Wei Feng lounged in his chair, an island of indifference in a sea of courtly tension. He had arrived early, securing a side table with an impeccable view and, more importantly, easy access to the servants’ trays. He already had in his possession a jug of wine he had managed to pilfer and a plate of candied nuts.

A gray-robed minister, with a face as sour as an unripe persimmon, approached. “Prince Feng? It’s surprising to see you here so soon.” “Free wine is a powerful motivator, Minister Lu,” Wei Feng replied without looking at him, his attention fixed on a serving girl passing with lamb skewers. With a swift, expert motion, he snatched one from the tray. “Besides, I hear tonight’s show will be entertaining.” “It’s a state banquet for the Princess’s suitor, not a minstrels’ show,” the minister retorted stiffly. “The difference is often a matter of perspective,” Wei Feng said, taking a bite of the skewer. He chewed thoughtfully. “A bit dry. It needs more lamb fat.”

The minister huffed and walked away, clearly disgusted. Wei Feng smiled. The night was already improving. The Hall of Eternal Harmony was a vulgar display of power: columns of black marble that disappeared into the darkness of the ceiling and golden dragon banners that hung like the hides of divine beasts. But the acoustics were excellent for overhearing gossip, and the food, though a bit dry this time, was plentiful.

Suddenly, a shift swept through the hall. A hundred conversations died mid-sentence. The musicians’ flutes faltered, losing the melody for an instant. A collective silence, the sound of a hundred held breaths, fell over the hall.

Wei Feng looked up from his plate. Princess Wei Yao had entered.

She advanced down the central carpet, not so much walking as floating. Her pearl-white robe seemed to glow with its own light, and the embroidered golden dragons appeared to move with her. Her black hair was gathered in a crown of braids dotted with pearls, and her face was a mask of such perfect, intimidating beauty. Every step was measured; every movement, a statement. She was a living weapon, and the entire hall was at her mercy.

He watched as she ascended the main dais to sit beside her mother, the Empress. Her posture was flawless; her serenity, absolute. Wei Feng took a long swallow of wine. Well played, niece, he thought. Not a hint of the storm beneath.

Once the Emperor took his throne, a herald stepped forward, his voice booming with practiced authority. “Presenting the delegation from the honorable Golden Sword Sect, led by the Elder Sword Master, Lin Jian, and the Young Master, Jin Tian!”

The massive bronze doors swung open. The delegation in golden robes entered, their leader, Elder Lin Jian, with a severe face and a straight back. At his side, Jin Tian walked with a confident smile, the very embodiment of martial pride.

“Keep your chin up, Tian,” Elder Lin murmured, his voice barely a whisper. “You represent the honor of the Golden Sword. Show no weakness in the dragon’s den.” “I will not, Elder Master,” Jin Tian replied, his gaze arrogantly sweeping over the assembled nobles.

But then, they had to walk down the central aisle. And in the central aisle, the Black Dragon Guard waited. One hundred men, fifty on each side, motionless as obsidian statues. Their black armor seemed to devour the light, and the air around them vibrated with an oppressive energy.

Near Wei Feng’s table, two nobles whispered behind their fans. “Look at the stillness of those fiends,” one said. “They say they feel no pain or fear. That their souls were reforged on Black Dragon Mountain.” “I’ve heard worse,” the other replied, his voice trembling slightly. “I’ve heard they aren’t even men. They’re war puppets, controlled directly by the Captain-General’s will. They won’t stop until their hearts are destroyed.”

Further ahead, in the visiting delegation, one of the sect elders leaned toward his leader. “Elder Lin, this… spiritual pressure. It’s extraordinary. Are they all high-level cultivators?” “No,” Lin Jian answered quietly, without turning his head, his eyes fixed forward. “They are something worse. They are a unit. Their killing intent is bound into a single will. Do not look into the eyes of their helms. Keep walking.”

