Perspective: Zhuge Yu Jin
Yu Jin was happy.
Not just satisfied — genuinely happy.
The kind of happiness that comes when the whole world finally stops trying to tame you.
The dry wind hit his face as he walked down the stone path leading away from the temple.
The sun burned faintly behind the clouds, but the air still smelled of incense, ashes, and regret — not his, of course, but of the monks now cleaning what remained of their monastery after the little philosophical discussion that morning.
One hundred and four dead.
One hundred and four men who had sworn to renounce violence.
A fine irony, worthy of the heavens.
Yu Jin cracked his neck and sighed, relaxed.
"I warned you," he muttered, without a trace of remorse.
Because, in his defense, he really had.
He had made it perfectly clear — and with all the patience that an inflammable man like him could muster — that no one, absolutely no one, was to touch his hair.
That was the only rule.
Simple. Objective.
Apparently impossible to follow.
One old monk — bald, frail, with that eternal smile of someone who thought they'd found the essence of peace — decided it would be funny to trim a rebellious strand that had escaped Yu Jin's braid during meditation.
The result was immediate.
Three corpses hit the ground before the man could even finish his sermon on patience.
After that, everything unfolded as expected.
The monks reacted.
And Yu Jin reacted back.
The temple courtyard became a festival of screams and interrupted prayers, with torn banners, cracked Buddha statues, and the metallic smell of blood mingled with spilled tea.
All because someone dared to touch a single strand of hair.
"Self-control," they said.
"Enlightenment," they repeated.
"Compassion."
Yu Jin would have spat on those words if he hadn't been too busy laughing at them.
The truth was, he hated that place.
He hated every cold stone, every corner of forced silence, every pitiful glance from those men who pretended to have torn ego out of their bodies while secretly competing to see who could be the most "serene."
Peace and calm.
Pretty words — masks for cowardice.
To Yu Jin, that temple was nothing but a graveyard wearing golden bracelets.
And he had always known he didn't belong in cemeteries.
Now, as he walked toward the gate, the monastery bells tolled behind him — long, heavy, and, to his delight, melancholy.
The sound of a glorious expulsion.
Yes, he had been expelled.
Finally.
And honestly, calling it an expulsion was an understatement.
It was a gift.
The kind of freedom that only comes after chaos has done its job.
He looked up at the sky, took a deep breath, and let out a short, hoarse laugh — full of life.
The northern chill began to cut through the air, but he barely noticed.
Blood still pulsed hot through his veins, and the metallic taste of battle lingered on his tongue like fine wine.
"Peace and calm," he repeated, mocking.
"What a stupid idea."
If his father — the Magnificent Scoundrel, as everyone called him — had truly thought this would tame him, the old man had failed spectacularly.
Sending him to a temple full of monks who survived on mantras and repression was like pouring oil on fire and asking the flames to behave.
An experiment doomed from the start.
Yu Jin kicked a stone down the path, watching it bounce until it disappeared into the fog.
"Well done, father. Magnificent failure."
Still, there was something convenient about that failure.
According to the latest rumors from Zhuge Island, the Magnificent Scoundrel had vanished.
Vanished.
Yu Jin smiled faintly.
In his mind, it was easy to imagine where.
Probably in some stranger's bed, with a glass of wine in one hand and a freshly invented wife on the other.
The man was an artist — a master at disappearing whenever consequences came knocking.
And honestly, Yu Jin couldn't blame him.
If he were in his place, he would've done the same.
The wind blew harder, lifting dust from the road.
Distant mountains emerged through the fog, white and lonely.
The North.
The home he had sworn never to see again.
Zhuge Island.
For a brief instant, he considered turning south — disappearing into the continent, living however he pleased: drinking, fighting, sleeping with whoever he wanted, repeating the cycle until the sky itself grew tired of watching.
But the thought didn't last long.
A sound behind him pulled him back to reality — the metallic tap of a staff striking the ground.
Yu Jin sighed.
He didn't need to turn around.
He knew exactly who it was.
The monk.
That damned monk.
Old, thin, and unshakable, the man walked behind him with his staff in hand and bare feet crunching over the snow.
A man who never flinched, who seemed to have fused his body to the world's silence.
And, most importantly, someone Yu Jin had already tried to kill.
Three times.
None of them worked.
The monk hadn't even bled.
So Yu Jin gave up.
Now they walked side by side, like dog and leash.
Their fate sealed.
Soon, he'd be home again.
Back to that inhospitable, isolated island.
Back to the throne he despised, the family that infuriated him, and the memories he wished he could burn.
Zhuge Yu Jin took a deep breath, the cold air slicing through his lungs like glass.
A grin curved his lips.
"Zhuge Island, then…" he said softly, more to himself than to the monk.
"What beautiful misery awaits me this time?"
And he kept walking.
The fire within him, unlike the snow around, showed no sign of dying anytime soon.
As much as he was glad not to have to explain his little incident to his father, Yu Jin knew destiny was never that kind.
The Magnificent Scoundrel might have vanished, but he had left behind a perfect replica of himself on the throne — his dear, infuriatingly composed brother, Zhuge Su Yeon, the monarch of the Zhuge Empire.
Just thinking of that calm face, that measured voice, that damned look that seemed to calculate even the rhythm of people's breathing — it made Yu Jin's jaw tighten.
The mere thought of standing before him was enough to sour his mood.
If their father had been chaos disguised as charisma, Su Yeon was control disguised as ice.
And to Yu Jin, that made him worse.
Honestly, he had no desire to see that man.
Not today.
Not ever.