The wind across the northern plains was a harsh, dry whisper, but it never seemed to disturb the calm focus of Prince Li Wei. At twenty-three, he was already the legendary Young General of the Celestial Dragon Empire and the Third Prince by birth—a man for whom the roar of battle was more familiar than the quiet halls of the imperial palace.
Li Wei stood atop a makeshift watchtower, his figure framed against the setting sun. He was a picture of practiced strength: tall, his armor dull from dust and blood, not polished for show. A length of deep black hair, usually tied back for battle, fell loosely over one shoulder, whipping lightly in the breeze. His eyes were sharp, reflecting the calculated movements of the army camp spread below.
His childhood was not spent with tutors discussing poetry, but with master swordsmen and war strategists. While his older brothers learned courtly manners, Li Wei was learning to ride the most unruly warhorse and execute the perfect crescent slash. He was a Wuxia master—a phenomenal martial artist whose skill was born from relentless effort, not mere talent. This commitment had earned him a reputation as an unstoppable force. He was the sword of the Empire, the one who secured their borders and ensured their power.
"General," his deputy, a grizzled captain, called out, snapping Li Wei from his thoughts. "We have intel. The Azure Phoenix forces are consolidating west of the Silent River. Prince Ming Yue leads them."
A cold, determined light entered Li Wei's eyes. He knew the Prince of the Azure Phoenix Kingdom was their strongest rival, a man who, despite his young age, commanded loyalty. A victory here would break the back of the enemy resistance for good.
"Prepare the men," Li Wei commanded, his voice low and clear. "We move before dawn. I want Prince Ming Yue captured. Intact."
Li Wei did not care for the politics of kings; he cared only for the victory that brought peace to his people. He strapped his favorite broadsword—plain steel, honed to a deadly edge—to his back. Tomorrow would be his greatest triumph. He would face his enemy, defeat him, and secure his legacy. He had no idea he was about to capture a destiny far greater than any mortal throne.
On the otherside, Hundreds of miles away, beyond the Silent River, Prince Ming Yue sat in the dimly lit command tent of the Azure Phoenix camp. The air was thick with the scent of pine and worry.
Ming Yue was a stark contrast to the rough military setting. He was breathtakingly, ethereally beautiful. His long, black hair was carefully braided with a single silver pin, framing a delicate, almost feminine face with high cheekbones and large, expressive eyes. His silk robes, though worn from travel, carried a grace that seemed out of place in a war camp.
A map of the region was spread before him, but Ming Yue could barely focus on the tactical lines. A dizzying headache had been plaguing him for days, accompanied by flashes of brilliant light and a feeling of falling through an endless void. He gripped the edge of the table, willing the mortal pain to subside.
"Your Highness," his advisor pleaded, "General Li Wei's army is too strong. We must retreat!"
Ming Yue lifted his head, his face determined. "We will not flee like cowards," he said, his voice quiet but commanding. "We stand and fight. For the people of the Azure Phoenix." He didn't know why he felt such a fierce loyalty to this kingdom, only that it felt like the most important thing in the world.
He stood, ignoring the tremor in his hands. He knew little of true battle, his only weapon being the swift, strange martial arts he seemed to instinctively know—skills that felt too fast, too potent for a mere mortal. Tomorrow, he would lead his troops one last time. He did not fear death, but he feared failing this one, precious identity he had: Prince Ming Yue.
He stepped out under the cold moon, steeling himself for the inevitable clash. He was preparing to meet his fate, a destiny that would shatter his world and reveal the forgotten divine truth hidden beneath his beautiful, mortal face.