At the Palace
The air in the imperial study was thick with the scent of sandalwood and unrest.
Candlelight flickered across ancient scrolls and war maps, but the Emperor wasn't looking at any of them.
His hands were clasped tightly behind his back as he stared out the window, gaze fixed on nothing. A steady wind whispered outside, brushing against the red curtains like a warning.
Behind him knelt three palace officials and Commander Zheng, the head of the Imperial Guard.
"Tell me again," the Emperor said, voice low. Too calm.
The commander's head dipped lower. "Assassins ambushed the Fourth Prince on his way back from the market. One palace maid is confirmed dead. Two guards injured. Three assassins dead. No one has confessed to who sent them."
"And my son?" the Emperor asked.
"Unharmed… physically."
The words hung in the air like smoke. Slowly, the Emperor turned.
"Physically," he repeated.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
There was silence.
It wasn't the silence of peace—it was the silence that came before something cracked.
"What did he say?"
Commander Zheng hesitated. "The Fourth Prince did not cry. He didn't speak for over an hour after returning to the Cold Palace. He only asked if… if the woman who died could be buried with her favorite books."
The Emperor's brows furrowed slightly.
"Xu mama."
He knew her. A loyal servant since the early days of the palace. She had stayed behind when everyone else abandoned the boy.
She died protecting my son.
My son I banished.
He walked slowly to his desk and picked up the small wooden lion the boy had brought back. It was broken—snapped in half.
"Who attacks a five-year-old?" he asked softly. "Who dares?"
"We believe the assassins were hired through an outside faction. Possibly connected to one of the noble clans—"
"Silence."
The Emperor's voice wasn't raised. It didn't need to be.
Everyone lowered their heads.
He held the broken toy in one hand, the pieces digging into his palm. His heart twisted.
He remembered how Xia Rui had once held that same child to her chest and whispered promises of love. How she had raised their son together. How she had sworn to protect him, he was innocent.
And I sent him away anyway.
"My son was almost killed today," the Emperor said finally. "And yet no one in the court speaks of it. Not a single official stepped forward to express concern. Not one of my so-called trusted allies sent a message of outrage."
"Your Majesty—"
"What kind of father am I?" the Emperor asked, mostly to himself. "What kind of ruler lets his child grow up among shadows and wolves?"
No one answered.
Because they all knew the truth.
"The Cold Palace has kept him alive… but it has taken his soul in return," the Emperor whispered. "And now I've lost him completely."
He sat slowly, the weight of the empire pressing into his shoulders.
"Double the guards around the Cold Palace. Seal the area. No one enters without my command. From now on… the Fourth Prince will be trained in secret. Taught not just to survive, but to see through the masks of this court."
Commander Zheng lifted his head, startled. "You mean to—?"
"He will not be seen in public. Not for years. Let them think he is broken, forgotten. A shadow."
The Emperor's eyes gleamed.
"And then… let them be afraid when he returns."
That night, in the Cold Palace, the young Fourth Prince sat alone in a cold room lit only by moonlight.
He stared at the cracked wooden lion by his bedside.
"I don't need their protection," he whispered. "Not my father. Not the guards. Not anyone."
He remembered his first time at this place. He stood at the entrance, his small figure wrapped in a thin silk robe. He said nothing as the guards opened the doors with a creak that sounded like mourning. His hands trembled, but he didn't cry.
His eyes, however, held a storm that no child should ever carry.
Behind him, a single eunuch placed a satchel with some clothes, a water jug, and a box of the Queen's old hairpins—her last gift to him.
Inside the Cold Palace, dust danced in the stale air, and the rooms smelled of old stories and long-forgotten sorrow. Servants were forbidden to stay for long. Food would be sent once a day, books occasionally if requested.
No toys. No tutors. No visitors.
But the young Prince, Hua Jin, did not resist. He did not ask for his father. He did not cry for his mother. He walked inside and closed the doors behind him, sealing the darkness in.
"Mother," he whispered to the silence, "I will become stronger. And I will find out who took you from me."
End of recap.
He picked up a brush and inkstone with small, shaking hands. Slowly, he began to copy the characters he'd been forced to learn.
Strength.
Power.
Control.
The moonlight traced the edge of his pale cheek.
In that moment, a ruthless prince was born—not in blood, but in silence.
And from that night on… he never cried again.
...
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