The next day, Jian walked into the throne room as usual. His brothers haven’t arrived yet. He found Xian Shang present with his ministers, along with some new faces, the army’s grand marshal Wen Zi Shan and his first and second marshals, Zhang Wu and Mo Yuan. Jian looked at them, smiling, a hint of surprise in his eyes, “Grand marshal... We are honoured to have you in our court today. To what do we owe the pleasure?”

  Wen Zi Shan turned to him with malicious eyes and a cold tone, “Since when could stewards inquire about my presence? And why aren’t you bowing when talking, steward Jian?”

  Xian Shang was standing beside them, watching the scene with amusement as he added, “That is right, steward Jian. I let it slip yesterday, understanding that you were still struggling to fit, but this can’t be the norm. You must... understand your position.”

  Jian’s smile didn’t falter, though his eyes remained as cold as a winter well. He slowly folded his fan and tucked it into his belt.

  "My apologies, Grand Marshal. I am still learning the weight of my new robes. I was simply overwhelmed by the... fragrance of the military today. It has been quite some time since the scent of iron and blood filled this room. I am sorry if I overstepped."

  He folded his hands and was ready to bow when the sound of the gong filled the room. Everyone’s eyes flew to the door as Yang Lei appeared. Everyone folded their hands and bowed, expecting the emperor who entered the room, his movement fluid as he walked through the bowing crowd. Xian Shang’s face was cast down as he thought to himself, “Luck is still on your side, Jian. Let's see how long it will be there.”

  As Feng rested on the throne, Lei stood at his side. Everyone straightened up, and Jian approached the throne and stood only a few steps away from it. Zhang Wu looked at him with one eyebrow raised.

  Feng started with a wide smile, “Grand Marshal Wen. Your presence today makes us all very happy.”

  Wen Zi Shan didn’t smile. “I am deeply sorry that I missed your coronation, your majesty. Some issues required my immediate attention outside Lijiang, but I brought my marshals today to pay respects to our new emperor, the one who is destined to lead us to glory. But... there is something that I wish to report to your majesty. Your steward’s manners need to be... adjusted.” He pointed at Jian, “I know he was the former crown prince, but he chose to recuse himself. He can’t maintain his attitude around here. If he chose to be a steward, he should behave like one.”

  A deafening silence filled the room as his words settled. The only voice heard was the hushed murmurs of the ministers. Jian covered his face with his hand. Xian Shang’s eyes widened slightly. Feng didn’t know how to respond, but Lei took a step forwards “What seems to annoy you, grand marshal?”

  Wen Zi Shan continued, his tone non-negotiable, “Even if he is the voice of the emperor, he should still know his place. I am obligated to tell the purpose of my presence to the emperor only, and no one else.”

  Feng finally spoke up, “Grand marshal, if my brother disrespected you in some way, I hope you can forgive him.”

  Jian’s eyes flicked toward Xian Shang for a split second. "Grand marshal, I am sorry if I disrespected you with my question. As for my inquiry... the Prime Minister did say he wanted the emperor to be 'fully briefed.' I assumed that meant all of us."

  Wen Zi Shan, “You are still apologising with your head up?”

  Feng's hand tightened on the throne armrest, his knuckles turning white while Zhang Wu thought, “How can you be so petty, Wen Zi Shan?”

  Jian didn't lower his gaze. Instead, he let a slow, humble smile spread across his face, one that didn't reach his icy eyes. "The Grand Marshal is correct," Jian whispered, the sound carrying easily in the hushed hall. "A Steward’s duty is to serve. Perhaps my 'attitude' is merely a remnant of a life I have already discarded. I shall endeavour to be as... submissive as the Grand Marshal requires."

  He shut his fan and folded his hands, his back bending as he bowed a perfect bow, his head cast down. “I am deeply sorry if I overstepped. I hope the grand marshal can find it in his heart to forgive me.”

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  The silence in the room was palpable, and everyone was shocked to see Jian bowing down without objection or order. Mo Yuan was eying the scene with annoyance, ashamed of using military influence to bully lowly servants. Zhang Wu’s eyes were focused on his grand marshal. Feng’s face went pale while Lei was searching for an opening. He observed the treasury director’s sweating face and quickly spoke up, “Now that we are done with apologies, maybe we should get back to business. Treasurer Meng, you look worried. Is there something you want to tell us? Please step up.”

