Chapter 27
The summons came three days after their return.
Zhen-ting had been expecting it—had been surprised, frankly, that the Emperor had waited this long. He dressed with care that morning, Yun-yao’s hands smoothing the formal court robes over his shoulders with a touch that still made his breath catch.
“He'll want to know how I found you,” she said quietly, adjusting his collar with practiced precision, her trembling fingers betraying her nerves.
“He will.” Zhen-ting caught her hand, pressed it to his chest. “I'll tell him the truth.”
“Which truth?” Her eyes met his, dark with concern. “There are... several versions.”
“The one that matters.” He lifted her hand to his lips. “That my wife refused to accept my death. That she was braver than trained soldiers. That love led where logic failed.”
“And the stones?” she whispered. “The Wu blood?”
He'd thought about this for three sleepless nights. “I won't lie to the Son of Heaven. But I won't endanger you either.” He cupped her face, thumb brushing her cheekbone. “Trust me.”
She did. He could see it in her eyes—that absolute faith that still humbled him. “Come back to me.”
“Always.”
The throne room was exactly as Zhen-ting remembered: vast, cold, designed to make men feel small before imperial power. Sunlight slanted through high windows, turning the golden dragon throne into something that seemed to breathe fire.
Emperor Xuanming sat with the stillness of deep water; black robes embroidered with golden dragons pooling around the throne.
No shift in posture, no flicker of expression—just those unfathomable eyes, dark as the space between stars.
Barely thirty, he'd already ruled for eighteen years through three wars, two famines, and countless court intrigues.
Men who underestimated him never have the chance to again.
“General Wei.” The Emperor’s voice carried easily across the marble floor, smooth as an unsheathed sword. “We are pleased to see you alive. The reports of your death were... premature.”
Zhen-ting knelt and touched his forehead to cold stone. “This servant lives to serve Your Majesty.”
“Rise. We would look at the man who returned from the grave.”
Zhen-ting stood, hands clasped, back straight. The Emperor studied him with the attention of a physician examining a patient—cataloguing the weight he'd lost, the new lines around his eyes, the careful way he favored his left leg.
“You look well. General.”
“Your Majesty is kind. I feel worse.”
The Emperor’s expression didn't change, but something shifted in his eyes—calculation, perhaps. Or amusement at Zhen-ting’s honesty.
“Sit.” The command was flat. A eunuch materialized with a cushion, placed with practiced efficiency. “Your wife found you in the northern lands. In terrain that swallowed three search parties whole.”
It wasn't a question, but Zhen-ting answered anyway. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“How?”
Direct. No preamble. This was why the Emperor had survived—he didn't waste time on pleasantries when he wanted answers.
Zhen-ting met his eyes. “She used my household guards. Men who knew me—how I think, how I survive. Retired soldiers who understood the terrain from our northern campaigns.”
“Soldiers who knew you served in the search parties that found nothing.”
“They did, Your Majesty. But they were following military logic then—checking likely routes, shelter, defensible positions. My wife...” He paused, choosing words carefully. “My wife followed different logic.”
“What logic?”
“Determination.” The word came out rougher than he intended. “When trained soldiers accepted my death and moved on, she refused. When logic said I couldn't have survived, she ignored it. She didn't stop looking until she found me.”
The Emperor leaned forward slightly. “We've heard other explanations. More... colorful ones.”
Zhen-ting’s jaw tightened. “Your Majesty refers to the rumors.”
“Inauspicious stars.” The Emperor said it without inflection. “Cursed to kill her husbands. Witchcraft. Unnatural means.” His eyes never left Zhen-ting’s face. “Some say she used dark arts to locate you. That she consorted with spirits. That she carries Wu blood.”
The throne room felt colder suddenly. This was the dangerous ground—the question that could destroy Yun-yao if he answered wrong.
“Your Majesty.” Zhen-ting kept his voice level. “My wife’s great-great-grandmother was a Wu. This is documented in her family records. The Shen clan does not hide this, though they don't advertise it either.”
Silence. The Emperor’s expression revealed nothing.
“She used her great-great-grandmother’s casting stones,” Zhen-ting continued.
“Not to commune with spirits or practice dark arts, but to give herself faith when reason said to give up. Whether the stones showed her true direction or simply kept her searching when others would have stopped... does it matter? The result is the same.” He met the Emperor’s eyes squarely. “Your general lives to serve.”
