The Prisoner of Beauty

That night, the moonlight shone brightly upon a calm sea. The warship departed the island under the guidance of an experienced pilot, with dozens of sailors rowing in unison as the vessel steadily made its way toward the mainland.

The islanders who had boarded the ship were already settled. They gazed with reverent caution at the imposing figure of the young man standing in the distance, while the women hushed their children, ensuring not a single disruptive sound was made.

Yet, upon their faces—weathered and darkened by hardship—shone a long-lost glimmer of hope.

In just a single day and night, their fates had undergone upheavals they had never before experienced in their lives. They knew that the man who was taking them home would soon be the new ruler of the land.

These people had lived on the isolated island for years and had never before heard the name of Marquis Yan Wei Shao. Yet, by some inexplicable intuition, they believed that this young new lord—who had halted his campaign for the sake of common folk like them—would surely bring them the stability they had long yearned for.

How could they not rejoice and take heart?

...

With nothing left to attend to, Wei Shao dismissed Lei Yan and the others, then retired to his cabin.

He stood by the porthole, gazing at the starry sky, lost in thought for a long while.

...

At last, Yongdu had fallen. The Last Emperor had fled into Shu, but how could he withstand the unstoppable advance of Wei Shao’s forces, determined to sweep away all obstacles and unify the realm?

The final stronghold had also fallen.

As his soldiers seized the city walls, cheering in triumph, he was informed that the Last Emperor had taken his own life within the palace.

Corpses lay strewn at his feet, the air thick with the stench of blood. The buildings still smoldered, thick smoke billowing, while the subdued, fearful weeping of captured citizens filled his ears.

All of this had long become familiar to him. Clad in heavy armor and surrounded by his soldiers, he entered the blood-soaked palace chamber.

In the pool of blood on the floor lay several dead women in colorful robes. On the bed rested a man and woman, side by side, already lifeless.

A trembling old eunuch knelt in the blood, his voice quivering as he explained that these two were the Last Emperor Liu Yan and his Empress, the Qiao family’s daughter.

Liu Yan had ordered his trusted eunuch to slay his consorts before personally killing the Empress, then taking poison himself.

Liu Yan’s eyes were tightly shut, his face pallid with death, his features slightly contorted.

Wei Shao stared at the dead emperor for a moment before shifting his gaze to the woman lying beside him.

The younger sister of his own deceased wife.

Also from the Qiao family—whom he despised.

Her court robes were neatly arranged, save for the wound on her left chest, pierced by a blade, the blood dried into a dark purple-black stain. The layers of her splendid brocade garments were thoroughly soaked through.

It was clear that the sword thrust to her heart had been delivered with precision—so much so that its force had pierced clean through her back.

Yet, unlike the pained contortion on her husband’s face, the expression of this dead Qiao woman was eerily serene.

Her eyes were simply closed, her lashes lowered, as though she had merely fallen asleep.

Though she had been dead for some time, her body long cold and stiff, she remained astonishingly beautiful. The bloodstained wound on her chest did nothing to diminish her peerless beauty—instead, it lent her an air of tragic sorrow.Enough to move the heart of the most stone-hearted person in the world.

Yet his gaze merely lingered briefly on her beautiful face, which bore some resemblance to his wife Da Qiao, before he looked away.

His expression was filled with indifference, devoid of any trace of compassion.

Under the fearful, suppressed gaze of the old eunuch behind him, he turned and left the palace chamber.

At just thirty years of age, he had already ascended to the throne, and today, he had removed the final obstacle on his path to eternal greatness.

From this moment on, all his enemies were vanquished. Those he wished dead had perished one by one at his hands. No one in the realm could challenge him now, and every inch of this splendid land was under his rule.

He should have been exhilarated. The triumphant cheers of his soldiers from moments ago still seemed to echo in his ears, yet for some reason, he felt no excitement at all.

Perhaps it was because he had experienced too many such city conquests and victories before, leaving him numb. Eliminating The Last Emperor, who had stubbornly resisted for years, had merely been another goal. Now that it was accomplished, he felt an unexpected emptiness—even loneliness.

The loneliness of standing alone at the summit, gazing into the vast unknown.

