Emperor Wenzong had spoken one word: Silence.
It was all he needed to say to command absolute authority in his throne room.
He would not allow disorderly conduct.
He looked down at the woman at his feet.
Normally he despised emotions as undisciplined self control.
This woman’s emotional outburst, in Russian, was inappropriate for his throne room, forbidden in the Imperial Palace, and not tolerated in the harem.
Normally he would have punished someone severely for such an outburst.
Especially when the outburst was public in nature and caused him to lose face.
He never wavered.
His judgment was swift, impartial, measured, just, and sure.
So why this time did he find a lump in his throat at the thought of anyone, especially himself, harming this woman?
He knew from the moment she’d entered the room he had been fascinated.
Her hair was like spun gold atop her head.
Her eyes, eyes that had no fear of looking into his, were like sparkling sapphires hiding a depth of emotion and intelligence that he longed to draw out.
Her skin was milky white but blushed and freckled.
And her lips were like nothing he’d seen before; not tiny almonds like the women in his harem, but plump like a juicy piece of fruit begging to be bitten.
His heart had pounded like horses racing to war when she’d walked into the room.
What was this?
He’d seen beautiful women before.
He had come to the conclusion that he was immune to their charms.
He only chose name plates for intimacy a few nights a month to fulfill his obligations to the state to produce heirs, but as soon as the deed was done the concubine or consort was immediately sent back to her palace.
There was no lingering, no romance.
It was matter-of-fact and businesslike.
Fulfilling his filial piety and duty to the state.
He didn’t feel anything resembling duty or obligation when he’d seen this woman though.
While he didn’t like the idea of her being forced as a political pawn, he reasoned that political marriages were made to strengthen ties all the time.
He’d made such matches for some of his adult daughters.
Such was life for a ruler’s daughter.
He did something that was unprecedented.
He knealt down to her level and took her hand, lifting her back to her feet.
“It is fate.
You must learn to accept it.” He said simply.
He turned and called out for the eunuchs to come and escort her to the harem, then he retook his position on the throne.
As she was being led away, Emperor Wenzong turned his attention back to the Ambassador and Minister Li.
“I accept your gifts.
Relay the message to your Emperor that I will not invade the territory to our North.
You may thank that young woman for that.
I spare them, not for you, not for your Emperor, but for her sake.
Taking her from her homeland and bringing her against her will, forcing her to give up her freedom in exchange for a small hope that she might save her loved ones deserves to be rewarded.
You are dismissed.” Emperor Wenzong proclaimed.
Katya pulled against the eunuchs leading her away.
What was happening?
Was she being taken away to be executed for her outburst?
Would she be thrown into a dungeon or tortured?
She had to escape this place, because surely they intended to kill her!
Instead they led her deeper into the palace courtyards.
She could see gardens and ponds, palaces that belonged to the main palace and smaller buildings as well.
All surrounded by an outer wall that was much too high to see over, much less crawl over.
She was led to one such palace where several servants and eunuchs waited.
When they arrived, the eunuchs and maids fell to the ground on their knees in flawless kowtows.
The head eunuch said, “This servant, Pang, along with the maids of the Guhui Gong, pays respects to the Foreign Consort.
May you enjoy boundless health and the Emperor’s favor.”
One of the other eunuchs stepped forward and said, “This is the Palace of Solitary Radience, your new home.”
Katya stared in confusion.
She couldn’t understand this strange language they spoke.
But they seemed to be saying kind things.
Why were they bowing to her though?
Why wouldn’t they look at her when they spoke?
They led the way inside the stunningly elegant abode and all Katya could do was stare.
Tapestries, paintings, calligraphy, pottery, and porcelain seemed to be everywhere.
There was an ornately carved and raised wooden bed.
Nothing like the piled furs she slept on back home.
Lacquered furniture with vases of fresh flowers filled the mansion.
She sat down on one of the stools at a table and looked around in a daze.
The maids hurried to bring about a fresh pot of tea and a cup for her.
Katya thanked them absentmindedly.
How would she ever get out of this mess now?
The doors to the Imperial Study slide open.
The space is heavy with the scent of aged paper, inkstones, and burning sandalwood.
Here, surrounded by walls of legal texts and histories, the Emperor is at his most formidable.
General Meng Kai enters in his full ceremonial armor—the heavy iron scales clinking softly with every step.
Despite his anger, his etiquette is flawless.
He drops to his knees, presses his forehead firmly against the cold stone floor, and performs the formal kowtow.
“Grand Marshal Meng Kai pays respects to Bixia.
