Wushen, the imperial capital, remained as grand and imposing as ever.
Yet beneath its calm, currents of power were shifting.
Inside a private residence belonging to the Third Prince, several men gathered in secrecy.
No servants were allowed near.
No guards stood close enough to overhear.
The Third Prince sat quietly, listening as a spy delivered his report.
"Shen City continues to grow, Your Highness," the man said, kneeling. "Trade has improved. Grain production increased. Military discipline has strengthened."
The prince's expression remained calm.
But his eyes grew colder.
"And my youngest brother?" he asked.
The spy hesitated.
"He… appears competent."
Silence followed.
Competent.
A word that should not be associated with Qin Wang Shan.
He was supposed to disappear quietly in exile.
Not rise.
A minister beside the prince spoke carefully.
"If Shen City continues growing, it may attract more settlers. More soldiers. More loyalty."
The prince tapped his finger slowly against the armrest.
Loyalty.
That was the true danger.
A prince with loyal soldiers and people was not easily removed.
"What do you suggest?" the prince asked.
The minister bowed slightly.
"Pressure them economically. Control supply routes. Increase inspections. Make development difficult."
Not war.
Not yet.
Slow suffocation.
The prince finally smiled faintly.
"Good," he said softly. "Let my brother struggle with survival."
He leaned back.
"If he survives that… we consider stronger measures."
Far away, Shen City slept peacefully.
Unaware that invisible hands were already moving against it.
Caravans would soon face delays.
Merchants would encounter new restrictions.
Supplies would become harder to obtain.
No armies marched.
No battles began.
Yet the next conflict had already started.
And this time—
It would not be fought with swords.
But with survival itself.