A royal wedding should have unfolded in step-by-step ritual perfection, every bow, every drumbeat choreographed to the finest detail. Under no circumstance was the Son of Heaven himself supposed to knock on the bride’s door. Yet today the bowstring was drawn, and the arrow could not be unloosed any other way. The moment this marriage was sealed, the Emperor meant to ride off with 30,000 armored cavalry, and steamroll every faction that dared breathe in the chaos of the realm. Then, he would stride back into the Jade Capital as its undisputed master. Ever since the Emperor had fled the Jade Capital, it had been carved up by three powers. They were the Mountain Hall, ranked first in the Five Elements Alliance; Skyruler Manor of the Dao Court; and Hidden Dragon Province’s governor, Ying Shanxing. Mountain Hall controlled 10 kilometers of land south of the capital. Skyruler Manor squatted right inside the Jade Capital. Its aged Grand Celestial Master had once served as an imperial tutor, but the old hermit had wandered off years ago and never returned. New ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄhapters are published on novel⟡fire.net The post of Hidden Dragon Province’s governor had always been considered a superficial one, with financial benefits but little real power and its troops leashed by the throne. However, the problem was that there was no such thing as a stupid governor. When the Emperor fled, that idle governor quietly kept back a few companies here, a battalion there… Then, during the Emperor’s so-called northern hunt, deserters bled away by the thousands. Every last one fluttered back like scattered birds to the governor’s welcoming coop. The Emperor now loathed Mountain Hall, Skyruler Manor, and Hidden Dragon Province’s governor in equal measure. His plan was simple. He would wipe them out to the last dog and chicken, seize their legacies, and rebuild shiny new versions stamped with his own name. Clip-clop-clo …clip-clop…clip. The gilded nine dragon pallanquin finally rolled to a halt before the Xie Clan’s gates. The household had been waiting in full array for ages. Curiously, the clan head, Xie Jian’an and his brothers stood shoulder to shoulder, as though rank no longer mattered. Behind them loomed sons-in-law like Li Yuan and a whole flock of stewards. Furthest forward stood the clan’s elusive patriarch, Xie Shiheng. He was white-haired old man, with eyes sharp as a hawk’s. Authority radiated from him like winter sun, tinged with the chill detachment of a man who had seen too much. The Emperor did not step down. Instead Zhao Gutong advanced, his bright red funeral robes rustling. He bowed with a sickly, effeminate smile. “We’ve shaved off the fussy etiquette, true, but even a humble household keeps to the basics. Think of me as the common folk’s matchmaker. Hehee.” His shrill cackle sent shivers skittering over the weaker stewards; more than one nearly gagged. Xie Shiheng understood at once. This was the Emperor’s advance scout, here to size up the bridal home where the Son of Heaven would spend his wedding night. The old patriarch inclined his head. “Xie Jiangui, show the envoy around.” The words were barely out when Zhao Gutong, fingers pinched in a dainty orchid-hand pose, cast a sidelong glare at the crowd and sighed in a mocking falsetto. “Oh my, it seems my status as Imperial Tutor title is just an empty title. The venerable patriarch won’t see me—fine, I can live with that—but not even the head of the house?” Xie Shiheng slipped aside, pointed behind him with an amused flourish, and boomed with laughter. “Imperial Tutor, how could the Xie Clan dare such discourtesy?” Zhao Gutong blinked. “And what exactly do you mean by that?” “Why not exercise your discerning eye,” Xie Shiheng said, “and pick out which of these gentlemen looks like the clan head?” “Oh~?” Zhao Gutong looked on with an amused smile. Then without protest, he strolled forward, chuckling. “Interesting, interesting—let me have a look.” He paced down the line of five men at the very front, sharp gaze flitting from face to face, until it settled on the one who fairly bristled with vigor and authority. “It must be him,” he declared. Xie Shiheng laughed. “That is Xie Jiangui.” Zhao Gutong froze for a heartbeat. “And he isn’t the clan head?” Turning, Xie Shiheng called out, “Jian’an, will you not greet the envoy?” Immediately, a wan, spiritless fellow stepped from the flank of the group, bowed to Zhao Gutong, and said, “Xie Jian’an at your service, honored envoy.” Zhao Gutong returned the salute, his eyes rolling in lively circles. “The Xie Clan is certainly…unconventional. Luckily that’s beyond my jurisdiction. Very well, show me inside.” Head held high, eyes shining, Xie Jiangui took a bold stride forward. “Envoy, this way, please.” Zhao Gutong followed, yet his chill, gloomy gaze swept the rear of the entourage and abruptly stopped on a man in white. The stranger was elegance incarnate, clothes whiter than snow, flawless from crown to heel. Even standing amid the crowd, he shone like a firefly in a moonless field, like a crane among chickens. He was cold, proud, and set apart from the mortal world. “Who is he?” Zhao asked. “Our son-in-law,” Xie Shiheng replied. “Surname Ximen, given name Gucheng.” “Faces like that are rare in the world,” Zhao Gutong murmured. Then he spoke in a clearer voice, “Young Master Ximen, would you step closer so I may look my fill?” Zhao Gutong regarded the ethereal youth and felt the searing vitality radiating from him. His doubts were immediately dispelled, and