Short introduction of the main characters...

🐉 Li Shenyang – The Crimson Emperor

Age: 25

Personality: Cold, ruthless, powerful, emotionally shut off.

Appearance: Tall, sharp features, long black hair, cold black eyes, always in crimson robes.

Tragic Past: Killed his own brother in a rebellion. His beloved younger sister died in a fire meant for him. He has never forgiven himself. His mother killed by the orders of his father for treason

🕊️ Tianyin – The Silent Slave

Age: 17

Personality: Quiet, kind, obedient, deeply scarred but gentle.

Appearance: Pale, thin, long soft black hair, calm sad eyes, covered in scars.

Tragic Past: Enslaved at age 8 after his village was destroyed. Passed from cruel master to crueler. Saved the emperor’s life — now his servant.

🌸 Rui Wen – The Southern Emperor

Age: 23

Personality: Warm, wise, patient, but calculating when needed.

Appearance: Youthful beauty, soft brown eyes, white and blue royal robes.

Backstory: Saw Tianyin once and never forgot him. Now watches the Eastern court from afar, waiting for his chance to protect him.

Chapter One: The Arrival

Rain fell like the sky was weeping.

The courtyard of the Golden Dragon Palace lay soaked in gray mist, the stone tiles glistening under the unrelenting downpour. Every servant, guard, and eunuch bowed low under the carved awnings as the palace gates creaked open. A single ox cart rolled in, pulled by a weary animal and driven by two silent men in black robes.

Inside the cart, curled in on himself, lay a boy.

He did not shiver. He did not cry. His skin was pale, stretched too tightly over sharp bones, and smeared with dirt and dried blood. His black hair clung to his face in wet strands, framing a mouth that had forgotten how to smile. His ankles were chained, wrists bruised, neck ringed by a rusted collar.

Yet his eyes — dull, shadowed, nearly lifeless — held a calm that unsettled the soul.

The boy’s name was Tianyin. He was fourteen years old.

And he was a gift.

“Is this the one?” the chief eunuch asked, squinting through the veil of rain.

One of the black-robed men nodded stiffly. “A tribute from the Northern border. The lord who sent him claimed he’s mute. Silent since birth.”

The eunuch stepped forward and tore open the tarp covering the cart. A rush of cold air struck Tianyin’s frail body. Still, he made no sound.

The eunuch frowned.

“He’s filth. The emperor won’t tolerate trash.”

But he didn’t send him away.

No one refused a royal tribute.

Two guards came forward and yanked Tianyin from the cart. His feet hit the stone floor with a wet slap, knees buckling. One of the guards scoffed and grabbed his collar, dragging him across the courtyard like a sack of rice.

Thunder cracked above the rooftops as they hauled him toward the inner palace.

The path was long. The whispers were many.

“Another slave?”

“He won’t last a week.”

“The Shadow Wing eats children like him alive.”

Inside the palace, golden lanterns flickered in still air. The halls were silent. Too silent. Even the footsteps of guards seemed muffled.

Tianyin was thrown into a narrow chamber — cold, stone-floored, with only a straw mat in the corner. Water dripped from the ceiling. Rats skittered near a cracked wall.

A thin voice spoke beside him.

“You’ll sleep here. No food tonight. Wake before the gong.”

Tianyin didn’t answer. The door slammed shut.

He sat on the floor. His legs ached. His stomach groaned with hunger. But he did not cry.

Not anymore.

He had long since run out of tears.

At that same moment, across the palace in the Hall of Crimson Glory, the emperor sat in silence.

Li Shenyang, ruler of the Eastern Empire, sat upon his dragon-carved throne with one leg crossed and a wine cup in hand. He was clothed in deep red silk, embroidered with coiling serpents and storm clouds. His face was cold — beautiful in a terrifying way — sharp jawline, obsidian eyes, long lashes that did not soften the chill of his stare.

Around him, ministers and generals knelt in rows, reading reports, seeking orders.

But the emperor did not speak.

Not until the eunuch entered and bowed low.

“Your Majesty. The tribute has arrived.”

A pause.

“Which one?” the emperor asked.

The eunuch hesitated. “The... mute boy, sire. From Lord Jiang.”

Li Shenyang sipped his wine. “Send him to the Shadow Wing. I do not want to see him.”

“As you command.”

The emperor waved a hand, dismissing the court.

And thus, Tianyin’s existence was reduced to a flick of fingers.

Days Later…

Tianyin woke before dawn to the sound of a whip cracking in the yard.

He stumbled out of his chamber, limbs shaking. A guard grabbed him and shoved a rag into his hands. “Scrub the east wing floors. If they don’t shine, you don’t eat.”

The days that followed blurred into agony.

He cleaned corridors, washed bloodstains from armor, hauled buckets of water with chained ankles. When he was too slow, they beat him. When he collapsed, they left him in the dirt.

He never spoke.

Not a word. Not a scream.

Once, a guard shoved him down a flight of stairs for being in the way. His shoulder dislocated. He bit his tongue to keep from crying out as he reset it himself behind a column.

The Shadow Wing — the corner of the palace where low slaves were kept — reeked of rot and punishment. Screams echoed through the walls at night. Sometimes a slave was dragged out and never seen again.

Tianyin survived.

Barely.

It was on the twelfth day that something changed.

Tianyin was sweeping the outer steps near the emperor’s private garden. His wrists bled from rope burns, and he hadn’t eaten in two days. His body shook with cold, but he didn’t stop moving.

From behind the stone wall, a voice rang out.

“Assassins! Protect the emperor!”

Everything happened at once — a flash of steel, shouts, the clash of blades.

Tianyin turned just in time to see a cloaked figure leap over the garden wall — a blade drawn, heading straight for a tall man in red.

The emperor.

Time froze.

Guards were too far. The emperor had no weapon in hand.

Tianyin didn’t think.

He ran.

His body moved before his mind caught up. He slammed into the assassin with what little strength he had left. The knife grazed his back as both of them crashed to the stone floor.

The guards were on the assassin in seconds, swords slicing. Blood splattered the grass. The emperor didn’t move.

Neither did Tianyin.

He lay there, breathing heavily, blood soaking through his torn robe. His vision blurred. Everything hurt.

Then... footsteps.

A shadow fell over him.

Li Shenyang stood above him, eyes narrowed. For the first time, the cold emperor looked down at this slave — this dirty, half-dead boy who had saved his life.

“Who are you?” he asked.

Tianyin opened his mouth. His lips trembled. A whisper escaped.

“No one.”

And then he collapsed.