The carriage moved slowly through the snow-covered city. Xiu Zhao sat by the window, watching children run, playing with snowballs, their mothers chasing after them with cloaks in their hands.
"Did you want to play in the snow too?" Hua Xu asked with a calm smile.
"Not really. I hate snow," Xiu Zhao said, his expression serious as ice.
Ling Xu, curious, asked, "Why do you hate it?"
The biting cold brought memories Xiu Zhao wished he could forget. He went back in time, five years earlier, a winter as cruel as the snow blanketing the city.
That day, Madame Qin had errands to attend, and Xiu Zhao's tutor had already left. Alone, he walked the streets with his hood covering his face. The glimmer of ice on the trees and windows seemed enchanting, but the sound of other children's joyful laughter felt like knives in his ears.
Frustrated and anxious, he approached a bridge over the frozen river. He rested on the dock, watching the silver shine of the ice. For a moment, he felt peace—until shadows appeared behind him.
"Well, well, well… if it isn't the monster," mocked a tall boy.
"What do you want?" Xiu Zhao asked, still confused, his voice small before the group.
"We just want to play with you," they replied, mischievous smiles on their faces.
Before he knew it, he was surrounded. Snowballs flew like projectiles, filled with stones, striking his body and face. Blood mixed with snow, each hit seeming to tear pieces of him away.
"Stop, please stop!" he begged, but it was useless.
A larger stone broke the ice, and Xiu Zhao fell into the frozen river. The icy water enveloped his body, every muscle paralyzed by cold, open wounds burning like fire. He sank, powerless.
"Is this how I'm going to die?" he thought, despair consuming every second. "My life… was truly worthless. Why didn't I want to die sooner?"
Darkness almost swallowed him, until suddenly, he opened his eyes.
Xiu Zhao was in his room. Sunlight streamed through the windows, warming the space, but he still felt the chill of that winter day. He sat on the bed, feeling aches all over his body, but looking in the mirror, he saw only a living boy.
There was a bandage on his head. Carefully, he removed it and saw that the blood was gone, the wound healed as if nothing had happened. A note from the servant Dai Zhi said that two days had passed since the incident at the Wu Zhi River.
But the question remained, like a silent shadow: who had saved him?
The past still echoed, but Xiu Zhao, eyes fixed on his reflection, breathed deeply. The snow, the ice, the pain, and the blood were memories that shaped his strength. Now, the present called him. With each rose planted, every training session, every page of a strategy book, he rebuilt his future with his own hands.
In Xiu Zhao's heart, there was only one certainty: survival was not just a matter of the body, but of the soul. And he was ready to face whatever came—memories and present, pain and love—without ever bowing to the world.
****
Xiu Zhao looked out the window. Snow shimmered under the pale sky as the carriage passed through the gates of an immense fortress. Beyond the walls rose the imperial palace — vast, golden, and cold.
The carriage stopped before the main staircase. Hua Xu stepped down first, followed by Ling Xu, and lastly, Xiu Zhao. The wind carried the scent of burning incense through the courtyards.
Before them, hundreds of steps climbed toward the great hall. The three followed Hua Xu's brisk pace. As they entered, the chime of the bells hanging from the ceiling echoed softly. Men dressed in identical hanfus stood in perfect lines, motionless, their gazes fixed upon the throne where the Emperor and Empress watched.
Ling Xu and Hua Xu bowed. The Emperor raised his hand, allowing them to rise. His eyes then fell upon Xiu Zhao — the only one still standing.
"Xiu Zhao," Hua Xu murmured in panic, noticing the Emperor's puzzled stare. "Bow before His Majesty."
But the boy remained motionless. Murmurs spread through the columns like wind.
"What insolence!"
"How dare he?"
"Has he never been taught respect?"
The Emperor narrowed his eyes, the air around him growing heavy.
"You are a bold boy!" His voice thundered through the hall. "Were you never taught manners?"
He struck his fist against the throne — the sound rolled like thunder.
