They said he was born under the King's Star.
On the night of his birth, the heavens blazed so bright the palace astrologers fell to their knees. A ruler has descended, they whispered. A sovereign chosen by the stars themselves.
That boy was Zhen Yu.
But destiny is not written only in the skies. It is written in envy, in whispers that slither through silk curtains, in poisoned words passed between courtiers.
And so, when the time came, the throne did not fall into Zhen Yu's hands.
It was taken by his elder stepbrother, Zhen Jian.
The coronation hall still burned in Zhen Yu's memory. His brother standing beneath the dragon banners, golden crown on his brow, voice smooth as jade.
"Brother," Jian said before all, "the people need me. The burden of the crown is a lie wrapped in silk.
Zhen Yu had bowed. He remembered the cold stone beneath his knees, the murmurs like waves crashing in the hall. To refuse would have meant rebellion. To rebel would have meant rivers of blood.
So, the child of the King's Star became a duke. A star denied.
Years hardened him.
At court, Zhen Yu walked like a shadow. He was tall, broad-shouldered, eyes like winter steel. Ministers whispered when he passed, some in awe, others in fear.
"That is the man the stars chose."
"Why does the King keep him alive?"
"Because to kill him would prove the prophecy true."
Zhen Yu ignored them. He wore his cold mask well.
Where was he most at home? Not in those jade-pillared halls where daggers hid behind smiles. No — his true home was the battlefield.
Amidst roaring banners, the clash of spears, and the stench of blood, Zhen Yu felt alive. Safe, even.
A sword cut cleanly. An arrow did not lie.
The battlefield was honest. The court was not.
And so he became the Duke of the Silver Sword. Soldiers trusted him, generals respected him. Every victory carved his name deeper into the people's hearts.
But with each triumph, King Zhen Jian's envy grew sharper.
He called Zhen Yu "brother" before the court, smiling with gilded teeth. Yet in private, his gaze was a blade.
A king crowned by politics.
A duke born beneath the stars.
The throne sat heavy in Jian's heart, and every time he looked at Zhen Yu, he wondered if the stars laughed at him.
Zhen Yu knew this. He saw the envy in Jian's eyes. He chose silence. He chose war.
For to face ten thousand arrows was safer than facing the envy of his own brother.
And so, the Duke remained on the frontlines, his silver sword cutting through enemy ranks, while the throne he was born for gathered dust beneath another's crown.
But fate does not sleep forever.
And one winter night, beneath falling snow, the King's summons would come.