On a bright full-moon night, at the grand Trần family estate,
in a modest chamber lit by a flickering magical lamp, a man in his thirties sat quietly at his desk. In his hand was a piece of charcoal; his face bore a few creases—traces of countless sleepless nights torn between affairs of state and household matters. A deep scar ran from his forehead, cutting diagonally across his right eye, lending him a stern and somber appearance.
A burial robe was neatly folded at the head of his bed. The ceremonial sword once bestowed by the emperor hung solemnly on the wall, its steel glinting faintly under the lamplight. On the desk, besides the inkstone and a few military treatises, lay official documents and reports from subordinates—all meticulously arranged, a reflection of the master's disciplined life.
He gently dipped the charcoal into the ink and began writing in an old goatskin journal, its pages yellowed with time:
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"The 1703rd year of the Thượng Dương calendar.
It has been three years since my beloved son, whom I believe was sent to us by the Nine Celestial Whales, was born into the Trần lineage. I have watched him grow day by day with all the affection of a father.My wife, Liên Nguyệt Ánh, oversees all affairs of the household with the gentle competence of a virtuous lady, despite the fact that our household is already well staffed with servants.
When he turned one, the great Trần clan gathered in full to celebrate the lễ thôi nôi—his first-year celebration. It was an event of great grandeur. All branches, both paternal and maternal, came bearing blessings and gifts.
The maternal clan's elder—also the reigning emperor Liên Tự Anh and young Sĩ's uncle—personally descended from the palace to bless his grandson. From the paternal side, scholar Trần Quý, my uncle, journeyed from afar to attend. She wept with joy at his visit.
Other noble houses from the capital also sent their representatives with congratulations. That day, the entire city buzzed with celebration—drums and gongs resounding, well wishes echoing through the air. As a father, I was filled with pride, though not without a tinge of unease from such overwhelming affection.
Following tradition, we laid before the child several symbolic items: a stack of banknotes, a copy of the Six Classics, the Three Texts, and the Chronicles of Đại Liên's Warfare.
At first, he reached for the banknotes, prompting a few sighs. But then, with firm resolve, his tiny hands grasped the Chronicles. The family erupted with joy. To us, the martial spirit of the Trần bloodline had been reborn in this child.
The banquet lasted deep into the night—wine flowed like rivers, and laughter filled the halls.
By his second year, Trần Sĩ had already begun to speak and walk. His first word was... 'hungry.' I laughed aloud—what father wouldn't feel warmth in his heart, watching his child's every step of growth?"*
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Knock knock...
A soft knock on the door pulled him back from his thoughts. A child's voice rang sweetly from outside:
"Daddy!"
The man gently closed the journal and rose to open the wooden door with a creak.
"What is it, son?" he asked tenderly, eyes gleaming with warmth.
"Can you tell me a story before bed?" the child beamed innocently, voice laced with a hint of playful pleading.
"Alright, alright…" The man chuckled, lifting the boy in his arms and slowly making his way to the small bedroom. A breeze swept through the corridor, rustling the curtains with a whispering sound…
He tucked the boy into bed and sat beside him, then began to speak:
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*"Long, long ago… when the universe was still a vast, empty void. Then came a great explosion—boom!—and the wheel of time began to turn. From that light, nine mighty deities emerged, all taking the form of colossal whales.
They split the heavens from the earth, spewed water to form seas and rivers, breathed wind and clouds to fill the sky. When the continents took shape, one of the gods sacrificed himself, merging with the land. From his body, all life began to flourish.
Many ages passed. Two of the gods, weary of the sea, stepped onto the land. They journeyed to the land that would one day become the imperial capital. There, they built settlements, raised walls, and nurtured the humans they found—teaching them knowledge and strength.
One of their adopted children unified the warring tribes and founded a small kingdom where peace reigned. But after his death, the realm descended into chaos—power struggles, territorial disputes, and endless war.
It wasn't until over 500 years ago that the founding emperor, Liên Diệp Tử, quelled the strife and unified the lands, establishing the Đại Liên Empire. Today, the reigning emperor is his fifth successor—Liên Tự Anh. Alas, he has yet to bear an heir..."*
He paused, glancing at his son—already fast asleep. The child's breathing was calm and steady, his face bathed in silver moonlight streaming through the window.
The father smiled gently, bent down and placed a kiss on his son's forehead, then extinguished the magical lamp with a soft click... and silently exited the room—leaving behind a pure and quiet dream in his child's heart: a dream of legends, of origin, and of a destiny yet to come.