Amusingly enough, despite having spent several months within the Imperial Palace already, Mo Jian had never once set foot on the first floor.
In hindsight, it was not particularly strange. The upper levels each felt like separate worlds unto themselves, and assigned cultivators rarely descended unless summoned. Still, as Mo Jian followed beside Xiang Muxue through one of the spiraling stairways, he could not help but feel like a country bumpkin visiting the capital for the first time all over again.
The first floor of the Imperial Palace was vast, grand, and alive with motion. Thousands upon thousands of people moved beneath ceilings so high they vanished into drifting spiritual mist. Rivers of officials flowed across broad white stone avenues, their robes flashing with every color of rank and ministry. Messenger cranes darted overhead with sealed decrees clutched in their talons, while armored puppets hauled carts piled high with documents, tribute chests, and sealed evidence vaults.
The air hummed with spiritual formations, shouted orders, and the constant brush of countless spiritual senses crossing one another. like a giant web It felt less like entering a building and more like stepping into the beating heart of a sprawling sect-city.
Even the architecture reflected that feeling. Unlike the layered elegance of the upper floors, the first floor centered around a colossal open courtyard that stretched several li in every direction. Halls, towers, archive pavilions, and ministry compounds radiated outward from the center like districts of an imperial capital compressed beneath a single heavenly roof. Elevated walkways of jade and lacquered wood crossed overhead in dizzying layers, allowing officials to traverse the palace without disrupting the endless traffic below.
And at the exact center of it all stood the Heavenly Hall.
The throne room of the Son of Heaven towered over every other structure like a divine mountain. Its black-and-gold pillars vanished into clouds of incense and spiritual haze high above, while endless streams of officials climbed the monumental stairways toward the morning court assembly. Even from this distance, Mo Jian could hear the faint thunder of ceremonial bells reverberating through the palace floor.
Thankfully, they were heading in the opposite direction.
The three of them slipped along the outer avenues instead, avoiding the crushing tide of ministers, censors, envoys, military officers, and palace attendants hurrying toward court. Shen Jinglan had been ordered by the princess to remain above, a command she had accepted with extraordinarily poor grace, and Mo Jian strongly suspected Xiang Muxue had done so purely to avoid attracting even more attention.
Not that they escaped attention entirely.
Bai Ning's gawking was anything but subtle. His own, he was forced to admit, was no better.
“There,” Bai Ning muttered under her breath, pointing despite herself. “That should be the Ministry of Records.”
An enormous rectangular hall stretched across an entire section of the courtyard. Every window stood open despite the cold air, allowing a constant circulation of spiritual energy to preserve the archives within. Rows upon rows of scribes sat at blackwood desks that extended so far into the distance Mo Jian could barely see the end of them. Some copied ordinary reports onto bamboo paper with tireless precision, while others pressed glowing jade slips against their foreheads before transferring their contents into official record tablets. Ink-stained attendants hurried between aisles carrying towers of scrolls that would have crushed ordinary men beneath their weight.
At the very rear of the hall, several elderly cultivators sat utterly motionless beneath hanging lanterns, maintaining memory-preservation techniques for ancient imperial records too sensitive to entrust to jade or paper.
The scratching of brushes sounded like rainfall.
“And that,” Xiang Muxue said, nodding toward a sprawling complex roofed in bronze tiles shaped like blooming lotus petals, “is the Ministry of Revenue.”
The atmosphere there was entirely different.
The officials moved with the intensity of battlefield commanders. Spirit accountants manipulated floating abacuses made of jade beads while streams of numbers shimmered through the air in golden light. Storage pouches the size of sleeves disgorged mountains of spirit stones, tax ledgers, tribute manifests, and grain tallies onto long inspection tables before being sealed once more by formation masters. Couriers from every province stood in separate queues beneath banners marked with the symbols of their territories, each waiting to submit quarterly reports.
Mo Jian even spotted several cultivators from major merchant clans arguing furiously beside a side pavilion while exhausted officials mediated the dispute. The empire’s wealth flowed through that hall like blood through veins.
Farther ahead stood what could only be the Ministry of Works. The entire district looked as though a storm had passed through it.