Jin Tian’s smile had vanished, replaced by a mask of concentration. His steps, once arrogant, were now cautious. The message was clear: the Golden Sword Sect might be powerful in the outside world, but here, within the palace walls, they were merely guests at the dragon’s mercy.

Finally, they reached the throne and performed a deep bow. Emperor Wei Zheng watched them from above, his eyes narrowed. After a long, tense silence, he gave a single, slow nod. It was all that was needed.

After the formalities, Jin Tian straightened his back, and his eyes met those of Princess Wei Yao. It was as if he had been punched in the gut. The composure he had fought to maintain shattered. His breath caught in his throat. He swallowed, visibly.

Wei Feng, from his corner, smirked. There it is, he thought. The first blow. And she hasn’t even drawn her sword.

Jin Tian collected himself and, with renewed determination, approached the main table. He bowed to the princess. “Princess Yao,” he began, in a voice feigning a soft and poetic tone. “The legends of your beauty do not do you justice. To see you is to understand why the stars envy the moon.”

Wei Yao gave him a perfect, rehearsed smile. “Young Master Jin is too kind. Your reputation with the sword is what is truly legendary.” Just shut up, you foolish fish, she thought with an icy disdain. Is that the best you have?

As she smiled, her eyes made a nearly imperceptible sweep of the room, searching for and finding her uncle. He was watching her, an expression of pure amusement on his face. A knot of anxiety tightened in her stomach.

Jin Tian, encouraged by her smile, continued. “A flower as exquisite as you deserves to bloom in the grandest garden. The Golden Sword Sect would be honored by your presence.” “The Wei Empire is my garden, Young Master,” she replied, her voice still soft, but with an edge that only one who knew her could detect. “And its roots are deep.”

Does he truly think he can buy me with such empty compliments? she thought, this time with a wave of panic. Her gaze flew back to Wei Feng. He can’t think I’m enjoying this. He, who gave up everything… He has to know I understand the difference between this peacock and… and a true dragon. He has to know this is just a role. A performance.

Her duty was no longer just to the empire. Now, desperately, it was to him.

Jin Tian seemed baffled by her response but tried another tactic. “Your talent is also legendary, Princess. I have heard your control over Qi is as fine as a spider’s thread.” “You flatter me,” she said, executing another perfect curtsy. Her performance was flawless.

Wei Feng poured himself more wine. The show was better than he had imagined. First mistake: cheap poetry, he thought as Jin Tian spoke of the moon. You’re not courting a peasant girl, you fool. Second mistake: he can’t read the room, he thought when Jin Tian failed to catch the coldness in her reply. He’s deaf to subtext. Dangerous in politics, fatal in the bedroom.

And then he saw it. The look. The first time, a quick search. The second, longer, almost desperate. Seeking him out. She wanted a reaction, whether it was approval or disapproval.

A slow, genuine smile spread across Wei Feng’s face. The warmth in his chest had nothing to do with the wine. Poor little bird. She tries so hard, acts so perfectly. And all the while, her true concern is in this dark corner, with this old drunkard. It’s… adorable.

The thought that she, surrounded by power and adulation, was so anxious for the opinion of the family pariah filled him with a warm, possessive satisfaction. It was the confirmation that no matter how many “geniuses” they presented to her, her mind was irrevocably entangled with his. He had left his mark on her, a mark that no golden-robed suitor could ever erase.

At that moment, the Emperor tapped the table lightly. “Let the banquet begin!”

The music resumed with greater force, and waves of servants began to fill the tables with steaming dishes that smelled of ginger, star anise, and roasted meat.

Jin Tian, taking this as his cue, smiled broadly and stepped forward to take the empty seat beside Wei Yao, pulling a brocade box from his sleeve.

Wei Feng watched the scene with renewed interest. The first act of the comedy was over. Now, the second began.

He raised his cup in a silent toast that only he understood. A toast to his princess, to her golden cage, and to the peacock who didn’t know he was about to be plucked.