smile steady — the kind of smile you master after years surrounded by politicians, generals, and professional liars.
The man standing before me — Bai Hu Yan, heir of the Bai Clan — lifted his gaze slightly, and for an instant, I understood why so many described him as unsettlingly courteous.
He was young, perhaps a year or two younger than me, and carried that kind of presence that didn't need to be imposed.
White, straight hair — slightly tousled, gleaming like freshly fallen snow.
Pale blue eyes that looked tranquil at first, but held something else beneath — something sharp, calculating — as if behind every blink, a mind was quietly dissecting the world.
His clothes were immaculate — shades of white and gray, with subtle embroidery that resembled waves of wind.
In his hands, he held a closed folding fan — not as an accessory, but as an extension of himself.
A Bai without a fan was like a Zhuge without sarcasm.
There was a faint smile on his lips — not provoking, not submissive.
Just… balanced.
The kind of smile that reveals nothing, yet somehow makes you feel he already knows everything you're about to say.
I observed him for a few seconds in silence.
He returned the gaze calmly, as if each movement I made was an ancient text being carefully translated before his eyes.
And that's when I realized how natural this exchange was — the silent game between the one who observes and the one who pretends not to notice.
Deep down, I knew that no matter how strange the Bai Clan was, Hu Yan was its truest reflection.
Polite, enigmatic, impossibly well-mannered… and above all, unpredictable.
But as emperor, I couldn't show unease.
So I adjusted my robe, maintained the smile, and completed the role expected of me.