Great Shun Dynasty 1820

The First Year of Xinghe · Twelfth Lunar Month · The Forbidden City

Before the night has faded, the candles in the West Warm Chamber of the Hall of Mental Cultivation have already burned through the night. Leaning back in your dragon throne, your knuckles tap lightly on the red sandalwood imperial desk. Spread before you are four memorials—Duke of Qi Li Zongcheng requests an increase in pay and rations for the Five Camps, the characters densely packed and the ink deeply penetrating the paper; Minister of Personnel Qian Bingyi requests an imperial exam to win over the scholars of Jiangnan, his wording smooth yet hiding sharp undertones; Earl of Jinzhou Shi Yi requests the disbandment of the old camps to train a new army, his words as sharp as a blade; Vice Minister of Rites Cui Jinghe requests the rectification of the distinction between Hua and Yi, a grand discourse of nearly ten thousand words, citing classics and scriptures.

Only the crackle of the candles echoes in the hall, with occasional wisps of blue smoke rising from the incense burner. You rub your temples; your eighteen-year-old shoulders, clad in the dragon robe, feel as heavy as a mountain. Outside the window, the snow on Chang'an Avenue glows with a faint blue light, and from afar comes the first drumbeat of the morning court, muffled like rolling thunder.

"Your Majesty, it is the fourth watch."

A hushed reminder from an attendant comes from outside the door. You do not answer, your gaze falling upon those four memorials—these four men are the four pillars of the Great Shun court, yet also four chains binding the imperial power. You murmur to yourself:

"Who should I strike first?"

The voice dissipates into the night mist, unanswered.

Palace of Heavenly Purity · Morning Court

At the hour of Mao, the morning court begins as scheduled. Seated upon the dragon throne, you look down at the rows of ministers below. With white hair and a gray beard, Li Zongcheng is the first to step forward, his voice booming like a great bell:

"The Five Camps are the foundation of our dynasty! The troops must not be disbanded, and their pay must not be reduced! As Your Majesty has newly ascended the throne, consolidating the foundation must be the priority!"

Behind him, dozens of military nobles echo in unison, their momentum overbearing. The bronze incense burner in the hall vibrates with a low hum.

Your expression remains unchanged as you turn your gaze to Qian Bingyi. Stroking his beard, the Minister of Personnel says unhurriedly:

"The Duke of Qi speaks with reason, yet the treasury is empty; from where shall we draw the pay? If we do not hold an imperial exam to win over the hearts of the scholars, who will be willing to collect the taxes of Jiangnan? I beg Your Majesty to weigh the options."

His tone is calm, but every word subtly points to an expedient compromise. You purse your lips in silence, scanning Shi Yi. The Earl of Jinzhou, clad in armor, steps forward and cups his hands directly:

"The old army of the Five Camps is utterly corrupt, as I have witnessed with my own eyes in Liaodong! If we do not cut redundant troops and reform our armaments, how shall we defend ourselves once foreign enemies invade? If Your Majesty doubts this, you may send officials to audit the payrolls and rosters of each camp!"

At these words, Li Zongcheng's face turns ashen: "Shi Yi! You—" Cui Jinghe immediately steps forward, delivering a passionate speech:

"The threat of the barbarians lies not in weapons, but in the hearts of the people! To rectify the distinction between Hua and Yi and to clarify the great righteousness between sovereign and minister is the only path to long-term peace and stability. If we only chase utility and disregard moral teachings, the state will cease to be a state!"

The voices of the four ministers echo in the hall, each word like a blade cutting into your already exhausted heart. You grip the armrests of the dragon throne, your knuckles turning white.

"Your Majesty, please make your imperial decision!"

Four gazes, sharp as swords, pierce toward you in unison.

You take a deep breath, feeling cold sweat drenching your back beneath the dragon robe.

Hall of Mental Cultivation · Late Night

On the night after the morning court adjourned, you sit alone in the East Warm Chamber. Lin Zhijie enters carrying a medicinal meal, placing it gently on the desk. She stirs the charcoal fire, the flickering light reflecting on her composed face.

"Your Majesty has exhausted your mind today," she says softly, her eyes filled with concern. "When the late Emperor was alive, he often lost sleep over these matters. You are still young; there is no need to rush."

You shake your head. Just as you lift the bowl to drink, hurried footsteps suddenly echo outside the hall. A guard kneels outside the curtain, his voice trembling:

"Your Majesty! An urgent dispatch from Liaodong! The Tatars of Mobei have raided the border, and the Earl of Jinzhou has ordered combat readiness! The letter says—the Tatar cavalry has already broken through Xinkailing and is pressing directly toward Guangning!"

Clatter— The bowl slips from your hand, shattered porcelain and medicinal soup splashing onto the floor. Lin Zhijie immediately kneels, and a dead silence falls over the hall.

You slowly rise, step around the shards, and walk to the map on the wall. The territory of Great Shun glows faintly red in the candlelight, and the northern Jinzhou area is circled in ink, looking like an unhealed wound.

"Li Zongcheng wants money, Qian Bingyi wants people, Shi Yi wants power, Cui Jinghe wants fame..." You sneer. "They squabble back and forth, yet they forget the tens of thousands of commoners in Liaodong."

You turn around, your gaze cold and stern:

"Pass the imperial order—command Shi Yi to defend his position, order the Ministry of Revenue to immediately allocate fifty thousand taels of silver for military funds, and order the Ministry of War to dispatch firearms from the Shenji Camp for reinforcement. Furthermore, summon Lin Zhijie to draft the decree, to be issued tomorrow."

Lin Zhijie bows her head to receive the order. You look out the window, where a crescent moon hangs cold over the glazed tiles, the chill piercing to the bone. This dynasty, under the reign of Xinghe, is destined to find no peace.