From Zhuge Yui Lan's Perspective
Honestly… the situation was almost comical.
The great Emperor Zhuge — the man who bore the destiny of the entire island on his shoulders, the one who could make ministers and generals tremble with a single glance — was sitting at the head of the table, simply trying to have his breakfast.
Silent.
Dignified.
And completely surrounded by his own storms in the shape of women.
To his left sat the Empress Dowager, Jiang Ru Lei — calm, relentless, and accustomed to winning any argument through sheer patience.
To his right, my elder sister Zhuge Su Lan — sharp-eyed, calculating, measuring every word spoken, always hunting for the smallest crack in the emperor's composure.
And a little farther down, yet no less dangerous, Bai Xuan Hua — his fiancée: beautiful, ironic, and clearly entertained by the chance to tease him in front of the other two.
A true female tribunal.
And he — both judge and defendant — condemned to listen to all the accusations without a chance to defend himself.
The three of them bombarded him with an unending sequence of questions and remarks.
It was almost impressive how they managed to speak among themselves and still direct every word at him.
The Empress Dowager's voice was low, serene, and yet impossible to ignore.
Su Lan spoke with the precision of a strategist presenting a state report.
Xuan Hua, on the other hand, seemed mostly interested in testing the limits of his patience.
Perhaps these three women — the closest to his heart and to his empire — were the only ones alive who could behave this way before him.
Even so, as the only person at that table who knew a fragment of the secrets my eldest brother carried within, I couldn't help but find the sight almost humorous — watching him accept their scolding in silence.
He simply… ate.
Calmly.
Without haste, without reaction, without protest.
His right hand held the spiritual chopsticks with flawless precision.
Each movement was smooth, controlled — almost artistic.
With every sharp remark thrown his way, another piece of spiritual chicken was neatly sliced, dipped in golden sauce, and brought to his mouth.
His expression remained serene, as though he were savoring a celestial feast instead of enduring an imperial interrogation.
No trace of irritation.
No sign of discomfort.
Only a quiet exhale — and an occasional glance toward the window, as if considering escaping through thought alone.
The questions came from every direction, and the order of them was almost cruel.
First, the threat from the Shu Clan — the most delicate issue of the morning.
Then, the empire's future plans, with Su Lan analyzing strategies as though she already had a full report prepared.
And finally, the most dangerous question of all — spoken in the sweet yet firm voice of the Empress Dowager:
"And what about your first son, my child? An emperor must have heirs."
It was at that very moment he lifted his gaze — and turned it to me.
He didn't say a word.
He didn't have to.
His eyes said everything — a mixture of plea and confusion, silently asking why I, of all people, was there.
Why I had chosen to join that celestial trio of imperial inquisitors.
Inside, I laughed.
But I didn't let it show.
Even so, something within me tightened.
Because I understood.
And despite the nearly irresistible urge to help him — to say something, anything that could break the siege surrounding him — I knew it would be pointless.
Against those three women, not even I had any power.
They were the forces that ruled the palace.
And as much as I owed him — as much as I wanted to protect the brother who would one day sacrifice everything for the empire — at that moment, there was only one thing I could do:
look away,
and hope that silence itself would be enough to spare him,
if only for a few fleeting moments.
Across the entire Zhuge Island, I had been the only survivor.
But not because of my own power.
Not because of luck.
No.
The truth was that the man sitting before me now — that same man quietly eating breakfast — was the one who had saved my life that day.
Even after so many years, I could still remember it perfectly.
Every detail.
Every scent.
Every sound.
The heavy air of ash and frost.
The trembling mountains.
The muffled screams beneath collapsing formations.
The snow stained with blood.
And his eyes.
His face that day was a blur of sweat and blood.
The imperial robes — garments I had always thought pristine and untouchable — were torn, filthy, soaked in a red so dark it was nearly black.
His wounds were countless, so severe that even as a spiritual physician, I didn't know where to begin healing.
The cuts were deep, the burns still fresh; there were cracks in his meridians unlike anything I had ever seen in another cultivator.
But he hadn't come seeking healing.
He had come for one reason alone: to save me.
Until that day, I hadn't been close to my eldest brother.
It was hard to be close to any of them when you had thirty-three siblings — each with their own place, their own path, their own destiny.
And he was the Emperor — the most distant, the most burdened.
Well… perhaps Su Lan was slightly busier than him.
Still, to me, his presence had always been a distant shadow — something I respected but could never reach.
Until that day.
That day, I finally understood what the saying meant:
"Blood is thicker than everything."
He asked for nothing.
He didn't try to save himself.
He didn't look at me expecting gratitude.
He simply used the last resource he had — something I hadn't even known existed — to save my life.
And then… perished along with the island that had been our home all our lives.
While I, orphaned and lost, became the last Zhuge.
The survivor.
The heir to a shattered world — carrying not just our clan's name, but the weight of a brother's sacrifice.
A brother who, for the first time, had looked at me not as a distant princess… but as blood.
That memory burned within me now, quiet and relentless, as I watched him at the table — whole, alive, breathing.
And I couldn't help but wonder… would he ever know what he truly meant to me that day?