The sharp intake of breath that came from Bai Shengli was audible, even across the hall.

His head snapped sideways, eyes wide in disbelief as Shen Wei remained kneeling calmly beside him, unbothered.

His gasp echoed louder than it should have. Because Bai Shengli understood immediately what this meant. Shen Wei had not just walked into the palace to defend himself. He had walked in to step on him, in front of his father.

A moment passed. Then from behind the golden screen, the Emperor came out and sat on his throne, his voice finally breaking the silence.

"... Luochen."

The name struck like thunder.

Every servant froze. Even Bai Shengli's face turned pale. Shen Wei slowly raised his head, his dark eyes meeting his gaze. He bowed once more, this time with quiet reverence.

"It has been a while, Your Majesty," he said calmly.

There was a pause, and then the Emperor spoke again.

"It has."

His tone was unreadable. Not warm. Not cold. But heavy with memory.

"You may rise. Servants, leave the room."

Shen Wei obeyed, standing slowly, the soft rustle of his robes the only sound.

In the stillness that followed, the air seemed to thin. Because now the court knew. This was not simply Shen Wei, the Imperial Preceptor.

This was Bai Luochen, the son who had vanished from the royal records. The son whom only a handful of people in the empire even knew about.

And he had just been acknowledged, by the Emperor himself.

✤

When Fu Hua was young, barely sixteen, and still unbothered by the complexities of court, she met the Seventh Prince, the legitimate son of the Emperor, born of the Empress herself.

He was seventeen at the time, already tall, graceful, with a calm, unreadable gaze that marked him apart from his louder, more ambitious brothers.

Their acquaintance began with simple greetings at gatherings at nobles' families houses, but it soon deepened. Together, they began to frequent the Yufu Tea House, a quiet place nestled in the southern district of the capital.

Yufu was known for its refined chrysanthemum blends and seasonal pastries, but more than that, it was a place of artistic gathering.

The two of them would sit on the upper floor, facing the pond where koi stirred beneath drifting lotus leaves, listening to opera performances, watching the light sway of lanterns in the wind, only separated by a wooden wall.

The Seventh Prince would join contests, trading verses with scholars and musicians who dared challenge him.

Sometimes, they spoke for hours, just seated against the wall. Other times, they stood in silence, on different sides of a pond, letting the sound of flute music and laughter from the tea house in the back, fill the space.

And in that peaceful corner of the capital, their bond began to take root, and soon people noticed they would meet often.

In the eyes of many, Fu Hua and the Seventh Prince were all but destined for one another. From their early youth, they were known as childhood sweethearts, their bond admired for its sweetness.

Whispers flowed easily through noble circles. Even minor officials began to curry favor with the Fu family, convinced that the daughter of a minor minister would soon become the next Crown Princess, or at least a consort.

But those dreams were built on the fragile hopes of the powerless. Because the court did not move with the heart, it moved with strategy.

When tensions along the northern border threatened the fragile peace between the country and the Pei state, the Emperor made a swift decision.

To secure the alliance, a marriage was arranged. The seventh prince—legitimate son of the Empress, raised and groomed as one of the Empire's most promising heirs, was to marry the Princess of Pei, a royal daughter sent south to seal their peace.

In addition, he was to take two concubines from another border prefecture, extending the diplomatic chain even further.

The decree was final, and with that, he soon also became the Crown Prince.

And Fu Hua, for all her grace, all her brilliance, was nothing more than a minister's daughter. Her father, quiet and bookish, held no military command, no factional power. He was a man with no voice in court, and thus, his daughter was of no use to the empire.

The Empress forbade the match without hesitation. Love, in the imperial household, was never part of any plan.

And just like that, everything Fu Hua and the Seventh Prince had dreamed of, was torn away, not with violence, but with silence. Them not being able to meet each others anymore.

Fu Hua, once the quiet lady favored by the Seventh Prince and admired as his closest companion, was to disappear quickly. Soon after the Seventh Prince's marriage to the Pei princess was finalized, a marriage was arranged for Fu Hua as well.

On imperial decree, she was to wed Shen Shao, the son of one of the Emperor's most trusted military subordinates, an unremarkable man with ambition far exceeding his talent.

It was not a match made with care or kindness. It was a way to make her disappear.

To remove her from the inner circle of the prince, and more importantly, from his thoughts. No one asked Fu Hua what she wanted. Both families dared not protest the arrangement. A rejection of the Emperor's decree would only bring them death.

And so, she was wed to Shen Shao, a man she did not love.

