Tian Xiaoxu was slower than the wildfire rumours that spread from his wager’s spark.

Even as he walked from the Ren estate back to Skyline Manor, he heard the noise of his actions chatter past him in whispers and bits: spoken as story through the open doors of a teahouse, replayed by children in the streets playing prince versus villain, related from sentry to sentry as the news of the day. He heard the clicking of tongues that thought his brash actions foolhardy, already bemoaning the ascension of Yuhui as successor to the Tian throne; at the same time, he heard praise for his honorable actions, his unwillingness to let his best friend suffer hardship alone.

When he crossed the threshold of his family’s grounds, Tian Xiaoxu knew his father heard every detail from every side like he’d been there to watch his son bet his life himself, like he’d been the one to walk home following the sound of a story that grew legs and ran through the streets howling for the moon to rise.

He didn’t try to avoid the inevitable reprimand. Instead, Xiao went straight to his father’s receiving room and knelt silent before him with his head bowed, a practiced severity covering the true confidence he felt in how absolutely right he was this day.

The King of Fanxing looked down to his firstborn son. His sight fell like fatal boulders, a slow, drawn-out line from the long morning cutting angles across the courtyard beyond the room to the prince who bent himself in deference. He was an infallibly noble presence, a graceful and wise ruler, a man whose severity always made his kindness seem somehow sweeter, warmer—but today the king was cold and, beneath all the spun gold and granite-hued magnificence of the robes that wrapped that royal figure, it was the father who sat hurt by words that found their way to his ears so carried on the weightless wind.

Silence had a special way of making moments linger, of stretching and reshaping the concept of time into something more grotesque. It made mountains out of molehills, it disfigured the tension of reality like sugar strings pulled by its very own artisan hands, one line made million-parted in its unending extension, thin and fragile and precarious and interminable. The birds were muted for this very moment and the hallways of the palace stood soundless, free of the many footfalls that often kept them occupied.

When the king spoke, his voice was always sure. Maybe the crown prince would notice that there was something not quite correct about his tone for this particular room. They had surely spent enough time together for the boy to recognize the wilting downstroke of parental disappointment.

“My son,” Tian Yunyong said to black crown of his child’s head. “Tell me what you have done today.”

Xiao’s confidence wilted under his father’s heavy gaze and for a moment, the crown prince questioned the surety of his chosen path.

“I did what was right at the expense of what was smart,” the young man said, raising his chin just slightly but leaving his eyes on the ground. “I made a wager on the future of Fanxing, plagued the city with uncertainty, divided the people with their allegiances and speculations on the outcomes of the Millipede challenge, and made light of my duty as your eldest son. I’ve dishonoured my birthright for a chance to salvage my best friend’s reputation. I’ve given every challenger in Fanxing’s arena the opportunity to destroy a prince.”

“If you were confident in yourself enough to make this wager in the streets with Ren Qihua then why do you not retain this same confidence when you are speaking with me?” The king’s hair was midnight silk draping long down his back. As he shifted, loose strands fell over the curve of his shoulder, spilling like inkmarble down his chest. “Enlighten me, Xiaoxu, since you are gallant enough to make these important decisions. Did you think that your mother and I would be relieved that you were taking your brother for his first inlay?”

The prince bit back a grin as he chanced a glance up at his father’s greatness, a glimmer of his vibrance breaking past his grey mist humility.

“Eeeh, we were going to tell you, Diē…” Xiao offered on a slow laugh, sheepish when he pushed his own loose hair back over his shoulder. The young man was the image of his father; Xiao knew when the king looked upon his son, he saw the folly of his own youth with equal parts trepidation, nostalgia, and affection. “But you don’t see Yuhui for what he can do. You and mom only see his ghosts. I wanted to give him the chance to get the Millipede himself. He deserves that chance doesn’t he? To prove that he can do this for himself? He’s already a year past the age of debut—don’t you think that affects him?” He looked up at the older man, no longer a beggar seeking clemency but a son beseeching his father’s grace. “I know we can do this, Diē. I wouldn’t have bet on it if I had any doubt. I was watching two lives ending in the street: what was I supposed to do? I couldn’t stand by. If my impetus to do right was wrong, I apologize, Diē, but I’m not sorry for protecting my friends.”

“I am not asking you to apologize.” Yunyong watched the light flicker in his boy’s eyes, traced the shape of his grin so familiar in its mirror reflection. “I’m asking you to recognize the amount of power you have with your words, Xiaoxu. Yes, it is true that you have made Fanxing an anxious city today for those who support us, a hungry city for those who would try to ruin our clan. You have gambled not only on your future but the futures of your brother, your friend, this artifact artist, his grandmother, Ren Fei, and so on. Did you consider how Yuhui would feel if he were to lose the millipede and then also have to ascend to the throne? Don’t you think that amount of pressure will affect him when he is in the arena for the very first time?” The dignified man’s posture slowly relaxed, a blossom receptive to grinning sunshine.

“You’ve not dishonored your birthright, Xiaoxu. I am proud of you for doing the right thing and protecting those who cannot protect themselves. That is everything this clan stands for. However, this thing you have done today is no small task. You and your team must win this artifact, do you understand me? Do not let your confidence lead you down the path of disappointment. I cannot bear the thought of saying goodbye, of helping your mother dry her eyes. We will not lose you to Yunji.”

