Episode 3 — The Weight of a Name
Morning arrived without light.
The Northern Barracks woke not with birdsong or bells, but with steel—boots striking stone, armor clashing, the low murmur of men preparing for violence. Even behind thick walls, Li Wei felt it: the pulse of an empire built on war.
A wooden tray slid through the door.
Plain rice. Steamed greens. Clear broth.
Prison food.
Yet clean.
Untouched.
A message in itself.
Li Wei stared at it for a long moment before sitting down. He ate slowly, methodically, forcing his hands not to shake. Hunger was a weakness. So was gratitude. He allowed himself neither.
When the door opened again, it was not Shen Zhiyuan.
A young officer stepped in—barely twenty, posture rigid, eyes avoiding Li Wei's face.
"You're to be bathed and dressed," the officer said stiffly.
Li Wei looked up. "For execution?"
The officer swallowed. "For court."
That made his fingers still.
Court meant exposure. Court meant enemies. Court meant Shen Zhiyuan was making his move far sooner than expected.
He stood.
Two guards escorted him down winding corridors, past cells where men no longer screamed—because screaming had already failed them. Li Wei kept his gaze forward, his spine straight, memorizing every turn.
They brought him to a bathing chamber carved into stone. Steam rose from a sunken pool, scented faintly with medicinal herbs. Clean robes lay folded nearby—dark blue silk, understated but expensive.
A general's colors.
Li Wei exhaled slowly.
So this was how Shen Zhiyuan intended to parade him—not as a prisoner, but as a possession disguised as protection.
He undressed without assistance, sliding into the warm water. For the first time since the palace, his muscles loosened, tension bleeding away despite his efforts. He scrubbed until his skin burned, as if he could wash away the memory of fingers at his pulse, breath at his ear.
It did not work.
When he dressed, the robe fit perfectly.
Too perfectly.
As if it had been prepared in advance.
The court hall buzzed with restrained chaos.
Officials whispered behind sleeves, eyes sharp, measuring. The emperor had not appeared. The throne remained empty—an absence louder than any command.
Li Wei stood beside Shen Zhiyuan.
Not behind him.
Beside.
The positioning alone sent ripples through the hall.
Shen Zhiyuan was dressed in formal black, hair tied with a silver clasp shaped like a dragon's claw. He did not look at Li Wei when he spoke.
"Do not speak unless addressed."
"I know how court works," Li Wei replied quietly.
Shen's gaze flicked toward him briefly. Amused. Dangerous.
"Today," the general said, "you do not."
The Crown Prince entered.
Tall, elegant, draped in white and gold—mourning colors worn too comfortably. His smile was gentle, his eyes sharp as glass.
"General Shen," the prince greeted. "You returned unexpectedly."
"So did betrayal," Shen Zhiyuan replied evenly.
A flicker crossed the prince's face.
"And who is this?" the Crown Prince asked, eyes finally landing on Li Wei. "Surely not the traitor scholar rumored to have poisoned my father."
Li Wei bowed with perfect formality.
"Li Wei," Shen Zhiyuan answered for him. "Under my authority."
The hall stilled.
The Crown Prince laughed softly. "You take risks, General."
"I end them."
The emperor's physician was brought forth next—knees shaking, sweat beading on his brow. Records were read aloud. Medicines altered. Signatures forged.
Li Wei listened carefully.
Too carefully.
Shen Zhiyuan noticed.
When the physician finally broke, sobbing, confessing to orders passed through intermediaries tied to the Crown Prince's faction, the court erupted.
The Crown Prince did not raise his voice.
"That is a serious accusation," he said calmly. "One based on the words of a frightened man and the testimony of a scholar already condemned."
His gaze met Li Wei's.
Sharp.
Assessing.
"You speak well," the prince said. "But words can be shaped. Truth is more stubborn."
Li Wei stepped forward before Shen could stop him.
"Your Highness," he said, voice clear, "truth does not need protection. Lies do."
A collective gasp.
Shen Zhiyuan did not move.
The Crown Prince smiled. "Bold. Or desperate."
"Neither," Li Wei replied. "I simply no longer fear death."
That earned him Shen Zhiyuan's full attention.
The prince tilted his head. "Then perhaps you should fear survival."
The court was dismissed abruptly.
No verdict.
No blood.
A pause—more dangerous than any sentence.
Back in the barracks, Shen Zhiyuan closed the door himself.
"You spoke without permission," he said.
Li Wei met his gaze. "You brought me there to speak."
Shen was silent.
Then—laughter. Low. Brief.
"Yes," he admitted. "I did."
He stepped closer, gaze unreadable.
"You understand something most men do not," Shen continued. "Power is not taken in battle alone. It is taken by forcing others to reveal themselves."
"You're using me," Li Wei said.
Shen Zhiyuan leaned in.
"I am protecting you," he corrected. "From men who will tear you apart far more cruelly than I ever would."
Li Wei's pulse betrayed him.
"And if I become inconvenient?"
Shen's hand rose again—but this time, it did not touch.
It hovered.
A choice.
"Then," Shen said softly, "I will regret it."
The words unsettled Li Wei more than a threat.
Shen stepped back.
"You will attend the war council tonight," he said. "You will sit at my right hand."
"That will make me a target."
Shen's lips curved.
"It already has."
As Shen left, Li Wei sank onto the edge of the bed.
He understood it now.
This was not rescue.
This was not imprisonment.
This was induction.
Into a world where affection was leverage, protection was possession, and survival meant standing close enough to power to be burned by it.
And the most dangerous truth of all—
He did not know which terrified him more:
The enemies watching him from the shadows…
Or the way General Shen Zhiyuan's presence was beginning to feel like the only thing keeping him alive.