  All eyes looked at the treasurer while Jian straightened up, his smile never faltering. Treasurer Meng stumbled forward, his silk robes rustling unevenly. His eyes darted to Xian Shang, then to the Grand Marshal. He stammered, "Your... Your majesty, there was an incident. At my estate. Last night. A major vandalism in my gardens. And it left my eldest son injured.”

  "An incident?" Jian asked, his voice sharp, "In the Great Dragon District? Wasn't that area patrolled by the Grand Marshal’s elite guard?"

  Wen Zi Shan stiffened. He looked at Jian with hateful eyes as Jian approached the treasurer with sympathetic eyes. “I am sorry for your son, Treasurer Meng. Our thoughts and prayers are with him.” He looked at Wen Zi Shan, “I trust you will find the perpetrators and uphold justice, grand marshal. Such acts can’t be tolerated in our empire.”

  Xian Shang said, “This is truly a sorry incident, but I am sure the perpetrators will be found.”

  Feng finally spoke up, his voice loud and harsh, “Grand marshal, those gangs are treating my capital as if it were their own backyard. I want them to be found and beheaded in the name of justice.”

  Zhang Wu stepped forward and bowed, “Your majesty. I assure you they will be found. I will personally deploy additional guards and assign more men.”

  Jian spread his fan again. “And what about the poorer neighbourhoods, marshals? If even the safest areas are dangerous like this, what can we expect in other places? This certainly raises some questions.”

  Wen Zi Shan bowed, his head facing the emperor. “I deeply apologise for the incompetence of my men. I will find those responsible,” He straightened up, looking at Jian. “Every neighbourhood is the same to me, Steward Jian.”

  Jian, “I hope so. I just want all our people to live safely.”

  "Then it is settled," Feng declared, his voice regaining a bit of the regal weight Jian had been coaching him to find. "The military will purge the streets. Grand Marshal, I expect a report on the first wave of arrests by week's end. Dismissed."

  The ministers began to filter out, whispering in hushed, frantic tones about the safety of their own estates. Treasurer Meng scurried away, his head ducked, looking like a man who feared his own shadow.

  Xian Shang paused beside the Grand Marshal. They didn't speak, but the look they exchanged was one of shared venom. They turned in unison, their robes billowing as they marched out to coordinate their next move.

  Zhang Wu and Mo Yuan remained for a moment longer. Zhang Wu’s eyes lingered on Jian—not with the disdain of before, but with a sharp, calculating curiosity. He offered a short, stiff nod to the throne before leading his fellow marshal out.

  Jian closed his fan, looking at Xian Shang and Wen Zi Shan, and thought to himself, “Xian Shang... Bringing that musclehead to the play is your biggest mistake.”

  He went back to his palace and sat down. A young physician apprentice poured him some tea, then bowed. Jian slipped her a small piece of paper and dismissed her. The apprentice quickly nodded and walked outside. Jian looked at the painted portrait of his father on the wall and sipped his tea. “Father, the game is on... and the end is near.”

  The heavy gates of the Imperial Palace groaned shut, the sound echoing through the empty plazas of the inner city. From the high balconies of the Treasury, the Grand Marshal’s "Elite Guard" could be seen marching in rigid, angry columns—their torches flickering like a trail of fire through the Great Dragon District. They were searching for a phantom, a ghost that had already vanished into the mist.

  Far below the gilded eaves of the palace, the city of Lijiang breathed a different air.

  In the slums of the Red District, the boisterous laughter of the Red Dragon Sons had turned into a low, disciplined hum. Men who had been brawling in the streets an hour ago were now sharpening their blades in the dark, watching the palace lights with the patient eyes of predators.

  On the docks, a lone member of the White Phoenix Clan stood atop a stack of silk crates. He watched a young physician’s apprentice cross a small stone bridge, her silhouette disappearing into the fog of the medical quarter. He didn't move; he simply waited for the signal that the "Master" had spoken.

  High in the palace, the young Emperor Feng stood by his window, looking out at the city he was destined to lead. He felt the weight of the crown on his desk, but he also felt the invisible presence of his brothers—one a shield of iron, the other a shroud of darkness.

  The "Game" had officially moved beyond the silk curtains of the throne room. It was now in the alleys, in the barracks, and in the hearts of the desperate. Xian Shang had brought a Marshal to a political fight, but Jian had brought the entire city.

  As the moon reached its zenith, a single raven took flight from the palace eaves, soaring over the walls and out toward the distant, dark frontiers where the First and Second Marshals' armies lay sleeping.

  The first move was made. The "Steward" was in his place. And for the first time in eighteen years, the Shadow Emperor was ready to step into the light—by making the rest of the world go dark.