He strode through the smoke-filled streets of the city, coldly allowing his soldiers to vent their post-conquest emotions through killing, arson, and even rape. The agonized cries and moans of the citizens went unheard by him, for these people had aided The Last Emperor in resisting his arrival. This was their deserved punishment. It wasn’t until the next day, when his chancellor, Gongsun Yang, arrived in haste and pleaded with him, that he finally ordered the massacre to cease.

From the very day of his ascension, the Great Yan had never ceased its campaigns. Upon returning to Luoyang, he appointed capable ministers, expanded tax revenues, and filled the treasury to fund his wars against the Xiongnu. Years later, the Great Yan’s iron cavalry finally seized the Xiongnu’s royal capital, Longcheng, driving its inhabitants far to the north and eradicating their presence in the region entirely. His harem, too, welcomed beauty after beauty, yet none ever held his affection for long. Even those favored for a time in the imperial bedchamber were soon cast aside. As for Su Nu, whom he had named Empress, he had scarcely summoned her in years. He merely watched with cold detachment as she and the other women of the harem schemed and vied for his favor, feeling only deepening disgust and disdain. The memories of his youth had long since faded from his heart. Only occasionally, in the stillness of the night when he climbed alone to the high towers of the palace and recalled his long-departed Grandmother, did his heart—hardened as if turned to stone—soften once more.

He knew, too, that had his Grandmother still been alive, she would never have wished to see him as he was now.But he had long lost control of himself. Grandmother was gone, his mother needed only to be honored and cared for, and the women of the inner palace could no longer make him pause. There was no one left in this world who could soften the heart that had been sown with seeds of hatred since he was twelve. He craved the endless stimulation and thrill of conquest. The year after pacifying the Xiongnu, despite the opposition of Gongsun Yang and his courtiers, he launched another campaign to conquer the Western Regions. After years of intermittent warfare, he finally achieved his goal, incorporating vast swathes of the subjugated Western Regions into the territory of Great Yan.

In less than a decade, he accomplished feats no monarch before him had achieved, making the Great Yan Empire’s might felt across the land. Yet before he could even open the piles of memorials praising his merits that lay on his imperial desk, disaster struck that year—the Yellow River breached its banks at Huaxian. The floodwaters submerged northeastern Yu and southwestern Lu, merged with the Si River, and eventually diverted into the Huai, destroying countless fields and homes. The death toll of people and livestock was beyond reckoning.

The people, long burdened by heavy taxes and corvée labor since the founding of Great Yan, could endure no more. Rebellions erupted everywhere, forcing him to suppress them. Just as order was restored, another tragedy struck: his trusted chancellor, Gongsun Yang, died of illness while overseeing flood control and relief efforts. Before his death, Gongsun Yang submitted a final memorial, warning that years of continuous warfare had emptied the treasury, stirred public resentment, and left the country teetering on the brink of disaster. He urged the emperor to focus on flood control and governance, cease military campaigns, and implement lenient policies for the people.

The old generals and ministers who had once fought alongside him to establish the empire were now scattered—some dead in battle, some retired, others silenced by his autocratic rule. Only Gongsun Yang had remained, unafraid of repeated demotions for angering him, persistently offering blunt counsel. Now, even Gongsun Yang was gone.

A profound sense of isolation, like that of a true "lonely ruler," suddenly took root in his heart. Moved at last, he suspended court for three days and personally drafted an edict of self-reproach.

Yet just as he resolved to enact policies for recovery, another rebellion broke out in Baling. Within months, the rebels numbered in the hundreds of thousands, led by none other than Green Eyes—the same man who had once accepted The Last Emperor’s amnesty and delayed his conquest for nearly two years.

Enraged, the beast within him broke free again. Ignoring Wei Quan’s desperate pleas, he vowed to lead the campaign himself. Before setting out, he offered sacrifices at the Altar of Heaven, swearing to crush the rebellion, kill Green Eyes, and govern the people with peace, never lightly waging war again.

The wrath of the Son of Heaven turned rivers of blood. Burning with vengeance, he led his army south to annihilate the rebels in Baling. Victory followed victory, and triumphant reports flooded in.