May the Lord of Ten Thousand Years live a long and glorious life.” General Meng Kai says from his place of prostration.
Emperor Wenzong (Zhao Siyan) does not look up from the scroll he is reading.
He sits behind a massive desk of dark ironwood, a writing brush poised perfectly in his hand.
He lets the general kneel on the hard floor in silence.
The tension stretches for a painful, deliberate minute.
Finally, without breaking his rhythm of writing, the Emperor speaks.
“Rise, Grand Marshal.
You did not request an urgent audience simply to wish Zhen long life.
Speak your mind.” The Emperor said.
Meng Kai stands, keeping his posture stiff.
He steps forward and places a heavy leather-bound ledger on the edge of the Emperor’s desk.
It is a calculated move to disrupt the Emperor’s perfect order.
“Bixia, this servant speaks for the fifty thousand men currently freezing on the northern frontier.
The vanguard was three days from crossing the river into Siberia.
The supply lines are fully stretched, costing the imperial treasury ten thousand taels of silver every single week.
Yet, the order came from the palace to halt the march.
To hold a mobilization of this scale in check without a battle is…
ruinous to troop morale.” The General spoke earnestly.
Still writing calmly, and without looking up, Emperor Wenzong replied, “A well-disciplined soldier does not suffer from low morale simply because he is ordered to hold his weapon rather than swing it.”
The General pressed further, “The men are confused, Your Majesty.
Rumors are spreading from the capital to the camps.
They hear that the northern barbarians sent a tribute convoy.
They hear that a peace treaty was signed not for land, or for gold, but for…
a single captive woman.”
His voice dropped with venom as he continued, “The borders of the Jing Dynasty have always been written in blood and iron, under the absolute logic of Our Self’s laws.
To retreat now signals weakness to our enemies.
The court is whispering, Bixia.
They ask if the Emperor has allowed a foreign honey-trap to compromise the empire’s grand strategy.”
The writing brush finally stops.
Wenzong carefully sets it down on its porcelain rest.
He lifts his head.
His dark eyes are entirely unreadable, cold as obsidian.
He does not show a flicker of anger; instead, he displays a terrifying, absolute calm.
Wenzong reaches out and opens the ledger Meng Kai brought.
He flips directly to a page near the middle, his scholarly memory proving instantly superior to the general’s tactical data.
“In the third month of last year, during your campaign in the western passes, you lost four thousand men to disease because your logistics failed to secure clean water.
In the eighth month, your siege of the rebel fortress ran three weeks over schedule, draining the state granaries.
You speak of the treasury, Grand Marshal, yet your own record shows a history of administrative inefficiency.” The Emperor spoke calmly.
Meng Kai’s jaw tightens.
His knuckles turn white against the hilt of his sword.
“The halt on the northern border is a calculated pause.
Securing a ceasefire through diplomacy allows the state to consolidate its resources without spilling a drop of imperial blood.
It is a highly efficient victory.
If the court whispers, it is because they lack the foresight to see the larger board.” The Emperor continued.
General Meng Kai gritted his teeth.
“And the woman, Bixia?
Is she part of this ‘efficient victory’?”
The air in the room turns freezing.
Wenzong stands up, his tall frame cutting a menacing figure against the candle-lit scrolls behind him.
He places his hands behind his back.
When he speaks, his voice is a low, dangerous octave that reminds the general exactly who holds the power of life and death.
“Zhen does not explain his imperial decrees to his sword.
Zhen commands it.
The foreign woman is a hostage of state, a living guarantee that her people will remain compliant while our northern garrisons fortify.
If the Grand Marshal cannot maintain discipline among his troops during a strategic ceasefire, perhaps Zhen should find a marshal who can.”
General Meng Kai realizes he has pushed as far as he safely can.
He instantly drops back to one knee, bowing his head to hide the fierce, murderous rage burning in his eyes.
“This servant…
was short-sighted.
I tremble before Bixia’s wisdom.
Your slave obeys your imperial decree.”
“Return to your duties, Grand Marshal.
Do not let Zhen hear of ‘mutinous grumbling’ again.” The Emperor commands.
Meng Kai bows out backwards, the doors sliding shut between them.
Alone in the study, Wenzong looks down at his inkstone.
His hands are steady, but his mind is racing.
He knows he just lied to his most powerful general.
The peace treaty wasn’t a calculated pause for efficiency; it was an emotional impulse sparked by the blonde captive in the Palace of Solitary Radiance.
For the first time in his life, the scholar-tyrant has placed his own desires above the cold logic of the state—and he has just made a deadly enemy because of it.