What once blossomed in poetry and music at Yufu faded into silence. And fate, cruel and relentless, does not always wait for ceremony.

Fu Hua and the Seventh Prince, before being torn apart by decree, had already crossed a line that made their bond irreversible. In those quiet days at Yufu, in the privacy of poetry and long evenings filled with promises, they had shared more than words. They had shared both hearts and minds.

It had been a secret that both families pretty soon came to know. Just weeks after being wed into the Shen household, Fu Hua began to feel ill. Her appetite faded. She could not keep down her meals. Her maidservants whispered, the older women in the family watched her closely, and soon, there was no hiding it.

Fu Hua was with child. And though she wore the name of Shen Shao's wife, she knew with certainty, this child was not his as they never consummated.

It was the Seventh Prince's.

Shen Shao was not a man of deep emotion, but he was a man of strong pride. When he was ordered to marry Fu Hua, he had known, as everyone in the capital did, of her closeness with the Seventh Prince. The rumors of their outings at Yufu Tea House were no secret. He had convinced himself it was all innocent.

What mattered to Shen Shao was the honor of being married to a woman of virtue. When Fu Hua refused to consummate with him, Shen Shao had thought she was not ready and would wait, but when the whispers reached him, when he noticed how quickly her body changed, how she avoided his gaze, how she flinched at his touch, doubt turned to suspicion, and suspicion into fury.

When it became clear that she was carrying a child, a child that was not his, Shen Shao was profoundly humiliated.

And because he could not settle scores with both of them, he turned all his hatred on her. Fu Hua became the embodiment of his shame. He mocked her, ignored her in public, belittled her behind closed doors.

He never struck her, not physically. But his cruelty was quiet and precise, cutting words, isolation, and endless coldness.

She was kept in the inner quarters, her movements watched, her maids replaced.

Pregnant, shamed, and isolated, Fu Hua bore the burden of a man's ego and a court's silence, and she did so without once revealing the truth of the father's identity.

She protected her son with the only shield she had left, silence. And so, Shen Wei was born into a house filled with resentment.

Shen Wei was a quiet child, solemn even as an infant, with dark, perceptive eyes and an uncanny stillness that unsettled the Shen household from the beginning.

But to Shen Shao, he was more than a child. He was a curse. Because when Shen Shao looked at him, he did not see a son. He saw the Seventh Prince, in the slant of Shen Wei's brows, the shape of his eyes. Even the boy's silence felt like mockery, like the prince himself had left behind a shadow to haunt him.

And so, he hated him. From the earliest years, Shen Wei was subjected to a kind of discipline that was never about teaching.

It was revenge. Shen Shao demanded perfection from a toddler barely able to hold a brush. When Shen Wei failed to write characters cleanly, he would kneel outside in the snow, stripped of his coat, under the pretext of clearing his thoughts.

Shen Shao couldn't touch the man who had stolen his dignity, but he could take it out on the child left behind. And Fu Hua, silent and hollow from years of bitterness, could do nothing but stand outside the door when her son cried, hands trembling, lips bitten, powerless.

This was the world his mother left him into.

✤

Shen Wei stood composed, but behind his stillness, the past echoed like a distant bell. The Emperor, his gaze piercing, was sharp enough to cut through decades of silence.

He looked straight into Shen Wei's eyes. And for a moment, the room felt frozen.

"I have to acknowledge that I see her in you," he said slowly. "Your mother's eyes. That same unwavering stillness."

Then, with a heavy breath, he added,

"But your face... my son for sure."

Bai Shengli broke the tension. He turned, eyes wide, confusion and disbelief painted across his face.

"What...?" he breathed.

Then, louder,"What are you saying?"

He stepped forward, abandoning protocol completely.

"You... Shen Wei... how could you be my brother?!"

His voice cracked with disbelief.

"You even had a name? Bai Luochen, what is this? How could I not know this? How could no one tell me?"

His eyes darted toward the Emperor.

"Are the rumors true then?" he demanded, voice rising. "Was he born from that woman, Fu Hua? Did you really..."

The words choked off at his lips, as if saying them aloud would make them real.

"How is this possible?" he whispered. "He's... just the Imperial Preceptor."

His fists clenched. His world, the world he thought he had in his hands, was crumbling beneath him. Because in the span of a single moment, the man he sought to destroy had become his brother.

And worse, almost his equal.