Months later, the final battle against the rebel forces was fought in a desolate stretch of land called Wangxiang—"Gaze Homeward." In local Baling folklore, this was where the souls of the dead severed all earthly ties and took one last look back at their homeland.The desolate wilderness of Wangxiang had turned into a slaughterhouse of carnage. The scattered rebel forces were being annihilated, his armor stained with blood, eyes bloodshot, body drenched in sweat—every pore screaming with the exhilaration of battle. In the heat of the moment, he broke free from his guards' protection and charged ahead on horseback. Then, like a silent venomous snake, a stray arrow tore through the air from an unknown direction, hurtling straight toward him.

By the time his blood-filled eyes caught sight of it, the arrow was already at his throat.

He had no time to react. A cold sensation pierced his unprotected flesh as the hard metal drove straight through.

The wind howled, clouds rolled, and war banners flapped violently.

Beneath him, his sweat-soaked steed—a loyal companion through countless campaigns—seemed to sense the ominous turn and suddenly reared wildly, throwing him off its back.

He fell onto the ground, staring upward, vaguely aware of countless figures rushing toward him. His ears were filled with the panicked shouts of his guards.

"Your Majesty! Your Majesty—"

Gradually, the blurred figures and chaotic noises around him faded.

The last image seared into his bloodshot eyes was the vast blue sky above, dotted with drifting white clouds.

The sky was as clear as sapphire, the clouds as pure as white seashells.

So beautiful.

Why had he never noticed this before...?

Struggling, he exhaled his final breath through his violated windpipe, his thoughts fading into obscurity.

...

"My Lord! My Lord—"

A voice seemed to echo in his ears.

Wei Shao let out a sharp cry, clutching his throat as he bolted upright. His eyes snapped open to meet Gongsun Yang's startled expression.

Drenched in sweat as if pulled from water, his heart pounded violently, nearly leaping out of his throat.

Gongsun Yang recoiled in alarm. "Did I startle you just now? Forgive me, my Lord! The warship has docked, yet you remained in your cabin. I took the liberty of boarding to wake you. Were you... having a nightmare?"

Wei Shao slowly lowered his hand from his throat, glancing around in momentary confusion. He was still in the cabin from last night.

It was already bright daylight—likely noon the next day. Sunlight streamed harshly through the porthole, and the deck echoed with distant shouts and footsteps.

A fleeting dream?

Thank the heavens—just a dream!

He turned abruptly to Gongsun Yang, fixing him with an intense, unblinking stare.

Two days prior, Wei Shao had personally led the pursuit of Liu Yan aboard the warship, while Gongsun Yang waited at the port. When the ship finally returned, Lei Yan mentioned that Wei Shao seemed to still be asleep, likely exhausted. Sensing something amiss, Gongsun Yang had come to check. Now, faced with Wei Shao's strange expression and eerie gaze—despite their years of companionship—he felt utterly bewildered.

Under that piercing stare, a chill crept down his spine. He touched his face reflexively and forced a dry laugh. "My Lord, why do you look at me so?"

Wei Shao sprang from the bed, nearly lunging at him, and seized his arm in a vice-like grip.

"You're still alive! Thank the heavens!"The Lord's grip was incredibly strong. As he clasped Gongsun Yang's hand, the bones seemed on the verge of cracking. Gritting his teeth against the intense pain, Gongsun Yang grimaced and asked, "My lord, what is the meaning of this?"

Wei Shao suddenly realized his lapse in composure and quickly released his grip. Rubbing his hands together, he cast an apologetic glance at Gongsun Yang before turning to swiftly push open the cabin window.

A gust of briny sea wind rushed in, filling the room.

Wei Shao closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and wiped the sweat from his brow. Turning back, he said, "Liu Yan has been executed. I will now go to Dongjun to fetch my wife and daughter."

Suppressing his surprise, Gongsun Yang hurriedly replied, "My lord, please wait a moment. There is one more matter I must mention. The momentum for unifying the realm has already taken shape. The people cannot be without a ruler, and the respected elders nominated from various regions have arrived in Luoyang one after another. They implore you to heed Heaven's will and ascend the throne for the benefit of the common people. The citizens of Luoyang are also jubilant with anticipation. The matter of your enthronement should be put on the agenda."

Wei Shao nodded slightly. "I will send a letter to Grandmother. For now, I entrust the other matters to you, sir. Once I bring my wife and daughter to Luoyang, we can discuss the details."

Author's note: Originally, I thought I could finish within one chapter, but it seems I'll need another to conclude the main story. I'll write it today and post it later in the evening.