Ling An – The Ninth Day Before Spring Festival
There is no celebration in the Empire that binds the people to the throne more than the Spring Festival prayers.
Even in war. Even in famine.
The shrines must be swept. The incense lit.
The imperial bloodline must bow and burn offerings on behalf of all under Heaven.
And this year — the rites belonged to me.
I read the edicts in silence.
By decree of the Hall of Rituals, I held jurisdiction over the Southern Prayer Procession, including the southern shrine officials, the offering routes, and—most dangerously—the First Flame Bowl, which had not been lit by anyone outside the capital line in over a century.
Even Lord Protector had not questioned it.
Which meant someone wanted me to use it.
Wu Jin's influence again.
But influence always came with a price.
Shen Yue entered my study carrying the revised ceremonial map.
"Your father has filed a request to oversee the firewalkers," she said.
I raised an eyebrow.
"Has he now."
"He claims it's to preserve ancient ritual integrity."
I glanced at the red-circled district marked 'Inner South: Incense Chamber and Dragon Bell.' Minister Shen would have full visibility of my movements there if I allowed it.
"Deny it," I said. "Respectfully."
"And if he takes offense?"
"Then he takes offense."
She smirked — just barely.
"Very well."
Elsewhere in the city – The Eastern Palace
Wu Kang slammed his hand on the lacquered table. The maps shivered.
"He's turning the festival into a coronation," he muttered.
Wu Taian watched calmly from a nearby divan, sipping wine.
"It's a firewalk, not a throne."
"It's a display," Wu Kang snapped. "The people will watch him stand beside the First Flame. That's the Emperor's right. Not his."
He began to pace.
"If he makes a prayer in his own name… if the shrines echo it…"
He didn't finish the sentence.
"Then he's no longer just the fourth son."
Taian leaned forward.
"So sabotage it."
"Not directly. That's too crude."
Wu Kang narrowed his eyes.
"No. I'll let him climb the stage. I'll let him raise the flame. And then I'll show everyone who he really is."
He turned toward his aides.
"Start feeding rumors through the merchants. That he misused shrine silver in Dongxia. That he took blood rites from an unclean source. Tie it to the famine in the west."
"Shall we inform Minister Shen?"
"He'll do his part. Willingly or not."
Back in my estate, I met quietly with two lesser nobles and a merchant priest.
One had land. One had men. One had debt.
"I will call on you during the Festival," I said. "You will stand behind the rites with me. Not the Emperor. Not my brother."
They hesitated. As they should.
The merchant priest spoke first.
"And if it brings shame?"
"It won't," I said. "Because I will not fail."
The noblewoman tapped her fan twice. Silent signal. She had accepted.
They would not appear in court yet. But they would be seen.
Later that night, a message arrived from Wu Jin.
No parchment this time.
Just a messenger with a sealed clay figure in the shape of a kneeling monk.
Inside: a fragment of jade etched with a prayer.
One that had been outlawed in the second dynasty.
I read the words and felt my breath shift.
"What is it?" Shen Yue asked.
"A blessing," I said.
"It doesn't feel like one."
"No," I replied. "But it is power."
Three nights before the Festival, I stood alone in the inner shrine.
The torches dimmed themselves.
The bell tolled once — no one had struck it.
And in the cracks of the ancient stones, something moved.
Not a rat. Not wind.
Just… movement without origin.
The southern shrine answered to me now.
But I did not command it.
I merely held the leash of something far older.
And I did not know how many hands were on the other end.