The days that followed the 'strong tea' incident were heavy with an unspoken tension. Xiao Qi, though she continued her duties, moved with a newfound subservience, her gaze never meeting Tang Liu's, a ghost of the terror she had experienced permanently etched onto her features. She still delivered veiled messages to her handlers, Tang Liu knew, but now, he ensured those messages contained only what he wished them to hear – meticulously crafted half-truths and carefully planted seeds of misinformation.
The insidious pressure on his household continued to mount. The small, loyal contingent of guards under Zhao Wu's command grew restless. Their wages, already months in arrears, remained unpaid. The Regent's faction, through its vast network, was not subtle in its enticements. Rumors of generous bonuses, promotions, and stable positions within the capital garrison rippled through the Azure Crane Palace.
One crisp autumn morning, as Tang Liu sat in his study, ostensibly engrossed in a particularly dense historical treatise, the inevitable occurred. A knock, hesitant and burdened, sounded at his door. It was Zhao Wu, his face grim, his usual stoic demeanor marred by a deep furrow in his brow.
"Your Highness," he began, his voice strained, "I regret to inform you… the men." He gestured vaguely towards the courtyard. "They are leaving."
Tang Liu slowly lowered his scroll, his gaze serene. He had seen this coming, had felt the undercurrents of despair and pragmatic self-preservation among his dwindling guard. "All of them, Zhao Wu?" he asked, his voice soft, almost inquiring.
Zhao Wu swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Forty-eight of them, Your Highness. All but two. They… they have families. The Regent's offer was too good to refuse, they said. Forgive them, Your Highness. They are good men, but…" He trailed off, unable to voice the unspoken accusation of abandonment.
Tang Liu closed his eyes for a moment, a fleeting shadow of disappointment crossing his features, then replaced it with his customary gentle smile. "They are only human, Zhao Wu. Survival is a powerful motivator. I do not fault them." He rose slowly from his chair, a carefully practiced movement of a man recovering from a grave illness, leaning lightly on his cane. "Let us see them off."
In the main courtyard, a small line of men, their uniforms slightly frayed but still bearing the insignia of the Third Prince's guard, stood awkwardly, their heads bowed. Their faces were a mixture of shame, relief, and barely concealed apprehension. They avoided Tang Liu's gaze, shuffling their feet nervously. Two younger guards, their faces flushed, stood apart from the main group, their spears held firm, their bodies radiating a tense loyalty. These were the two who had chosen to stay.
Tang Liu stopped before them, his presence, despite his perceived fragility, commanding a heavy silence. "Men," he began, his voice carrying surprising clarity in the still morning air, "you have served me well. For many of you, for years. I bear no ill will for your decision. The dynasty is… unstable. A man must look after his own." He offered a small, understanding smile. "Go. And may your new service be fruitful. May you find the stability and prosperity you seek."
He then looked at the two young men who had chosen to remain. "And you two," he continued, his gaze softening, "your loyalty is noted. You will not regret it."
The departing guards, clearly expecting a scene, a reprimand, or at least a visible sign of princely despair, were taken aback by his placid acceptance. A few shifted uneasily, a flicker of something akin to guilt crossing their faces. With a final, mumbled farewell, they turned and marched out of the Azure Crane Palace gates, their footsteps echoing hollowly in the quiet courtyard. Zhao Wu watched them go, his fists clenched, his jaw tight.
When the last of them had vanished, Tang Liu turned, his expression now serious, to face Zhao Wu and the two remaining guards. "Twenty men, you said, Zhao Wu? And now, three." He let out a soft, almost imperceptible sigh. "We are truly alone now, it seems. Three men against an empire."
Zhao Wu looked at his prince, his eyes burning with an unshakeable resolve. "Alone, perhaps, Your Highness. But not broken. My oath stands. Until my last breath." The two young guards, emboldened by their captain's words, straightened their shoulders, their faces reflecting a similar determination.
Tang Liu's gentle smile returned, but now it held a cold, calculating edge, a spark of steel in his eyes. "Indeed, Zhao Wu. Not broken. Merely… refined. Our numbers are few, but our resolve is tempered." He knew this public stripping of his forces was a test, a deliberate act by the Regent's faction to see if he would lash out, appeal, or simply fade away. His calm acceptance, his feigned understanding, was its own weapon.
That night, in the quiet solitude of his study, Tang Liu reflected on the day's events. The thinning of his guard was a painful blow, but it also served a purpose. He now knew, with absolute certainty, who was truly loyal, and who merely served convenience. Zhao Wu was an immovable rock, a force of direct, unyielding strength. The two young guards, still unproven, represented a nascent seed of genuine devotion. They were few, but they were pure.
He sat in meditation, the Primordial Breathing Technique flowing, his Qi Condensation advancing steadily towards Layer 4. The loss of his guards had undeniably exposed him, made him even more vulnerable to direct assault. But it had also removed a layer of potential spies, of unreliable elements. He was stripped bare, but now, every piece on his board was visible, known.
The political feuds were no longer a distant hum; they were a storm brewing directly overhead. The Regent sought to consolidate, the Nihilist Faction to destabilize, the Isolationists to hoard. All viewed him as a dead weight, a dying symbol. They saw his weakness. They did not see the subtle, silent power he was accumulating, the terrifying resolve hardening within him. Three men against an empire. It was a daunting prospect. But then, Tang Liu had always preferred to play with hidden cards, to move in the shadows, to strike when least expected.