Long ago, under a sky painted with the smoke of war, the 11th prince of the Xi'an dynasty was born—right in the heart of the Great War that tore through the martial world like wildfire, its ashes drifting into the lives of those beyond.
Blood stained the soil. Wails echoed through shattered cities. The once-harmonious kingdom was now a cradle of sorrow.
"The fall of the Xi'an dynasty began from here."
"Your Majesty!"
The people of Xi'an cried out in desperation, voices trembling as they begged their ruler to bring light—to shield them from the storm consuming their world.
The Pearl Palace, once serene, now pulsed with panic. Servants rushed in and out of the Empress's chamber, physicians shouting orders, robes fluttering like startled doves. Within those walls, life and death danced close—one life struggling to enter the world, while many others threatened to fade from it.
The emperor stood still, his heart split in two. The battlefield called to him with its dreadful urgency, but his thoughts were not there. His eyes remained fixed on the chamber door, where the empress labored through pain and blood to bring forth their child.
He was no stranger to war—but this… this was a fear no blade could slay.
"Pardon my rudeness, Your Majesty," came Zhou Qing's voice, steady but laced with urgency. "The situation grows dire. We must move to the frontlines as soon as possible."
The emperor did not turn. His silence spoke louder than words. He heard the cries of his people. He knew the weight of a nation pressed against his spine. But in that moment, he was not just an emperor. He was a husband. A father.
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With a weary sigh, the emperor gave a solemn nod.
"Very well. Your words carry truth," he murmured, his voice low—resigned.
"…!"
A sudden cry pierced the air.
"Waaahh! "
Both men froze atop their horses, breath held, hearts still. Slowly, they turned their gaze toward the Medical Palace. In the emperor's eyes burned not relief—but hesitation.
The newborn had arrived.
Yet before the moment could settle, a second signal shot through the sky—this one from the south. An emergency. Urgent.
The emperor's face darkened. No more time for indecision.
He straightened, then turned sharply to the palace guards and remaining servants.
"Protect the Empress and the newborn 4th prince with your lives! If anything threatens the palace—if even a shadow dares to fall upon it—take them to the Spiritual Protection Chamber. That is a direct order. It is your highest duty!"
His voice thundered across the courtyard, each word laced with steel. The guards dropped to one knee in acknowledgment, their silence a vow.
Without another glance back, the emperor wheeled his horse around. The frontlines awaited.
With Zhou Qing, his most trusted right-hand man, riding at his side, they charged toward the battlefield—hooves tearing across the stone, faster than lightning.