Perspective: Zhuge Su Lan
Su Lan knew that the actions of the Shu Clan were not entirely senseless.
It would be easy to call them traitors or greedy opportunists, but the world they lived in didn't operate under moral laws.
It was a world where the strong ruled over the weak.
A world where strength didn't just justify one's actions — it defined them.
In the empire of cultivators, justice and power always walked hand in hand.
And those who tried to separate them were inevitably crushed between the two.
It was by following that same logic that her imperial father — the magnificent scoundrel — conquered Zhuge Island.
With both fist and smile, charm and violence, he subdued entire clans, one after another, until that frozen, forgotten land became a prosperous empire.
And now, ironically, it was under that very same logic that the Shu Clan stood before the palace gates, demanding their "right" to rule.
After all, in the world of cultivation, right and strength were synonyms.
And, in a way, Su Lan couldn't deny it — there was coherence in that.
The snow kept falling — slow and heavy — covering the spears, the steps, and even the golden emblem of the Shu.
From the imperial balcony, she observed everything — the faint glow of spiritual runes beneath the frost, the soldiers holding formation, and in the center of it all, her brother standing still, serene, as if the cold couldn't touch him.
Her gaze, however, wasn't fixed on Yeon.
It was on something beyond him — the invisible structure that sustained that entire conflict.
In the world of cultivation, power was a pyramid.
And she knew its nine steps well.
The first level — Body Refinement — was the beginning of the climb.
The body was the first temple, and it had to be forged like steel.
Muscles, bones, blood, organs — everything was rebuilt to withstand the weight of Qi.
It was the level of soldiers, of novices, of those still shaping their bodies to bear their souls.
Then came Spiritual Refinement, where mind and meridians were stabilized.
Mental discipline began to replace brute force — the realm of cultivators who could already manipulate Qi precisely and form basic techniques.
Next was Spirit Condensation, where power ceased to be abstract and began to take form.
Qi condensed within the dantian, creating a spiritual foundation — the true beginning of cultivation.
And then, the Golden Core — the dividing line between eras.
At that stage, the spiritual base solidified into an actual core, a miniature sun spinning within the body.
Each breath could move mountains; each thought could shape the air.
It was the moment when a cultivator stopped being merely human and began to touch the realm of the supernatural.
Beyond that level were realms Su Lan had only heard of.
Refined Core, where the dantian's energy purified itself until it altered the cultivator's very essence.
Nascent Soul, where the spirit detached from the body and could exist independently.
Ascendant Soul, the domain of those few who could bend nature and spiritual laws to their will.
Sea of Qi, where the entire body became an ocean of energy, every cell breathing power.
And finally, the Heavenly Gate, the threshold between mortals and immortals.
But all of that, to her, was still theory.
Because the most powerful cultivator Su Lan had ever known in her life — her own father — had never advanced beyond the early stages of the Golden Core.
And yet, even at that early stage, he had demonstrated enough power to walk Zhuge Island unchallenged.
Throughout his reign, no cultivator dared to rise against him.
He ruled with an iron fist, and his authority was so absolute it seemed like a law of nature — not enforced, but inevitable.
Every clan, every general, every elder knelt not out of loyalty, but out of fear.
And as cruel as it was to admit, fear was the strongest cement an empire could have.
Under his command, Zhuge Island experienced decades without internal wars — not because there was peace, but because no one was foolish enough to test his patience.
When he spoke, others fell silent.
When he commanded, the world moved.
On his throne, he seemed more a force of nature than a man.
But now, with his disappearance, there wasn't a single cultivator of that level left on all of Zhuge Island.
The strongest man alive — unfortunately — was Lord Shu Lin, leader of the Shu Clan, who stood only half a step away from the Golden Core realm.
And that, as unpleasant as it was to admit, gave him the right to challenge the empire.
In the world of cultivation, power was legitimacy.
And if the Shu Clan held the strongest cultivator on the island, then by simple logic, they believed themselves the rightful heirs to the throne.
In comparison, the imperial forces seemed fragile.
The four generals — all exceptional women, disciplined and loyal — were at the peak of the Spirit Condensation Realm.
Each one could face entire armies alone, yet they still stood a full realm below Shu Lin.
And as for her brother…
Officially, Emperor Zhuge Su Yeon was also in the Spirit Condensation Realm, at the intermediate stage.
At least, that's what everyone believed.
The difference was that Su Lan knew him far too well to trust appearances.
Her brother would never face a superior enemy without a card hidden up his sleeve.
He might seem calm, careless, even foolish at times — but he wasn't suicidal.
If he stood there, alone, before the Shu Clan, it was because he was certain of something no one else knew.
And that, she believed completely.
If Yeon didn't have a hidden card, he'd be the first to retreat.
The first to vanish, to abandon the throne, to let chaos run its course.
That was how he operated — cold, calculating, relentlessly logical.
And it was precisely because she knew that side of him that Su Lan remained still.
Because deep down, she knew:
if Zhuge Su Yeon was smiling like that…
then hell itself was about to smile back.