The throne hall was silent.
Not the restless silence of uncertainty, but the suffocating kind that pressed against the lungs and refused to leave.
Emperor Li Xuanming sat beneath the golden crown, distant and untouchable. The dragon-carved throne rose behind him like a coiled beast at rest, its shadow swallowing the marble steps below.
No one dared to look at him directly for long.
Prime Minister Shen Qingzhi stepped forward, sleeves brushing the polished floor.
"Your Majesty," he said smoothly, "the morning court is prepared."
A pause.
"Proceed."
The single word fell from the throne like winter frost.
Cold. Calm. Enough to freeze the marble beneath it.
The heavy doors creaked open.
A court reporter hurried in, robes dust-streaked from travel. He knelt so abruptly that his forehead struck stone.
"Your Majesty! Urgent report from the western border!"
The emperor did not move.
"Speak."
The reporter swallowed.
"The royal family of Zhao Kingdom… has perished."
A tremor passed through the hall.
Not loud — but enough. Sleeves shifted. Breaths stalled.
The emperor's gaze remained forward.
Unmoved.
"Only the Crown Prince and the young Princess survived," the reporter continued, voice tightening. "They request temporary residence within our palace."
Silence fell again.
Thicker than before.
It was said that the late Queen Dowager of Zhao had once shared a close bond with their own Empress Dowager. Old alliances. Old memories. Old debts.
But His Majesty did not react.
Not to kingdoms falling.
Not to bloodlines ending.
Not even to ghosts of the past.
Instead, he lifted his hand slightly.
A silent signal.
Prime Minister Shen Qingzhi's smile did not change.
"Understood, Your Majesty."
He turned, already issuing quiet instructions. "Prepare the eastern palace for their arrival."
The court exhaled.
The emperor remained still.
As if the fall of a kingdom were nothing more than dust beneath the throne.