“I’d come to visit,” Xiao scoffed quietly. “It’s not like I’d be dead.”

Regardless, that wasn’t the problem with losing, was it?

“We won’t lose. We can’t lose. Not with Hua Jin enchanting our tracers; not with Xueyu’s guidance in group tactics. There’s never been an artifact more necessary to Yuhui’s quality of life than the Millipede. If we were to lose it, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. I’d have let my brother’s one shot at normalcy slip through my hands.” The prince let his grin slip from his mouth when he looked up at his father, pensive but reassuring. “Trust me, Diē: I will not abdicate your throne.”

“I do trust you, erzi. That is why I am still sitting. You would be wise to keep your witticisms to yourself, however.” The caveat came from deep in the king’s throat, a croaking reminder that despite the lack of any severe punishment for the time being, Xiaoxu remained on shaky ground, had risked a lot this day for the sake of another man’s error. Yunyong was far from thrilled with his oldest son even if the presence of pride brought a subtle warmth to his bones—the day was barely approaching the halfway mark, the week not yet lived remained uncertain, and the battle ahead loomed like a slowly approaching catastrophe. Nothing was certain until it was done. They would all see what would happen when the time came.

That graceful man gently sighed. As if able to sense the tumbling of an impending disturbance, Yunyong’s eyes rose from his heir to the closed door of his receiving room suddenly flung apart.

“Diē! I will not stand for this!” Tian Yuhui marched into the room unannounced, without regard for anything else that was currently taking place in that palace interior. He knelt at his older brother’s side, an immediate show of respect to make up for the fact that his entrance was delivered with none.

“What will you not stand for, Yuhui?” The king’s black eyes followed his middle child now, focused on his every detail. “Have you been crying, child?”

“Yes!” Yuhui seethed. “Ren Qihua takes out all of his anger on Ren Fei and I just had to help him all the way up the street and then peel his bloody shirt from his back!”

Xiao quietly observed his brother’s comedy of automatic movements set against his rage-fuelled seething and made a mental note to buy Yuhui some candied kumquats before they went to Yunji.

“It’s true, Diē.” The elder son corroborated Yuhui’s claim. “Ren Li often expresses deep concern for his brother’s well-being.”

Yuhui nodded furiously along to his brother’s addition. “Ren Fei strives for perfection in everything he does—he is well-mannered and proper and even if he happens to make a mistake in anything, he does everything in his power to make it right. He does not deserve to be treated like this. Made to not eat, to practice the strokes of his calligraphy until they are as painful as the strokes laid into his shredded skin. Ren Qihua is making a mockery of the justice this clan stands for, diē. He—”

“I will speak with Ren Qihua,” the king tersely announced, interrupting his son with his statement like finality. His observation slowly fell to the boy’s marked hands. “I don’t recall your warding being so vibrant yesterday, Yuhui.”

“—Uh.” Choking on his own gratitude slowly succumbing to a growing angst, Yuhui looked at his own hands. “I—oh. I sent an urgent letter to Yunji yesterday and asked Master Xueyu’s disciple to come and ward me again because it was getting bad and…” Nervous, he looked aside to his brother, unsure if he was supposed to be sticking to a story or the truth regarding the nature of their own devious plans. “And I snuck out in the evening. To meet him. And get warded again.”

“He’s lying because he is loyal,” Xiao said staunchly, looking up to their father. “In preparation for his first inlay, I requested his warding be refreshed. I am the one who snuck him outside the gate to have it done. Please don’t fault Yuhui for covering my hand in this—he is frightened for my fate and doesn’t wish any more trouble to befall me.”

Their father moved his chin from the younger to the older boy again, exhausted by the pair of them.

“I want you both to know,” the elegant man began, “that compared to the darkest of all the days behind me, this treachery from my own sons hurts me the most. Now I can fully see the value you place on the love and guidance given by your mother and I. I now know that you both avoid our advice and forsake our blessings rather than seek them, that you dismiss us and our worldly knowledge as unnecessary, as if it is a burden for you rather than a resource.”

Tian Yunyong lifted a long finger whose shadow crept along the floor, a thin specter attached to the beautiful dip of a long sleeve, and pointed to the door.

“Leave. We will further discuss your disobedience and all this flagrant disregard when your futures at this palace have been decided. For now, you must make sure you have everything necessary to succeed in this wager you’ve made. I hope you both are able to learn some valuable lessons beneath the wings of the Luanshi, away from the safety of all your silver platters.”

The crown prince winced at his father’s words. He clenched his jaw and closed his eyes to maintain his face’s impervious calm. If he wore it well enough, he could almost trick the wounds his father dug into stinging less.

“Yes, father,” the eldest son rose, then bowed to the disappointed patriarch. “I will regain your trust. I’ll repair your pride.”

Yuhui followed behind his brother with a second’s delay, speechless and serious in their path to the exit.

Watching his boys leave, the king silently shifted his upper body toward a lesser advisor lurking in the shadows of the receiving room and drew him forward with an inward curl of his beckoning finger. The conversation that took place between them was low, whispers unheard except for the swishing of their every s sharp above footsteps and the gentle rush of moving doors.