Perspective: Wu Xian Yue
Yue had to admit — her fiancé was quite a piece of work.
Even after committing what she considered the most daring, rebellious act of her entire life, she still couldn't claim all the attention in court.
Half of the whispers filling the imperial corridor were about her — and the other half, inevitably, about him.
It was almost comical.
She, the untamed daughter of the Wu Dynasty, had just defied imperial protocol by showing up without ceremonial attire — wearing only her training uniform: fitted trousers, combat boots, and a simple silver-gray silk tunic tied at the waist.
Her hair, loose, fell in dark waves to her shoulders, held only by a single blue ribbon — a token gesture of respect, deliberately insufficient for the occasion.
And yet, as scandalous as her appearance was within the palace walls, the uproar she caused paled in comparison to the tales surrounding her fiancé.
Voices murmured through the corridor, a mixture of fear, fascination, and pure delight in other people's scandals.
"Is it true what they say?" one servant whispered to another.
"That he… killed over a hundred monks?"
"A hundred and four," corrected a third, with the gleeful tone of someone repeating a forbidden secret. "All from a sacred temple — they say the floor is still stained with spiritual blood."
Yue kept her stride firm, but one eyebrow arched slightly.
A hundred and four monks…
"I heard he was expelled from the monastery for blaspheming against the Dao," another said, a bit louder than prudence allowed.
"He didn't blaspheme — he killed the abbot too."
"No! Truly?"
"Yes! And they say he laughed during his punishment!"
A brief silence followed, then another whisper:
"They say he's insane… that the Zhuge Clan sent him to the temple as punishment, and he answered by destroying the entire place."
"Then why would Emperor Wu accept him as a son-in-law?"
"Because even a wild dog still has useful teeth," came a male voice from farther down the hall, probably one of the armed attendants by the pillars.
Yue suppressed the urge to smile.
The court never changed.
It was always the same — the more dangerous the name, the more curious the eyes.
Her footsteps echoed rhythmically against the long corridor of blue-gray marble, polished to mirror the golden ceiling above.
Tall columns lined both sides, carved with ancient inscriptions — runes of military power and prayers for eternal victory.
Between them hung crimson banners bearing the sigil of the Wu Dynasty: a metallic moon, symbol of balance between discipline and strength.
Spiritual lamps flickered along the walls, their silver light glinting off the armor of imperial guards who kept their gazes lowered as she passed.
It wasn't respect — it was discomfort.
She was breaking tradition, and everyone there knew the weight of that.
Behind her, her attendants followed in absolute silence — heads bowed, steps small and hesitant, their faces tight with the dread of punishment.
Yue didn't blame them.
She knew what they were thinking — that all of them would pay for her defiance.
And under normal circumstances, that thought alone might have made her hesitate.
But not today.
Today, she had made a choice — perhaps the most important of her life.
The consequences didn't matter.
What they would say, what the throne would think, what fate itself might try to impose — none of it mattered.
If someone had to pay the price, it would be her.
Alone.
As the great throne hall drew near, Yue inhaled deeply and lifted her chin.
With each step, the distant hum of conversation faded away, replaced by the measured beat of her own heart.
She didn't know what she would find beyond those golden doors — the man who had slaughtered a hundred and four monks, or just another legend swollen by rumor.
But one thing was certain:
if fate intended to force her to meet him…
then fate would have to be brave enough to witness what came next.
The Throne Hall of the Wu Dynasty was a perfect reflection of its empire — simple, imposing, and devoid of unnecessary luxury.
Nothing there existed to charm the eyes; everything existed to remind those who entered that they stood in a fortress, not a palace.
Columns of black iron supported the high ceiling, draped with crimson banners and crossed spears.
The gray stone floor bore the polish of countless footsteps and battles — worn not by beauty, but by time and discipline.
At the far end, beneath the cold light filtering through the central stained glass, sat my father — Emperor Wu — upon his throne of solid iron.
Even after all these years, his presence still hit me like a living wall.
The armor he wore — silver and tempered steel — was more an extension of his body than decoration.
The sharp pauldrons, the breastplate engraved with the sigil of the martial moon, the crimson cloak flowing down the steps — together they formed a presence almost suffocating.
His hair, red as flame, was tied high, with thick strands falling to his shoulders. His beard, neatly trimmed, carried the same hue — like embers in motion.
But what dominated everything were his eyes — green as polished jade, piercing and unyielding.
Eyes that seemed to see everything, weigh everything, and forgive nothing.
Every time I met that gaze, I remembered why the entire court feared my father.
He didn't need to raise his voice.
Just being there — motionless, present — was enough to make the very air of the hall bow in obedience.
Behind him, standing straight as living statues, were my seven brothers.
And as always, it felt like looking into mirrors.
Each one a variation of the same mold: tall, broad-shouldered, their faces cut with the same sharp lines, their expressions bearing the same restrained authority.
Even their differences — a lower knot of hair, a slightly younger face — were swallowed by the overwhelming resemblance they shared with our father.
Seven copies of the same man, I thought.
And me — the exception.
A moon among a field of spears.
My steps echoed through the hall as I advanced.
The sound of my boots on stone seemed too loud, as if each strike announced my defiance.
The servants followed a few paces behind, heads low, aware that a single misplaced glance could cost them their lives.
Then I saw movement.
An old man with a shaved head stepped aside, revealing someone who had been half hidden behind him.
The monk escort.
Even without having seen him before, I knew who he was — the one who had dragged chaos back into our capital.
His beige robe was dust-stained, his posture bowed with fatigue from the long journey.
His face, despite its forced serenity, showed clear exhaustion.
But none of that mattered once he turned.
The last man in the room.
The one the whole empire had whispered about for days.
Zhuge Yu Jin.
For a moment, the entire hall fell silent.
He was not what I had imagined.
Younger, yes — but there was something in his bearing that radiated a kind of confidence that came not from age, but from complete absence of fear.
His golden hair, long and loose, caught the torchlight in streaks of copper and flame.
The smooth strands framed a face both sharp and effortless, contrasting with the dark tunic he wore — simple at first glance, yet lined with crimson embroidery and fine golden patterns that wound through the fabric like controlled fire.
The absence of a sword at his waist was almost unsettling.
He didn't need it to look dangerous.
His eyes were enough.
Eyes of deep amber-red — alive, burning.
They held no respect. No reverence.
They simply observed.
Measured.
As if the world itself was something he still hadn't decided whether to destroy or not.
There was a quiet arrogance in every movement — in the way his fingers flexed slightly, as if testing the air; in the faint, crooked smile tugging at the corner of his lips — not of courtesy, but of challenge.
He was the complete opposite of the order that ruled this hall.
And somehow, it was impossible to look away.
So this is the man who killed a hundred and four monks, I thought, feeling a strange blend of curiosity and irritation take root within me.
Fire made flesh — surrounded by iron and silence.
And in the instant our eyes finally met, I understood what every rumor failed to capture.
Zhuge Yu Jin wasn't merely dangerous.
He was free.
And in this palace, where everything lived and died by rules, that made him the most terrifying being I had ever seen.