Leaving Ningxi Palace, the two brothers — who had not seen each other for well over a year — walked side by side along the shaded path lined with Ningxiang flowers.

Of this generation of brothers, in truth, very few remained. After the Zhan family had consolidated its power, the nation of Bei Mu had been beset by unrelenting strife — troubles from within, threats from without. To quell the fires of war on all fronts, the princes had spent years campaigning far from home, and the price in lives had been immense. The stability of the Zhan imperial line owed no small debt to the sacrifices those princes had made.

Even the youngest — the Eighth Prince and the Ninth Prince — had gone straight to the battlefield upon coming of age, and had lived the life of soldiers ever since. In all these years, the brothers had rarely had occasion to be together, and days like this one — walking side by side, the road ahead unhurried, free from any official duty — were rarer still.

“A’Jiu, Mother’s health is declining more with each passing day. She truly longs to see you wed. Whatever happens with this selection of a consort — don’t let her down.”

Zhan Lingtian gave a quiet sigh, and within that sigh lay no small measure of complicated feeling.

“I will choose a girl I care for myself.” This was Zhan Qingcheng’s only response on the matter of selecting a consort.

Zhan Lingtian knew that drawing him into any conversation about women was likely a losing proposition.

He looked up at the stretch of sky above, then gazed forward. At the highest point ahead stood the main hall — the place where ministers of the full court paid audience to the Emperor.

After a moment’s thought, he said abruptly, “The matter of the Empress following your lead — has the Emperor said anything about it?”

“As you see.” The selection of a consort — that was the path the Emperor had laid out for him.

Zhan Lingtian gave a faint smile, then said, “The Emperor is likely harboring some unease as well. After all, the Nanmeng clan still holds a great deal of military power.”

“So the Emperor’s summons to the palace was his way of drawing closer to you — to have you choose a side?”

These words gave Zhan Lingtian a brief pause, before a composed smile spread across his face.

“A’Jiu, you never change — you see through everything with uncanny precision!”

In ordinary company he appeared so quiet as to seem almost otherworldly, and yet his mind was clear as a mirror, with everything firmly in his grasp. If there was one thing A’Jiu had never understood in his life, it was the matter of feelings — but aside from that, there was nothing he could not see through.

“Then, if A’Jiu were in my position, how would he politely decline the Emperor’s overture?”

“Has Elder Imperial Brother already made up his mind to refuse?” Zhan Qingcheng turned to look at him, his expression carrying no trace of surprise.

“Now that the realm has only just found peace, I naturally have no wish to see war spread through Bei Mu once more. A’Jiu, you know in your heart how much we sacrificed to achieve even this fragile calm.”

“The Emperor has several imperial sons at present, but aside from Crown Prince Zhan Yuheng, who among them has the ability to lead troops in the field?”

These words, though they sounded somewhat audacious and disrespectful toward the imperial household, were nevertheless the truth.

“Without the Nanmeng clan, the Zhan imperial line would never have fallen to its current state.” Zhan Qingcheng’s handsome lips pressed into a thin line. Whenever the Nanmeng clan was brought up, his contempt was impossible to conceal.

It seemed A’Jiu’s antipathy toward Nanmeng Rong had reached the point where he no longer cared to hide it.

Zhan Lingtian was of course well aware of what Nanmeng Rong had done. After the Crown Prince was born, three Noble Consorts still remained in the inner palace, and before long each had borne sons — the Second, Third, and Fourth Princes. But heaven had shown no mercy: all three princes died in childhood.

The palace’s official account was that the three princes had either met with accidents or had been sickly from birth and succumbed to illness before reaching adulthood.

But who did not know that behind it all, Nanmeng Rong’s hand was deeply involved?

After the deaths of the three princes, the three Noble Consorts either went mad and drowned in a dry well, or wasted away in depression — in short, those three once-favored consorts were gone in quick succession.

For several years afterward, only princesses were born to the imperial family — not a single prince.

Then, after a long interval, the Fifth and Sixth Princes finally arrived, and later the Seventh Prince as well. But these princes all seemed born with illness — weak and sickly from infancy, incapable of leading troops into battle, unable even to travel any great distance without falling ill.

Now, the only son of the Emperor who could truly be of use was Crown Prince Zhan Yuheng. The rest were no more than pampered hothouse flowers.

“The Emperor is uneasy right now. He is probably also afraid that you and—” The words “the Empress” never passed Zhan Lingtian’s lips.

After all, speaking of such things in front of A’Jiu was sure to displease him.

But the Emperor had his anxieties, and they were entirely understandable. The Empress controlled the Nanmeng clan and commanded enormous military power. And Ninth Prince Zhan Qingcheng himself held no small amount of military power as well. Should the Empress and the Ninth Prince join forces, the Emperor’s throne would be impossible to hold.

The two of them united would plunge the realm into chaos and overturn the court in an instant — how could that be allowed?

“If you refuse to follow the Emperor’s wishes, he will likely demand that you relinquish the military power in your hands.”

There had once been a saying that Bei Mu was divided into three parts: one belonging to the Emperor, one to the Nanmeng clan, and one to Prince Shezheng, the Ninth Prince. But that was already an old way of speaking. Now, the Crown Prince and the Eighth Prince had been steadily building their own military strength, and it was no longer the simple three-way balance of power it had once been.

“The Emperor may well press me to hand over my military authority. But I suspect he will not dare push too hard. He is isolated for the moment — a lone palm cannot clap.”

So the Eighth Prince had no particular fear of the Emperor taking a hard line with him. There were too many adversaries, too many unknown variables — if the Emperor tried to force the issue, Emperor Qiwen himself would worry that it might drive the Eighth Prince to throw in his lot with someone else.

The two brothers spoke without restraint, largely because the current Emperor genuinely had no means of dealing with them at present — so restraint was an emotion that had never really taken root in either of their hearts.

In truth, being the ruler of a nation was no easy thing. Too little military power in hand, and even sitting on the throne was an empty gesture.

“All right, A’Jiu, your elder brother still has a few matters to attend to. It’s not convenient to speak freely inside the palace — let’s meet at the manor another day.”

Having walked out of Ningxi Palace, Zhan Lingtian gave him a smile and made to take his leave.

Zhan Qingcheng simply nodded, watching him go.

Because Consort Ning preferred quiet and solitude, the attendants who had accompanied the Ninth Prince had not entered Ningxi Palace — so this stretch of the walk back was one Zhan Qingcheng made alone.

As he moved through the palace grounds and took in the imposing structures all around him — each one a symbol of supreme authority — the depths of Zhan Qingcheng’s eyes held a fathomless, unreadable quality, but not the faintest trace of longing or desire.

Everyone said that if the Ninth Prince wished it, this realm would surely be his. But did he truly wish it?

Perhaps for some things, it was not a matter of wishing or not wishing. Over twenty years of life — was there anything in it he had done purely for himself?

Having drifted for half a lifetime through rise and fall, he looked again toward the distant main hall and felt, all of a sudden, that there was something quietly, indescribably ironic about this place.

What did it matter, being Emperor? To become Emperor was to spend one’s days and nights fearing that the throne might be taken away. What meaning was there in an emperor’s life like that?