“You believe in divination?”
“I believe—” His voice cracked, rough with sleepless nights. “I believe love is a compass more accurate than any map.”
The Emperor studied him for a long moment. Then, unexpectedly: “Did you share military intelligence with her?”
Ah. There it was. The real question beneath the supernatural ones. Not whether Yun-yao had power, but whether that power made her dangerous to the throne.
“She knows nothing of troop movements, supply lines, or strategic positions,” Zhen-ting said flatly. “She knew I was missing. She knew the general location of the last battle. That’s all. The intelligence she used was intuition and stubbornness.”
“Intuition.” The Emperor repeated slowly. “Your wife is either the most devoted woman in Great Xi or the most foolish.”
“Both, Your Majesty. Definitely both.”
The Emperor gazed on Zhen-ting was unfathomable and unmoved as always.
“The rumors damage you, General. They say your wife is cursed. That any man who weds her dies. That she used witchcraft to ensnare you.” He leaned back, fingers drumming once on the armrest. “These whispers undermine your authority.
Men won't follow a general they think is bewitched or cursed.”
“My men know the truth, Your Majesty. They know my wife saved my life.”
“Your men, yes. But the court? The other generals? The noble families who provide our officer corps?” The Emperor shook his head. “Superstition is a poison, General Wei. It spreads. It weakens.”
Zhen-ting said nothing. This was the Emperor thinking aloud—best to let him reach his own conclusions.
“We gave you this marriage,” the Emperor said abruptly. “By our command, the Chancellor’s daughter became your wife.” His eyes narrowed. “You specifically requested her, did you not?”
There was no point denying it. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Why?”
Dangerous question. Zhen-ting chose truth.
“Because ten years ago, when I was an orphaned boy with nothing, she showed me kindness. She gave me money to bury my mother—not as charity, but as dignity. She saw me as human when I was trying to sell myself into slavery.” His hands clenched.
“I spent ten years becoming worthy of her.
When I learned she was unmarried, I asked Your Majesty for what I'd wanted since I was twelve years old.”
Silence stretched. The Emperor’s expression was unreadable.
“So this marriage,” the Emperor said slowly, “was not political convenience. Not alliance-building. You wed her because you loved her.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“And she rode through war-torn territory and searched a hostile forest because she loved you.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Interesting.” The Emperor stood, and Zhen-ting immediately stood up too. “At ease, General. We have a decree to draft.”
Zhen-ting paused, uncertain. “Your Majesty?”
“The rumors call our judgment into question,” the Emperor said calmly.
“We commanded this marriage. If your wife is cursed, we commanded you into misfortune. If she is a witch, we empowered her. Unacceptable.” He turned sharply.
“Moreover, you are our most valuable general. We cannot have your effectiveness compromised by superstitious gossip.”
He gestured to a hovering eunuch. “Summon the Minister of Rites. We will issue a formal decree.”
“Your Majesty is generous—”
The Emperor’s hand moved once—a sharp gesture that cut off further words.
“Your wife did what trained soldiers could not. She demonstrated devotion that would shame most men. Whether through ancestral wisdom, determination, or divine favor,” his tone remained level, but there might just have been the faintest emphasis on the last two words, “she returned you to our service.”
“Some gifts are useful in the right hands. Used wisely.” The Emperor’s voice was soft now, dangerous.
His eyes glinted as they bored into Zhen-ting.
“Your wife used her gifts to serve the throne by returning you to us. As long as her abilities serve our interests, we have no quarrel with ancestral bloodlines.”
The implicit threat was clear: Keep her loyal. Keep her useful. Or this protection vanishes. This wasn't just protection for Yun-yao’s reputation. This was the Emperor binding them both—showing that her wellbeing depended on his continued service.
“She has no ambitions beyond our family, Your Majesty.”
“Good.” The Emperor turned slightly toward the window—the audience was ending. “The Son of Heaven recognizes virtue, even when it comes...complicated.”
Zhen-ting bowed deeply. “This servant is grateful for Your Majesty’s wisdom.”
“Mm. We'll see how grateful you are when we send you north again.” The Emperor waved him off. “Dismissed. And General?”
Zhen-ting paused at the doorway.
“Don't make us regret protecting her.”
That afternoon, the decree was posted throughout Shangjing:
“Be it known throughout the realm: