PROLOGUE
LONGHE 6th YEAR
Capital Mingdu · Great Zhao Dynasty
Morning in Mingdu, capital of the Great Zhao Dynasty, did not rise —
it opened like a scroll.
Street drums rolled from the watchtowers.
Vendors clapped bamboo boards as they arranged baskets of buns and dried plum.
Dust rose from horse hooves along Vermilion Avenue.
Scholars hurried toward the academy with grievances already loading their mouths.
And drifting right through this chaos
Zhao Jianyan, Qinghe of Qinwang,
the most beloved royal in the dynasty.
He wore a simple indigo robe today, sleeves loose, hair tied in a modest crown knot. Not a scrap of gold indicated his rank. If you saw him at a glance, he looked like a promising scholar from a noble house rather than a prince who could summon the entire Censorate with one raised brow.
Two palace guards trailed behind him, desperately pretending they were not trailing behind him.
"Your Highness," one whispered, "perhaps—perhaps we should bring a carriage? Or at least—"
Jianyan lifted a hand, stopping him.
"Benwang is walking to East Street," he said. "The sun is pleasant. Mingdu will not collapse."
The guards exchanged a look that said: it might actually ,but followed him anyway.
People parted the moment they recognized him — not with fear, but with that nervous joy people reserve for seeing a beloved actor on the street.
"Wangye!"
"My prince! Try our red bean cakes!"
"Your Highness, the new tea leaves arrived—"
Children ran toward him holding sticks like swords.
"Wangye, duel us!"
Jianyan crouched down.
"You five against benwang?" he asked, amused. "Then benwang demands a handicap."
"What handicap?"
"You must promise not to cry when you lose."
The children roared in laughter.
This was who Zhao Jianyan was:
a prince who had entire ministries terrified of him, yet also a prince who bent to children and talked like he wasn't one of the most powerful men in the realm.
He arrived at a narrow soy stall between two herbal shops. A hunched old woman looked up, squinted, and clicked her tongue.
"You are here again wangye"she is not nervous anymore because this first prince of Qinghe already become her regular. Beside Jianyan never use his princely status if not necessary.
Jianyan bowed like she was a grand duke.
"Auntie Qiu, your soy milk sustains benwang's spirit."
"You're too handsome for your own good," she muttered, handing him a steaming cup. "Wangye should drink before it cools."
He drank it slowly, savoring the warmth.
And — as always — he slid a silver ingot under the lacquer tray while her back turned.
The guards winced.
Auntie Qiu spotted the silver half a second later.
"WANGYEEEE!!"
Jianyan was already walking away.
He is the most privilege princes in the dynasty.
Because the Great Zhao Dynasty had what the court called the 4 Pillars of Qinwang
Everyone in Mingdu knew it.
The Emperor loves him.
Zhao Xuanjing,lost his younger brother years ago on campaign, saving his love by taking a direct stab during unavoidable malee battle, during northern expansion, Jianyan was that brother's only son — orphaned at birth, born into tragedy.
Xuanjing raised him like a second son.
Not in indulgence — in affection.
He trusted Jianyan more than half his ministers.
The Empress adores him
Empress Hua Renshu was Jianyan's maternal aunt.
Her elder sister — Jianyan's mother — died giving birth to him.
Renshu loved him like repayment for a debt heaven stole.
She dressed him, scolded him, and fed him tea when he came home dusty from wandering markets.
The Grand Empress Dowager claimed she raised this brat alone.
Sun Taicui, legendary beauty and political titan of her generation, treated Jianyan not as a grandson — but as the last give her younger son left for her.
She was in her late fifties, lively as spring thunder, and perfectly capable of throwing a jade hairpin across a hall to silence ministers.
Whenever gossip threatened Jianyan, she appeared like a heavenly sword.
And finally, The Grand secretary is his Grand Father, Grand Secretary Hua Zhongjin, is well known for incorruptible and fierce and loyal to the empire, a 60 years old man who grief his younger daughter passing and treat her only son as the jewel of the family.
That's why jianyan has a nick name,
"The prince who walk close to the sun"
But the sun never burned him.
The sun bent toward him.
Jianyan crossed Gate of Heavenly Harmony. Eunuchs bowed with reverence normally reserved only for the Emperor.
"Qinghe Wangye."
"Your Highness."
"Good morning, Wangye."
He greeted each in turn, polite, warm, casual — the royal who treated palace servants like neighbors.
Inside the Hall of East Quitude Empress Renshu sat beneath morning light, her face gentler than any portrait painter ever captured.
"Yan'er," she said, voice half-sigh. "You smell like fried dough."
"niang niang, I encountered a vendor in trouble," he replied. "It was a diplomatic effort."
The Empress pressed her lips together, suppressing amusement.
"You missed breakfast."
"i already had soy milk."
"From Auntie Qiu?"
"Mm."
"Did you pay again?"
"…I have no recollection."
She gave him that familiar exasperated look — this brat is beyond saving.
A clear voice echoed from outside the hall.
"Yan'er is here?"
Jianyan froze in place for the briefest heartbeat.
The palace maids stood straighter.
Then Sun Taicui swept in —
radiant hair, sharp eyes, robes flowing like an imperial phoenix returning from inspection.
"Grandmother," Jianyan greeted, bowing deeply.
She touched his cheek, examining him with a critical eye.
"You grew thinner," she declared. "Have you been skipping meals again?"
"i—"
"Don't lie. Renshu, he smells like street food."
The Empress, defeated, nodded.
The Dowager clicked her tongue. "He will blow away in the wind one day."
Then she turned, peered closely at Jianyan again… and sighed.
"Well. At least your face still looks presentable. If you ever marry, it will not be because of your personality."
"Grandmother—!"
Renshu covered her mouth to hide a laugh.
The Dowager crossed her arms.
"The Emperor indulges you. Renshu spoils you. And bengong loves you too much for your own good."
She leaned forward, eyes narrowing with grandmotherly menace.
"One day, Yan'er… one day, bengong will corner you into marriage."
Jianyan swallowed.
"…I believes we should discuss this later."
"Indeed we will."
A stranger who see this scene will start to question, who is this man.
The capital had many answers.
To the scholars, he was the prince who walked into academies unannounced and debated books with them over tea.
To the poor,
he was the prince who knelt beside them in street festivals and asked what they needed most.
To palace servants,
he was the prince who remembered their children's names.
To officials,
he was the walking embodiment of political dread — not because he abused his privilege, but because...
The emperor trusted him enough to send him anywhere, anytime, and without warning.
To the harem ladies, outside he was the charming nephew who always had a polite smile and never caused scandal, but inside, who knows the heart of a woman, specially woman in imperial harem.
To the capital, he was the dynasty's sun-kissed jewel — too bright, too smooth, too beloved.
But to himself…
he was simply Jianyan, walking a city he loved, too street-wise to be fooled, too favored to be ignored.
After breakfast tea with the Empress, Jianyan wandered the palace gardens, pausing to admire early-peach blossoms. Birds settled on the branches overhead. The air smelled faintly of pine and incense.
A few court ladies passed by and bowed deeply.
"Greetings to Qinghe Wangye."
He returned the gesture with unassuming ease.
"Good morning, ladies. Be careful — the steps are slippery today."
They looked enchanted by the warning — a small reminder that even in formality, Jianyan moved like a person.
That's why the dynasty loves him.
Because princes like Jianyan not appear often.
One orphaned at birth. Raised by an Emperor.
Protected by an Empress.
Treasured by a Dowager.
And the pride of The Grand Secretary.
Sharp as a knife, warm as sunlight,
walking the capital with equal familiarity among the palace elite and street vendors.
This was not privileged alone, It was affection forged in tragedy, loyalty, loss, and twenty years of growing into someone the empire could not help but adore.
That morning, Mingdu simply breathed around him.
Full of life.
Jianyan paused at the edge of the garden, stretching lightly as sunlight warmed his sleeves.
"Another quiet day," he murmured.
And the city agreed.
This was the beginning of Longhe 6th year.