The estate gates swung open just before dusk.
Four armored riders thundered through, dust trailing behind them. At their head rode General Li Zheng, the Iron General of the Empire — victor of a hundred battles, breaker of rebel lords, and father to one deeply disappointing son.
Servants scrambled. Guards stood at rigid attention. The entire estate tensed like a bowstring.
Li Yun watched it all from the shadows beneath a plum tree, calmly chewing on a piece of candied ginger. He didn't need to look to know his father's arrival had turned the entire household into a parade of fake composure and whispered panic.
When the warhorse stopped at the front courtyard, General Li dismounted with the fluid grace of a man who hadn't known comfort in years. Dust clung to his boots, his black armor was still streaked with dried blood, and his gaze — sharp, hard, unreadable — swept over the estate like a storm looking for weakness.
Li Yun didn't move.
He didn't need to.
Their meeting would come soon enough.
Inside the ancestral hall, everything gleamed with forced welcome. Incense burned in ceremonial bowls. The staff had changed into their finest uniforms. Grandfather Li Zhen sat at the head, back straight despite his age, radiating the kind of presence that made even generals feel like cadets again.
And then there was Li Yun, sprawled at the far side of the hall, legs crossed, sleeves rolled up, holding a fan he definitely didn't know how to use.
His father entered like a blade through silk.
The room fell silent.
Even the wind stopped.
"Father," Li Yun greeted, raising a hand lazily. "You're home. Did you win?"
General Li Zheng stared at him for a full ten seconds.
"Still alive, I see," he finally said.
"Barely," Li Yun replied cheerfully. "The pastries in the west market are trying to kill me."
A few servants coughed into their sleeves.
General Li walked forward, each step deliberate, until he stood just a few paces from his son.
"You've gained weight," he said flatly. "From wine or laziness?"
"Both," Li Yun said. "But mostly from carrying the weight of family expectations."
Even Grandfather snorted at that one.
Li Zheng's brow twitched — but he said nothing. Instead, he turned to his father and bowed. "I have returned from the southern frontier. The rebellion is crushed."
"Good," Grandfather said. "Now try surviving your own household."
Li Yun opened his fan. "Too late for that. I've already been ambushed by paperwork and expectations. Brutal stuff."
His father's gaze landed on the ring. "What's that on your finger?"
Li Yun tilted his hand. "A keepsake. Mother's."
The room went quiet again. His father's jaw clenched — barely — and Li Yun didn't miss the flicker of emotion behind the iron.
"Keep it," the General said at last, turning away.
Later that night, Li Yun stood on the rooftop, watching the stars appear between drifting clouds.
He heard footsteps behind him.
"Your father thinks you're still useless," came his uncle's voice. "You might've won Grandfather over with charm, but he's made of stone."
Li Yun smiled. "Stones crack under enough pressure."
His uncle sat beside him with a flask and handed it over. "You planning to apply pressure with fan jokes and casual insults?"
"Of course not," Li Yun said, sipping. "That's just the opening act."
He tapped the ring.
"Now comes the real show."