Perspective: Zhuge Su Yeon
The region where Zhuge Island was located was known as the Far North, one of the five great divisions of the Northern Continent.
Despite the name, the Far North wasn't an empty frozen wasteland — quite the opposite.
Even in that land of eternal cold and cutting winds, countless sects, clans, and spiritual powers existed, each with its own hierarchy and territory.
These forces were called Colossi.
The term didn't refer to the size of the territory or the number of disciples, but to the spiritual strength of their leader — the most powerful cultivator of each domain.
And that single factor determined the prestige, influence, and even survival of every power within the continent.
The scale was simple — brutal, but fair.
A power whose leader cultivated up to the fourth level of the Golden Core Realm was considered small.
Zhuge Island had always fallen into that category.
Just like the Sect of the Obscure Sun itself.
A cultivator at the Refined Soul Realm elevated a sect to medium rank.
Those who reached the Nascent Soul Realm were acknowledged as great powers.
And finally, those rare few who ascended to the Rising Soul Realm were recognized as dominant powers — existences that shaped the balance of the entire Northern Continent.
As for cultivators at the Sea of Qi or Heavenly Gate stages — they simply didn't exist in such lands.
And if they did, they remained hidden and isolated.
This structure formed a complex web of alliances, dependencies, and subordination.
The small served the medium, the medium served the great, and the great obeyed the dominant.
Each orbited around whoever had the heaviest fist and the densest Qi.
But among all of them, there was an exception.
Zhuge Island.
Since its founding, the island had always been an independent and isolated power — quietly navigating the northern political currents without disturbing anyone.
It didn't start wars, didn't fight for borders, and didn't meddle in external cults.
And, to be perfectly honest, aside from its well-dressed, beautiful women, the island never had much to offer invaders.
No rare minerals, no valuable spiritual veins, no legendary artifacts.
That simple detail — its lack of strategic value — became the island's greatest natural defense.
After all, no one wastes resources to conquer something that offers no profit.
This delicate balance was what had preserved peace for decades.
A fragile yet functional stability that allowed my family to rule without constantly spilling blood.
Of course, that only applied to major relations.
The truly great powers — the real Colossi — had far more important things to do than invade a forgotten patch of ice in the north.
But the ones closer to the island…
Those were a different story.
Proximity breeds temptation.
And no matter how insignificant a territory may seem, the mere fact that it's within reach makes some desire to possess it.
During my father's reign, most of those nearby sects were appeased through subtle alliances — promises, marriages, artifact exchanges, small pacts of peace.
Nothing official, nothing grand, but just enough to keep our neighbors satisfied.
Naturally, there were always exceptions.
And the greatest of them bore the name Sect of the Obscure Sun.
Geographically, it was one of the closest sects to Zhuge Island.
Its domain lay just beyond the eastern frozen sea — less than three days' flight for an experienced cultivator.
But that proximity had never brought friendship — only resentment.
Back when the island didn't yet bear my family's name, the heir of the Sect of the Obscure Sun had fallen hopelessly in love with a local woman — a prestigious heiress, beautiful and refined, daughter of one of the old spiritual families that lived here before the founding of the empire.
The relationship seemed mutually beneficial.
For him, it was the perfect union —
a way to satisfy his desire for a beautiful woman and, at the same time, strengthen the sect's influence over the island.
But as fate enjoys irony, my father arrived on the island shortly after that.
And within months, the political — and emotional — balance of the region collapsed completely.
The woman, who apparently had little interest in the heir of the Sect, ended up becoming… one of my stepmothers.
And the betrayed heir, humiliated before his entire sect, never forgot it.
With time, he rose to the throne of the Obscure Sun.
And when he did, he carried with him a hatred his father had never possessed.
From that day on, the ancient grudges resurfaced.
There wasn't a single treaty, promise, or diplomatic gesture capable of erasing that resentment.
Thus, Zhuge Island and the Sect of the Obscure Sun became sworn enemies — not just out of power, but out of pride, love, and wounds that refused to heal.
And, to be honest, for as long as I can remember, that hostility had been part of the very air we breathed.
And now, with my father's unexpected departure, it seemed the perfect time for that ancient enemy to act had finally arrived.
The Sect of the Obscure Sun would certainly not let such an opportunity slip — an island without its original emperor, still reorganizing under new leadership, with alliances being tested and old scars reopening.
Unfortunately, I was now the one steering the ship.
And, as usual, that meant one thing:
It would all fall to me to fix.
Once again.
It was almost comical.
The Bai Clan, with their quiet manipulations…
Han's political marriage to the White Flame Empire, which looked more like a death contract than an alliance…
And now, the damned Sect of the Obscure Sun stirring from the shadows once again.
If someone asked me what it was like to be emperor, I'd tell them the truth:
it's like spending the entire day balancing on blades while the floor collapses beneath your feet.
An emperor's life is, essentially, a grand pile of grand problems — and the most tragic part is that none of them truly have a solution.
An empire is never at peace.
It merely learns to live within the storm.
That said… I decided to follow the most reasonable course of action.
Which, for any sane emperor, meant:
doing my best not to overthink.
I took a deep breath, glancing once more at the sword resting on the table.
The blade still seemed to breathe a cold, impure Qi — a silent reminder that the world beyond these walls was far from calm.
Then I turned to Su Lan.
She was still standing there, arms crossed, watching me in silence — her expression sharp, as if she could already guess what dangerous idea I was about to have.
She knew me too well.
She always did.
I approached the window and watched the snow fall over the palace gardens.
The sky was gray, the wind cut through the leaves like shards of glass.
The sound of stillness was almost comforting — almost.
Then, finally, I spoke:
"I'll be in seclusion for a week," I said calmly, almost casually.
"I need to digest what I learned in that fight. The empire will be in your hands, sister."
Su Lan's eyes widened slightly.
For a moment, she looked as though she couldn't believe what she had just heard.
Her brows furrowed, and the icy composure on her face cracked into an expression of sheer disbelief.
"You're… going into seclusion?" she repeated, as if needing confirmation that I hadn't lost my mind.
I nodded with the serenity of someone who had just solved a great dilemma.
"Yes. One week. Seems fair."
She crossed her arms again and let out a contained sigh.
"While the Bai Clan, the Shu Clan, and the Sect of the Obscure Sun all move at once, you think it's wise to abandon the throne for seven days?"
"Wise? No," I replied, adjusting the imperial mantle and smiling faintly.
"But absolutely necessary."
She stared at me for several long seconds, then slowly shook her head — the universal gesture for 'there's no point arguing with you.'
"As you wish, brother," she said finally, her tone as cold as the northern wind.
"But if the empire catches fire while you're 'digesting,' don't expect me to extinguish it alone."
I smiled.
"I have full confidence in you, Su Lan. No fire survives your cold."
She gave me a piercing glare, but deep down, I knew she understood.
It was my discreet way of admitting that, no matter how close everything seemed to collapse, I needed time.
Time to think.
Time to align my Qi.
Time to prepare for what was coming.
Because, deep down, I was sure of one thing:
the most dangerous battles an emperor faces are never fought on the battlefield…
but within his own mind.
And for one week, that was exactly where I intended to fight.