The great court hall was cold despite the braziers. Morning light spilled through high lattice windows, catching on the gilt edges of painted dragons. Rows upon rows of ministers stood arrayed like a living tapestry, silk robes hushed against one another with each small shift.
At the head of it all sat the Lord Protector, my father, on the raised dais beside the puppet Emperor's golden seat. The Emperor himself looked smaller than ever today — his robes so heavy they swallowed his limbs, hands resting limply on the armrests, eyes wide and bright as polished agate but seeing nothing that wasn't fed to him.
My father's voice carried through the hush like the sound of a war gong struck far off.
"Today we honor the victory brought home by the Fourth Prince," he said. "By his hand, Bù Zhèng stands firm beneath Liang's banners once more. Our southern borders breathe again."
He paused, letting that acknowledgment echo. The scribes dipped their brushes, capturing every phrase with careful strokes. I stood below, surrounded by my Black Tigers, Shen Yue at my side — Han Qing just behind, one hand always on the pommel of his sword.
Then the Lord Protector's voice shifted, gaining a sharper edge.
"But it has been brought to this court's attention," he went on, "by petitions from more than a dozen ministers, that grave concerns haunt this triumph. They speak of excess — of cruelty that stains not only the Fourth Prince, but the honor of this empire's banners."
A low murmur crawled through the ranks of officials. Heads tilted together, robes rustled, small fans flickered open to hide whispers. Somewhere near the outer columns, a minor scribe swallowed audibly, eyes darting.
My father inclined his head slightly toward the puppet Emperor, who stared ahead blankly. "Thus, in deference to our ministers' fears, I have petitioned His Majesty to permit testimony — to allow the generals who have been held these weeks in the West Tower to speak."
The Emperor blinked, then gave a tiny nod, as if the thought had just occurred to him. A eunuch nearby immediately cried out in the high, clear voice of ritual:
"It is granted. Let truth clear the fog of fear."
Wu Kang was seated lower on the dais, one leg hooked over the other, idly turning a small jade ring around his finger. His mouth curved in a lazy smile, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. Beside him, Wu Ling reclined with her hands folded delicately in her lap, her dark eyes watchful and utterly calm — as though waiting to see how a spider completes its web.
Even Wu Jin, who so often seemed little more than drifting melancholy, stood straighter today. His expression was unreadable, lips slightly parted as if he might sigh, or weep, or laugh — all equally possible.
The guards brought in the generals.
They came two by two, chains clinking, their heads still shaved from disgrace. Faces hollow with confinement, eyes sharp with hungry bitterness. They knelt at the foot of the dais, where the jade floor was cold enough to burn skin.
The first lifted his gaze to the court.
"My lords, I served Liang's armies for thirty years. Fought under three emperors. But what I saw at Bù Zhèng was not war. It was butchery. The Fourth Prince ordered prisoners flayed alive to hang on gates, ordered fires that roasted our own scouts for trifling disobedience. Men broke — they did not just yield to terror, they yielded to madness."
Another general spoke, voice ragged.
"He starved the marsh lines deliberately — sent soldiers out knowing they'd sink, drown, die by a thousand small torments. So that he could claim he had crushed the South by cunning. It was cruelty, not strategy. The soldiers' ghosts walk that mud still."
Wu Kang's mouth split into a delighted grin. He leaned forward just enough for the jade ring to flash in the lantern light.
"Brothers of the court — is this the hero you will trust with the breath of our empire? Who will stand by him when his shadow grows long enough to swallow your sons?"
Wu Ling did not look at me. She watched her brother speak, her fingers drumming a slow, silent pattern on her silk sleeve. It was impossible to tell if she urged him on or merely observed him like one might a trained monkey performing tricks.
A third general was dragged forward, older, his back bent from old campaign wounds. His voice cracked with something that might have been grief — or triumph.
"He stood in the marshes and laughed while men clawed their own faces off from swamp fever. Said it was better they learn what fear truly tastes like. Said it was the only lesson worth teaching. Is that a prince of Liang? Or a plague in a prince's skin?"
Through it all, my father watched me. Not with fury. Not even with disappointment. Only that same cold evaluation he had used to weigh enemies on the battlefield — as if deciding whether to commit fresh troops or let them bleed for ground.
The Emperor's eyes darted nervously between us. His breath came quick and shallow.
The hall had grown so still I could hear the faint rasp of silk as ministers shifted. Some faces were pinched, sickened. Others alight with greed, seeing opportunity crack open like a ripe fruit. The scribes wrote faster, hands trembling.
Wu Kang finally rose, robes spilling over the steps.
"My honored father, my Emperor, my brothers — do you hear it? These are not southern partisans, but Liang's own generals. Men who bled for this court. They name him monster. They call him a shadow that feeds on suffering."
His gaze cut to me, eyes bright.
"Is that the shadow you would bind to the very heart of the throne through marriage? Through future sons who might carry this rot even deeper into our veins?"
A hush. Then Wu Ling's soft voice.
"We are not children, dear brothers. We know that cruelty is a blade all emperors must hold. But hold it too tightly, and it cuts inward. It drinks your own blood. This court must decide whether we are witnessing a necessary horror… or a horror that will one day devour even the dragon throne itself."
I stood perfectly still. Under my ribs, the cold thing pressed outward, slick and slow. I thought I felt it whisper, not in words but in thick pulses of satisfaction. Each accusation, each shiver of the court fed it, made it stronger — almost gleeful.
The Lord Protector raised his hand.
"This tribunal is not finished. Tomorrow, more witnesses will speak. Documents from Bù Zhèng's local ministers will be reviewed. And the Fourth Prince himself will answer these charges directly."
His eyes locked on mine — sharp, searching for a heartbeat. Then the look vanished into formality.
"This court stands adjourned for today."
Servants hurried to light the lanterns as we filed out. Wu Kang's laughter echoed once, low and rich, before he masked it behind polite farewells. Wu Ling drifted past me without a word, her eyes half-lidded, as if savoring some delicate perfume only she could detect.
And Wu Jin — for the first time — would not meet my gaze at all.
Shen Yue caught my arm as we left the hall. Her grip was hard enough to bruise.
"They're winding the net, Wu An. And tomorrow, they'll try to cinch it around your throat so tight there won't be breath enough left to fight."
I smiled. Cold. Because under my ribs, the thing inside me was already opening its jaws.
And I knew the banquet they were preparing was not truly for me — it was for them. They simply hadn't realized yet who sat at which table.