From Zhuge Su Yeon's Perspective
The six young sisters before me looked harmless at first glance.
Some nervous, others curious, all trying to maintain composure before the throne.
To an outsider, they might have seemed like delicate ladies of the imperial lineage — beautiful, disciplined, and as fragile as the ice that adorned the great hall.
But I knew better.
Even if they had never truly known me, I had been watching them for a long time.
I knew who they were, what they desired, and what each one carried in her blood.
With the exception of the mysteries surrounding Yu Jin, my father had told me almost everything about the sons and daughters he had scattered across this vast and fragmented Zhuge family.
And among them all, these six girls were… special.
Not only because of their natural talent, but because in each of them flowed a greater portion of the Ancient Emperor's burning blood — the same blood that, when mixed with that of their mothers' clans, created an unstable balance between ice and fire, between instinct and reason.
Each of them was a spark waiting to be lit.
And today, I intended to ignite that fire.
Today would be the day these young women would see, for the first time, what it truly meant to bear the Zhuge name.
The day their blood would begin to awaken — to react to the heritage of our lineage.
The first step in shaping not just warriors, but heirs worthy of the empire of ice and flame that would one day rule the far North.
But arriving at that decision had not been simple.
My imperial father was never a planner.
He was a man of instinct — driven by passion and immediate will — a dragon without a map, who preferred to act first and adapt later.
During all the years I lived under his shadow, I never once heard him speak of a long-term vision for the Zhuge Clan.
He never explained how he saw the empire's future, nor what path the family should take once he was gone.
And then, one day, he was gone.
No farewell, no guidance, no written legacy.
Only silence — and a sealed letter that still refuses to open for me to this day.
With his absence, the weight of the empire fell upon my shoulders — and unlike him, I could not afford to act on instinct.
It took time to understand what I truly wanted.
But now, my will is clear.
I do not wish to expand the empire.
I do not dream of conquest, alliances, or glory.
What I seek is something my father never had: peace.
I will turn Zhuge Island into a world apart —
a place where cold protects rather than punishes,
where the family's blood can find balance,
where the name Zhuge can finally exist without needing to fight the entire world to survive.
But isolation does not mean weakness.
A territory too secluded is an invitation to greed.
And I know the nature of this world too well — mysterious places always draw the curiosity of fools.
What I want is not a hidden island.
I want a feared one.
A land surrounded by respect, cloaked in legends and warnings — a place where even the boldest cultivator would think twice before crossing our borders.
I want the very name "Zhuge" to serve as a warning — a reminder that balance and power live here, and that no foreigner should ever dare to test them.
But to achieve that, I need strength.
And not just mine.
The strength of the family will be the wall that sustains that peace.
And as I looked upon the six young women kneeling before me, I realized that the first step toward that future began here — now.
These girls, aged between fifteen and twenty, were the beginning of the new Zhuge Clan.
The first pieces of the great board I was about to shape.
And one day, when their eyes reflected the same cold that now rules this throne,
the world will understand that these small flames…
were the dawn of the new era of the Empire of Ice and Fire.
My gaze moved slowly across each of them.
The bluish light reflected off the frozen walls of the hall, drawing an ethereal glow around them — as though the ice itself recognized something of its own within their souls.
All of them were my younger sisters — daughters of my father by different mothers — and all bore the unmistakable mark of the Zhuge bloodline in their features:
a restrained brilliance in their eyes, a posture balanced between serenity and strength, and that kind of presence that time does not erase — only matures.
Even though they had never fought under my command, I already knew them.
I knew their natures, their tempers, even the wounds they had yet to discover within themselves.
My father had spoken of each one — their strengths and weaknesses — and now, finally, I could see them with my own eyes.
The first was Zhuge Lian Huo.
Tall and imposing, with dark red hair tied back with a golden ribbon and lilac eyes that glowed like embers beneath the frost.
She radiated discipline and pride — the kind of girl who would never kneel before weakness, not even her own pain.
Her spiritual energy burned around her, even when suppressed.
With the right training, she would become a blazing warrior — a swordswoman capable of cutting through entire armies by sheer willpower.
But I also saw her flaw: Huo was too impetuous.
The same fire that made her strong could one day consume her.
Beside her stood Zhuge Lian Xue — cold and silent, with hair as black and smooth as polished glass and eyes of pale blue, almost translucent.
Her presence was subtle, nearly invisible, yet impossible to ignore.
There was something in her gaze that resembled a blade hidden in snow — calm on the surface, deadly beneath.
Xue was the hardest to read, the most enigmatic of all.
But I knew: once awakened, her mastery would lie in precision.
She would be the perfect warrior — a cultivator of impeccable technique, shaped not by instinct, but by intellect.
The third, Zhuge Ran Yin, had silver hair braided with thin red ribbons, and bright blue eyes filled with vitality and resolve.
Her straight posture, the way she held her weight, the steady gaze that did not waver even before me — everything about her spoke of inner strength.
Yin was the type who would fight until the end, even when defeat was certain.
Not only powerful — resilient.
A heart forged to endure the impossible.
In time, she would become a fortress — a specialist in defense and counterattack, someone who would hold the line while others advanced.
The fourth was Zhuge Yue Lin, the quietest of them all.
Her hair — a pale, almost white gold — fell over her shoulders like threads of light, and her eyes, also golden, burned with a restrained electricity.
Even now, at rest, her spiritual energy manifested subtly, faint sparks dancing around the tips of her hair.
Yue Lin was an unstable phenomenon — the kind of talent that appears once in a generation.
Her body was a contained storm.
But behind that immense power lay something broken — a spiritual instability that, if left unchecked, could destroy her from within.
Her path would be difficult, but if she survived it, she would become one of the most feared Zhuge in the North.
The fifth, Zhuge Lian Er, seemed almost out of place.
Her curly, reddish hair fell in rebellious waves over her shoulders, and her green eyes carried an expression far too amused for the solemnity of the hall.
She looked as though she couldn't take anything completely seriously — even kneeling before the imperial throne.
And yet, that was what made her dangerous.
Lian Er possessed a lively, unpredictable energy — like the wind before a storm.
If she learned to channel it, she would become a duelist of unmatched reflexes, a combatant of pure improvisation — one her enemies would never be able to predict.
And finally, Zhuge Fei.
The youngest — and perhaps the most intriguing.
Her green hair, tied high in a ponytail, shimmered beneath the frozen light of the hall like liquid jade.
Her eyes, the same shade, were sharp and alert, almost feline.
There was something in her gaze that set her apart — a raw perception, an instinct that didn't come from training but from nature itself.
Her dark-toned robes crossed by a brown sash were practical, almost military — far removed from the delicate attire of a princess.
She didn't look like royalty.
She looked like a hunter.
When her eyes met mine, I saw her for what she truly was.
Zhuge Fei was not just talented.
She was a natural-born predator.
The kind of warrior who doesn't hesitate, who studies her prey and strikes without leaving room for error.
In her movements — even in the rhythm of her breathing — there was control, purpose, and instinct, as if fighting was simply another form of living.
I remained silent, but within me, a thought crystallized with perfect clarity:
"These six… are the future."