Xiu Zhao lifted his chin, his voice cold and steady. "And who are you, that I should respect you?"
The silence that followed was almost tangible. The Emperor rose, his golden robe dragging across the floor.
"Who am I? I am the Great Emperor Luo Wei!"
"And that should mean something to me?" Xiu Zhao replied, his gaze sharp as a blade.
The Empress looked at him with disdain.
"How dare you speak so to His Majesty? He is the embodiment of power."
"And you," Xiu Zhao murmured, "are merely one of his concubines. The title of Empress grants you no power — only a new name for your prison."
A cutting silence filled the air. Hua Xu rubbed his temple; Ling Xu stared, stunned.
"You come into my palace and insult me and my wife! Who do you think you are?" the Emperor roared.
"I am—" Xiu Zhao stopped. Something, behind the ministers, caught his attention.
"Why did you stop?" the Emperor mocked. "Has the cat stolen your tongue?"
A low laugh escaped Xiu Zhao's lips. And then — the ground trembled.
From the depths of the hall came a grotesque sound. Laughter. Inhuman. Cold and jagged.
The court doors burst open with a crash. A figure entered — pale body, rotting skin, long black nails scraping the floor. It walked barefoot, hunched, like a corpse that had forgotten to die.
More creatures emerged, phasing through the walls, their ghostly bodies passing through the ministers like mist. Fear flooded the room.
The guards formed ranks, swords drawn. But when they struck, their blades sliced through the monsters as if through smoke.
"Hunger…" the creatures whispered, their eyes fixed on Xiu Zhao.
The boy stepped forward, a faint smile curling his lips. "To answer your question…" he murmured, "I'm the one who'll crush your expectations."
"Hand me your spear!" he shouted to a nearby soldier.
The man hesitated — but Xiu Zhao had already snatched the weapon from his hands. He spun it skillfully, the motion light and precise as the wind.
"Come," he said to the monsters.
Two of them lunged. Xiu Zhao twisted his body, the spear slicing through their faces with a clean strike. Black blood splattered across the marble floor.
"I still got it," he said with a hint of arrogance. "This is going to be fun."
A grin tore across his face as the monsters surrounded him. In one fluid motion, he slit five throats at once. It was his first time killing — and he did it with the precision of someone born for battle.
More attacks. More bodies. The ground drenched in dark blood.
The screams of agony echoed like discordant music. Xiu Zhao did not retreat. His empty eyes reflected the terror of the dead themselves.
"Man-eaters," he thought, spinning the spear again. "Creatures who've forgotten what it means to live."
The last five monsters lunged in desperation — and their deaths were slow. So slow that even the generals looked away.
When the final monster fell, silence consumed the hall.
Xiu Zhao wiped the blood from his blade and looked around. Terror clung to the air. The Emperor — the same man who had roared with arrogance moments ago — now trembled before him.
Xiu Zhao brushed his sweat- and blood-dampened hair aside. A few strands refused to stay.
"Ahh, can't you just stay in place?" he muttered in frustration.
He crouched beside one of the bodies and pulled a red thread from the creature's hanfu. Calmly, he tied it around part of his hair.
"Sir," coughed an old minister, breaking the silence. "We have a more urgent issue."
The Emperor looked at him, confused.
"According to our reports, enemy armies are still advancing through the villages. The general proposed a strategy to destroy King Chao's kingdom—"
"That won't be necessary," Xiu Zhao interrupted sharply.
All eyes turned to him.
"Bring King Chao to me. I'll speak with him."
"What will you do, boy?" the minister asked, alarmed.
Xiu Zhao merely smiled.
The murmurs returned. "He's insane…" "Such arrogance…"
The Emperor laughed. "Very well," he said, rising. He took a brush and wrote a summons, sealing it with the imperial mark.
The ministers protested desperately.
"Your Majesty, reconsider!"
"This is madness!"
But the Emperor handed the letter to the messenger and gestured with his hand.
"The servants will show you to your quarters."
The meeting was over.