From Zhuge Su Yeon's Perspective
"So things are that bad?" I finally asked, breaking the silence.
My voice came out more restrained than I expected — careful, almost as if afraid to interrupt my sister's thoughts.
Su Lan lifted her gaze, and for a moment I could see the exhaustion hiding behind her composure.
She drew in a slow breath before answering:
"Disastrous would be a better word," she said, letting out another long, heavy sigh.
"I'm honestly not even sure where to begin."
That sentence didn't sit well with me.
Not just because of what she said, but the tone — a rare mix of frustration and fatigue.
My sister was not someone easily shaken.
If she was hesitating, it meant the problem wasn't just large — it was deep.
A faint chill ran down my neck.
I had always known that the stability my imperial father built — that nearly perfect web of alliances and influence — would eventually begin to crumble.
It was inevitable.
Nothing in the spiritual world remained stable for long; power and interest were ever-shifting forces.
Still, I believed that my small display against the Shu Clan would be enough to keep chaos at bay, at least for a while.
Apparently, I had underestimated my enemies.
Silence stretched between us for several moments.
The faint sound of tea being poured by a distant servant seemed almost deafening in the stillness.
I turned my attention back to her and said, as calmly as I could:
"Start with what matters most."
Su Lan nodded slowly, like someone arranging her thoughts before speaking.
Her fingers slid across the stack of folders before her — each sealed with a different color, each representing a sector of the empire.
"Well," she began, opening the first folder, "to summarize it plainly — our opponents are attacking us from every possible front."
The sound of rustling paper filled the air.
She spoke calmly, but her hands moved fast — the movements of someone who had already read and reread those reports countless times.
"Trade. Influence. Supply chains…" she continued. "They're trying to isolate us completely."
The word isolate landed like a weight in my mind.
I knew what it meant in political terms: a slow, silent, methodical ruin.
An empire doesn't need to be invaded to fall — it only needs to be forgotten.
I watched her hands glide over each folder.
"Foreign Diplomacy."
"Internal Administration."
"Spiritual Trade Routes."
"Military Relations."
"Support for Lesser Sects."
Each name represented a vital pillar of Zhuge authority.
And if every one of them was under attack, then the problem was far greater than any single threat.
Su Lan kept her eyes on the documents, but her tone dropped — lower, heavier:
"But all of that… is just smoke."
She pulled out a single sheet from the bottom of the pile.
Unlike the others, it wasn't inside a folder.
The paper was thin, yellowed with age, and the imperial seal of reception was broken — a sign that it had been opened and re-opened several times.
She held it carefully, as if handling something dangerous.
The silence that followed was dense, almost tangible.
Finally, she spoke.
"This arrived three days ago," she said, her eyes still fixed on the page.
There was a weight in her voice that made me straighten instinctively.
Then she looked at me — hesitant for a heartbeat — before pushing the document across the table, slowly, as though the act itself were enough to transfer the burden she carried.
"It's better if you read it yourself."
Her words hung in the air.
The paper now rested before me, its broken seal staring back like an accusation.
From the look in her eyes, I already knew — whatever it said, it would change everything.
I picked it up.
The parchment itself was simple — smooth, unadorned, written in black spiritual ink and sealed with over fifty wax marks.
But its content was anything but simple.
I read the heading twice, just to be sure I understood correctly.
There was no room for doubt — the seals confirmed it: the request came from more than fifty different clans scattered across Zhuge Island, ranging from small family lines to ancient, prestigious houses that were supposed to be under direct imperial oversight.
The message was polite, ornate — and reeked of manipulation.
It was an official petition, addressed to me — Zhuge Su Yeon, Emperor of the Island and Heir of the Golden Lineage — requesting the reinstatement of an old imperial tradition:
The Martial Tournament of the New Generations.
An event that, in past eras, had been one of the island's most anticipated celebrations — but which had been abolished over thirty years ago by my imperial father.
I remembered his words perfectly the day he ended it:
"A tournament does not measure the spirit of a generation. It only measures who had the most time and resources to train."
At the time, I had been too young to grasp the weight of that statement.
But over the years, I had come to agree with every word.
For all its pomp and glory, the tournament had always been a political tool — a stage where clans competed for status, alliances, and, in certain cases, direct influence over the throne.
Under the pretense of "celebrating youthful martial talent," it was little more than a marketplace of power — where every victory carried diplomatic implications, and every defeat was an invitation to disgrace.
That was why my father ended it.
He called it "useless and treacherous."
And I, honestly, agreed one hundred percent.
So when I read the petition before me, I couldn't help but feel the irony.
The text was beautifully written — almost poetic, if not for the stench of deceit beneath it.
It spoke of "cultural heritage," of "unity among the clans through martial arts," even of "strengthening the youth's spirit in uncertain times."
Pretty words.
It ended with the usual formalities, dripping with flattery and good wishes — as if they were offering me a gift.
But the real message hid between the lines.
I folded the document slowly and set it on the table.
Behind all those elegant words and false honors, there was only one thing —
a political maneuver.
"They couldn't win against the old," I murmured under my breath,
"so now they want to prey on the young."