The Emperor's chamber was silent. The last breath of Xiao Muo Heng still echoed in Muo Yier's ears, weighing upon his shoulders like an unseen burden. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the chill of the marble beneath his feet, then slowly stepped out toward the grand hall.
The hall was filled with suffocating silence. The ministers, servants, and remaining members of the imperial family bowed deeply, their faces hidden behind restrained sorrow. Only the ticking of the great clock could be heard clearly, as if counting every remaining second before the fate of the empire changed.
General Li Zue An, the Prime Minister, stepped forward. His body stood tall, but his eyes held deep grief.
"Huang Shang," his voice was firm yet gentle, "the Late Emperor has passed. To ensure a smooth transition of the throne, the ceremony of ascension must be prepared immediately. Several important decisions must first be made."
Muo Yier looked at each minister's face one by one. His breath was heavy, and his heart pounded fast, yet he restrained every unease that threatened to rise. His lips were slightly dry, and his eyes glanced briefly toward his father's body laid with honor before them. The scent of incense filled the air, accompanying the flickering candlelight that surrounded the hall.
"I… understand. Proceed," said Muo Yier, his voice slightly hoarse yet firm. He held his trembling hand still, striving to project calm and authority before all who looked upon him.
Silence once again enveloped the hall. Some imperial consorts stifled their sobs, servants bowed their heads, and several ministers exchanged glances, aware of the great weight now resting upon Huang Shang's shoulders.
From the right side, the Right Prime Minister stepped forward. His tone was soft yet steady.
"Huang Shang, tomorrow at noon, the ceremony of ascension will be held. In addition, the funeral procession of Emperor Xiao Muo Heng must be prepared immediately, in accordance with imperial tradition."
Muo Yier lowered his head, suppressing the sudden quickening of his heartbeat. His hand tightly grasped his robe, his lips holding back words he did not wish to speak. Yet within his eyes, determination slowly began to form—the resolve to bear the throne and the responsibilities now bound to him.
"Prepare everything," he finally said, his voice steady and dignified. "Tomorrow… Ben Huang will ascend the throne before the empire and its people."
For a moment, the hall fell silent again, but this time, the stillness carried more than sorrow. There was reverence, hope, and tension awaiting Muo Yier's next step. The candles flickered brighter, shadows danced upon the walls, and Muo Yier knew—tomorrow, the throne would no longer be a mere symbol of power, but a true test for himself and the empire now standing at the brink of change.
Dawn broke through the glass windows of the grand imperial hall, illuminating the polished marble floor with a golden glow. The scent of burning wood and warm candle wax mingled with the morning air, bringing an atmosphere both serene and sacred. The hall was filled with palace officials, ministers, generals, and honored guests from neighboring kingdoms, all dressed in formal silk hanfu with symbolic colors—red for courage, blue for loyalty, and gold for authority. Their faces hid emotion behind propriety, while their eyes reflected reverence, expectation, and faint tension.
At the center of the hall, Muo Yier stood upon the marble platform, wearing a deep-blue imperial robe embroidered with a golden dragon curling around his chest, its tail spiraling down his sleeves. The dragon was not merely decoration; it was the symbol of Heaven and the divine authority bestowed upon Huang Shang. In his hand, he held a golden ceremonial staff engraved with swirling cloud patterns and a small phoenix at its base. His stance was upright, though his breath still carried a trace of concealed unease. Every gaze upon him saw not only the heir to the throne, but the leader destined to bring prosperity and honor to the Xiao Empire.
General Li Zue An, clad in black armor polished to a bronze sheen, stepped forward. His voice was clear, resonating through the high dome of the hall.
"Huang Shang, all preparations have been completed. The ministers await your final instruction. The people have been informed of today's ceremony, and the temporary altar for the Late Emperor's final tribute has been prepared."
Muo Yier nodded, his eyes scanning the rows of kneeling ministers. Each face revealed a blend of reverence, hope, and silent anticipation. He drew a long breath, steadying the rhythm of his heart, and spoke:
"Begin the ceremony."
From the adjoining hall, the rhythmic beating of ritual drums echoed softly, followed by the gentle ringing of bronze bells. The imperial guards, dressed in finely layered armor, stood tall on both sides of the hall, their swords gleaming under the morning light. The sound of silk shoes striking the marble floor formed a sacred rhythm that filled the vast chamber.
One by one, the ministers approached Muo Yier. They bowed deeply until their hands touched the floor in reverence, presenting scrolls and imperial seals—symbols acknowledging Muo Yier's rightful ascension as ruler. Every motion followed strict ceremonial protocol, from the position of hands to the direction of gaze, showing respect and loyalty to traditions preserved through centuries of imperial rule.
When Muo Yier signed the final document with a brush dipped in golden pigment, time itself seemed to slow. His gaze turned toward the temporary altar where his father's body rested. A shadow of grief passed through his heart, but he straightened his shoulders, drew a deep breath, and lifted his head with the bearing of a true sovereign.
"By the power granted by Heaven, through the will of the people and the legacy of my ancestors, Ben Huang, Xiao Muo Yier, officially accepts the throne of the Xiao Empire," he proclaimed, his voice strong and echoing throughout the hall. The morning light illuminated his robe, making the golden dragon embroidery shimmer as if the dragon itself had nodded in blessing.
Soft applause and cheers rippled through the guests and ministers, yet behind the courteous celebration, Muo Yier still felt the immense weight upon his chest. Every word he spoke was a promise—a vow to lead, to protect, and to continue his father's legacy with wisdom and justice.
When the ceremony concluded, the ministers returned to their positions, and Muo Yier stood alone upon the marble platform. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, reflecting off the polished floor and highlighting every thread of golden embroidery on his robe. He inhaled deeply, letting grief, responsibility, and resolve merge into one steady strength within him.
That day, Muo Yier was no longer a prince. He was Huang Shang—the bearer of Heaven's Mandate. And though the world around him awaited his first command, in his heart, he knew—this was only the beginning of the true trial that awaited him.
Under the silent shadow of the palace, the Emperor has departed,
Yet fate never ceases to write its tale.
Life flows onward, like a river that never rests,
Erasing footprints in the sand, leaving lessons for those who remain.
Greatness is not found in thrones or crowns,
But in a heart that can love and forgive.
Death is not an end, but a gate to understanding life—
That every second is a gift, and every choice a legacy.