he laughed. “Grand General Lu, we seem to have found a prodigy here.” By the gilded palanquin, Lu Xuanxian tilted his chin and snorted, offering not so much as a glance—as though no one alive could merit his notice. Zhao Gutong, seeing his flattery wasted, shrugged and went in with Xie Jianguì. A long while later, he emerged, stopped before the nine dragon palanquin, and spoke in a low voice. There was a pause inside; then the Son of Heaven issued fresh orders. Zhao Gutong turned to the waiting hosts. “His Majesty says that today is a most auspicious day. The wedding will be held tonight.” Xie Shiheng smiled. “The imperial tutor put it well. No need for all the pomp, but a few simple courtesies we must still observe.” Zhao Gutong raised an eyebrow. “Patriarch, what is your intent?” Xie Shiheng replied, “The Xie family has only three requests. “First, His Majesty has come a long way. We will prepare a bath so he can wash the dust of the road from his body and spirit.” The words had barely left his mouth when everyone’s eyes lit up. From inside the curtained pallanquin came the Emperor’s cool voice, “Granted.” “Second,” Xie Shiheng continued, “we have obtained a celestial elixir to help His Majesty beget a dragon heir. Since the bridal chamber awaits tonight, he might as well take it now.” Zhao Gutong blurted, “Where did you find such an elixir?” “With the ghost cavalry looking on,” Xie Shiheng said, “would the Xie Clan dare boast idly? High ranked martial artists do struggle to have children, it’s true. But with the spreading of  ghost domains and meat fields, rare herbs are sprouting everywhere. With these herbs, one can brew secret tonics that used to be impossible.” Again the Emperor’s voice drifted out, “Granted.” “Third,” Xie Shiheng went on, “when an emperor takes an empress, he must inform Heaven, Earth, and the ancestral temples. There’s no time now for a full sacrifice to Heaven and Earth, and the ancestral temple is still in the Jade Capital, so I beg Your Majesty to offer prayers instead at the General’s Temple and declare his intent to wed there.” This time silence hung in the palanquin for a long while. At last, the Emperor said, “You know quite a lot.” “I have merely lived a long time, Your Majesty,” Xie Shiheng replied. “Granted,” the Emperor said. “The General’s Temple is far,” Xie Shiheng added. “A round trip takes at least a day. I suggest the wedding be held tomorrow night.” Xie Shiheng bowed deeply. “Thank you, Your Majesty.” The elders and youngsters behind him all followed suit. Word that the Emperor had entered Bright Moon Prefecture with the ghost cavalry and the Flying Bear Army spread like wildfire. Anyone still plotting resistance felt their hopes turn to ice. Bright Moon Prefecture had thrown its gates wide for the Emperor. Everyone understood what that meant. Ocean Province’s 30,000 armored cavalry already stood unrivalled; if they joined the Emperor, who could match him? Some urged fleeing to the distant frontiers, but the frontiers offered only a slow, anxious death. After weighing everything, the great powers saw only two roads. The war faction wanted to rush to the Jade Capital, rally every ally, and face the Emperor head-on. The surrender faction pressed for capitulation. Among the upper echelons it was no secret that both the Lotus Cult and the Emperor championed the Grand Union of Yin and Yang. Along the way, many martial artists had indeed reaped benefits. Resources had multiplied, high rank martial artists were no longer scarce, and sixth rank fighters had become a dime a dozen. The surrender faction brandished these gains as proof. The war faction countered with three blunt points— First, the Grand Union of Yin and Yang was  a plan that consigned ordinary people to hell Second, the resources it brought only looked abundant. In truth, there would always never be enough, and the Emperor would be loathed to share them with former enemies, so anyone hoping for mercy was courting death. Third, whether the Grand Union of Yin and Yang could truly raise a martial artist’s cultivation realm was still an open question, yet it would surely unleash even more terrifying ghosts. By now the upper echelons had all heard the rumor. Some ghosts were beginning to gain sentience. Once those intelligent ghosts appeared, they would butcher every fledgling martial artist before the youngsters ever had a chance to grow. At that point, this land would be a hell not only for common folk but for cultivators as well. On this particular day every major sect was in an uproar. The surrender faction argued, “Yes, we opposed the Emperor and the Lotus Cult before, but if we lay down our arms, surely he won’t slaughter us. After a war the realm lies in ruins. He’ll still need us to rebuild.” The war faction shot back, “Haven’t you looked at the Bladeseekers? Did you see how the Emperor treated its disciples? How do you think the ghost cavalry was formed? If you surrender, will he keep a host of former enemies, or would he prefer soldiers who obey without question?” The surrenderists countered, “We’re powerful. We can guard a region for him. He won’t kill us all.” “And your disciples?” the war faction pressed. “Their families? To rebuild, the Emperor needs only our legacies. Give him 20 years and he’ll raise fresh forces batch after batch. You, your disciples—either you die, or you end up warped into something like the ghost cavalry!” The debating went on, but no one still believed they could actually win. The Emperor and the Lotus Cult had the momentum; how could anyone turn the tide?