From Zhuge Su Yeon's Perspective
Zhuge Su Yeon walked slowly through his chambers within the imperial palace, the sound of his footsteps echoing softly against the white marble floor.
The door behind him — carved from spiritual stone and sealed by multiple layered formations — closed silently, locking away the greatest secret of all Zhuge Island.
Cool morning air filled the room as he emerged from his cultivation chamber.
He took a deep breath — the crisp mountain air blending with the faint scent of pine and frost that always lingered in the island's northern reaches.
Pale moonlight still rested over the palace's silver rooftops, shimmering across the glass windows, and for a brief moment, Yeon allowed himself to simply stand there — savoring the fragile, artificial peace that his throne demanded of him.
The Imperial Castle of the Zhuge Clan was unlike any other domain on the island.
His father, the former emperor, had chosen to build it in an unlikely place — far to the north, away from the sea, distant from the great ports and the spiritual cities that flourished in the center and south.
When the palace had first been erected, the land was nothing but a frozen wasteland — a valley of endless snow and cutting wind, ignored even by the oldest clans.
But the former emperor never chose anything by chance.
Yeon knew the real reason behind that decision — the reason that lay directly beneath his feet.
Below his imperial quarters, hidden beneath layers of spiritual formations that even the oldest elders dared not touch, lay the Zhuge Underground Library.
A place where time itself seemed to stand still — holding ancient scriptures, bloodline records, forgotten cultivation formulas, and manuscripts from ages long before the island's founding.
That place could be called the very heart of his clan's wisdom — and its most closely guarded secret.
Even among the thirty-three imperial siblings, only he and his father knew of its existence.
A castle built upon a secret…
and, with time, a city built around that castle.
Ministers, scholars, and prestigious clans — all eager to live closer to imperial power — had constructed their homes, temples, and academies around the palace.
What had once been a desolate land of wind and snow had become a spiritual metropolis — vibrant and proud.
A city born from a castle.
A castle born from a secret.
It was almost poetic.
But that was a poetry only he and his father understood.
At least, for now.
Zhuge Su Yeon passed by the bronze mirror in his imperial chamber.
The reflection revealed a serene man — long silver hair, calm expression… perhaps too calm.
He raised a hand to the collar of the ceremonial robe he still wore, the movement slow and deliberate.
The robe he had used for the past seven days was woven from spiritual fabric — black, embroidered with subtle runes that absorbed ambient Qi and returned it in perfect cycles.
It was made exclusively for long sessions of meditation and isolation — simple at a glance, yet each thread pulsed with power.
It had fulfilled its purpose flawlessly: to concentrate and refine the spiritual energy flowing through his body during a week of continuous cultivation.
Now, however, Yeon wished to breathe the world again.
With measured movements, he released the energy collar that bound the robe.
The heavy fabric slid from his shoulders with the soft sound of silk being cut.
Beneath it, his lean, well-toned body gleamed faintly under the morning light.
His skin held a soft spiritual luminescence — proof of a body maintained in perfect equilibrium.
He walked to the jade wardrobe and chose another outfit — simple yet refined.
A silver-white robe, its sleeves lined with pale gray and embroidered with faint golden clouds and dragons.
No jewelry. No symbols of imperial authority.
It was clothing for daily life — if anything in his life could still be called that.
As he adjusted the cuffs and tied the silk belt, he decided that before tending to whatever crises had certainly piled up during his absence, he would start with something far more important — a good meal.
Not that he needed to eat or sleep anymore.
A cultivator of his level no longer depended on physical comfort.
His cultivation had elevated him beyond hunger, thirst, heat, or cold — all distant memories.
His body, sustained by perfect spiritual circulation, was no longer bound by matter.
Each breath absorbed Qi.
Each heartbeat refined energy.
Every instant was a complete cycle of vitality.
And yet, he clung to those simple rituals.
Changing clothes.
Sitting at a table.
Tasting food.
These small acts were what remained of his humanity — fragments of the man that had existed before the title Emperor Zhuge devoured everything else around him.
It was a balance he cultivated as carefully as his power: the act of remembering what it meant to be human.
And that morning, after an entire week sealed away in meditation, Yeon wanted something purely mundane — a meal.
Not out of need, but desire.
A longing to break the suffocating silence of his isolation, to taste the world again — the flavor of earth, of fire, of air.
To remind himself that, though he was the ruler of an empire and heir to a divine bloodline, he was still made of flesh and soul.
Besides, eating within the Imperial Zhuge Castle was no ordinary pleasure.
Thanks to one of his stepmothers — a woman whose passion for culinary arts bordered on obsession — the palace housed a spiritual kitchen staffed by masters in the art of spirit herbs and beast cuisine.
These spiritual chefs transformed rare ingredients into banquets capable of refining both body and mind, enhancing the cultivation of all who tasted them.
For that reason, even though Yeon ate only once or twice a month, every meal was a form of cultivation in itself — a ritual that nourished not just the body, but the soul.
With his robe adjusted and his long hair tied back with a silver ribbon, the emperor left his quarters.
The corridor greeted him with the soft sound of the wind and the faint fragrance of spiritual herbs drifting from the kitchens.
Yes, he thought as he descended the jade staircase leading to the main hall,
after a week spent speaking only with silence, a little life might be welcome.
Yeon moved with tranquil grace — his face serene, his long black hair flowing over his shoulders — and made his way toward the imperial dining hall,
where, on that quiet morning, the Emperor of Zhuge would begin his day not as a ruler…
but as a man.