Bai Shengli stood in stunned silence, the edges of his composure beginning to unravel. His fists were clenched so tightly at his sides that his knuckles had turned white, and though his face was carefully schooled, his eyes betrayed him, burning with disbelief, panic, and something darker.

Rage.

How could this be?

How could Shen Wei, the cold, imperial preceptor, his rival, be his brother?

His brother.

The thought festered like poison.

He forced himself to draw a breath, but it came out shallow. He bowed his head low, trying to mask the way his shoulders were trembling with the effort to restrain himself.

And then, slowly, he raised his eyes to the throne.

"If this is true..." his voice was quiet, dangerous, "then... will Your Majesty favor him over me now?"

There was no honor in the question. It dripped with accusation. With fear.

"Everyone knows the rumors," he went on, his voice rising. "That Madam Shen, was your only love."

He turned his gaze to Shen Wei, breathing hard.

"Was that the plan all along? Let him rise silently, shadowed, while I... I was the one groomed before the court, bearing the title?"

His expression twisted.

"If he is your blood, and if you loved her more than anyone else, then how long before I'm cast aside?"

He was losing it. The foundation of everything he fought for, was crumbling beneath him.

And Shen Wei, Shen Wei had known. He was made a fool. The calm, infuriating look on his face made it unbearable. Bai Shengli's voice cracked as he shouted.

"How long have you known who you are, Shen Wei?"

But Shen Wei said nothing.

The crack of the Emperor's fist striking the armrest of the throne echoed through the hall. His eyes, narrowed and sharp with fury, bore into Bai Shengli, who stood panting like a cornered beast, trembling with fear and outrage.

"Enough," the Emperor's voice cut through the room, cold. "You shame yourself."

His tone deepened, heavy with disgust.

"Is this how the heir to my throne behaves? A child throwing tantrums in front of his father and his teacher? Are you a madman? Are you trembling at the idea that the sky might not revolve around him?"

He leaned forward, voice growing colder.

"You ask if I favor him? You presume to question what is in my heart while dragging your dignity into the dust? You, who orchestrated chaos in the palace and acted without any care?"

His voice dropped to a dangerous low.

"Every word you've spoken today is a disgrace to your title."

Bai Shengli's mouth opened, then closed, but no words came. He could only bow lower, his forehead pressing to the cold marble floor, trembling with humiliation. Then, Shen Wei stepped forward, calm, unshaken.

"There's no need to concern yourself, Your Majesty," he said, eyes half-lidded. "I care little for the title."

He glanced down at Bai Shengli, who still knelt, seething in silence.

"I never intended to reveal the truth," Shen Wei continued, "and I dare guess His Majesty would not have either, had he not been forced into it."

He looked back to the throne, gaze steady.

"The Crown Prince had me falsely imprisoned for murder, there was no other way. His Majesty had no choice but to acknowledge the truth in order to retrieve me from the cell his son locked me in."

The implication in his words landed like a stone dropped in still water, direct, damning, and deliberate.

A tense hush fell over the room again. Because now, the Emperor could no longer look away. The son he raised in public had become a liability.

The Emperor sat back slowly, his expression like carved stone, stern, controlled. His fingers curled around the head of the armrest, and the tension in the hall was nearly suffocating. He looked down at Bai Shengli, still kneeling.

"This is the last time," the Emperor said, his voice low.

"Apologize to your brother."

Bai Shengli's head jerked up slightly in disbelief."Your Majesty—"

The Emperor's gaze turned cold."Now."

There was no room to argue. With a deep, forced inhale, Bai Shengli bowed his head again, his jaw clenched so tightly it seemed he might break a tooth.

"...This son apologizes," he said, the words like acid in his throat.

The room remained still. Shen Wei gave no reaction, neither smugness nor grace, only a quiet acceptance, as if the apology were an irrelevant formality. The Emperor then leaned back.

"You will confine yourself for two months. No banquets. No court appearances. No audience without written summons. You will stay in your residence and reflect on the consequences of your actions."

Bai Shengli's body stiffened."Father—"

But the Emperor raised a hand, cutting him off."Do not make this worse than it already is. The concubine's death will be ruled a private tragedy. The investigation will end quietly. Do you understand me?"

Bai Shengli bowed his head low again.

"...Yes, Your Majesty."

Because the Emperor knew, as did everyone, that the empire could not afford a Crown Prince known for murdering his own consort.

No matter the truth.

Some things were too dangerous to reveal.

But for now, Shen Wei had to assume his new identity and the Emperor did not waste time in bestowing a title over him, Prince Yu, Bai Luochen.