Construction diagrams covered nearly every visible surface; walls, pillars, hanging screens, even sections of the floor. Massive scale models floated in midair, depicting fortresses, spirit canals, defensive arrays, and city expansions in miniature detail. Cultivators argued over mountain splitting formations while refiners carried half-assembled magic tools between workshops. Somewhere deeper inside, someone screamed that the western flood barriers would collapse within three months if the Ministry of Revenue continued “strangling them like starving dogs.”
Nobody appeared surprised by the shouting.
Bai Ning nearly walked into a passing official because she was too busy gawking upward.
A squad of black-robed censors swept past them like knives through water. The lead inspector, a pale young man with sharp eyes and an iron tally hanging from his waist, barely spared them a glance before continuing onward. Officials nearby instinctively lowered their voices as the group passed.
“The Censorate,” Xiang Muxue said quietly.
Mo Jian understood immediately. Everywhere the black robed officials walked, backs straightened and conversations died. Unlike the other ministries, the Censorate occupied no fixed district. Its members moved constantly throughout the palace, carrying the authority to investigate corruption, impeach ministers, audit sect agreements, and even memorialize accusations directly before the throne. Rumor claimed the Emperor trusted the censors more than his own ministers.
Watching the fear they inspired, Mo Jian found that easy to believe.
Beyond them, Mo Jian glimpsed still more districts disappearing into the immense distance of the palace floor. The Ministry of Rites resembled a sacred temple complex, crowded with court musicians, ritual masters, astrologers, and officials carrying ceremonial tablets. Spiritual incense drifted from its courtyards in shimmering clouds. The Ministry of War was impossible to mistake. Armored cultivators strode in and out constantly while enormous campaign maps hovered above strategy tables. And farther beyond even that stood the Hall of Heavenly Petitions, where a line of kneeling petitioners stretched so far Mo Jian could not see its end.
He finally tore his gaze away and focused on keeping pace with Xiang Muxue, who was striding purposefully toward a quieter section of the floor filled with modest courtyards and official residences.
“Do you come here often?” he asked, watching the certainty with which she navigated the sprawling avenues.
“Hardly,” she replied, walking as quickly as possible without outright breaking into a jog. Earlier, when Bai Ning had asked why they could not simply fly, Xiang Muxue had explained that only officials above a certain rank were permitted to do so on the first floor. The princess’s presence technically granted them that privilege, but exercising it would immediately destroy any hope of discretion. So they walked.
“I avoid this place whenever I can. The last time I came down here was more than a decade ago, and it was to try meeting General Tang as well. That’s why I know where to go.”
Ah. Mo Jian winced internally, wishing he could shove his foot back out of his mouth. Of course the princess avoided the court. It was something he had already known, yet he had still asked without thinking.
Thankfully, Bai Ning spoke up before the awkwardness could linger.
“I heard General Tang lives as far away from the court as possible,” she said. “And that the only reason he hasn’t already left the capital is because the Emperor refuses to accept his resignation.”
Xiang Muxue nodded as she slipped around a stream of passing cultivators, forcing Mo Jian and Bai Ning to shoulder through the slower stragglers to keep up.
“Broadly speaking, yes,” she said. “Though the situation is more complicated than that. Not that it matters. I’m not here to appeal to his sense of righteousness or vengeance.”
Mo Jian frowned slightly at the ominous phrasing, but before he could ask what she meant, Xiang Muxue slowed.
“Ah, here we are.”
The courtyard stretched out before them, branching into rows of modest residences beyond. The homes were built in a simple timber-framed style, with curved roofs, overhanging eaves, and central gardens designed in harmony with nature. The entire district would not have looked out of place in the city outside the palace walls.
“There are several residential clusters like this on the first floor for civil workers and their families,” Xiang Muxue explained. “This one is relatively small, but it’s the place General Tang chose after his defeat.”
The district itself was unwalled, though a low fence marked its boundary, stretching far into the distance. And at the entrance to that fence-
“Is that a painting?” Bai Ning asked.
Xiang Muxue nodded as she walked directly toward it. “Zeduan,” she called loudly, “are you there?”
“Who’s asking?” a voice replied from within the painting. The artwork depicted a bustling tea shop on a cold autumn afternoon. Merchants and travelers crowded around lacquered tables while wisteria blossoms drifted lazily through the air. One of the painted merchants, a middle-aged man cradling a steaming cup of tea, had turned toward them and was now squinting out from inside the canvas itself.
“Wait… those golden eyes…” The painted merchant straightened immediately. “Welcome, Your Celestial Highness. Welcome.”
Muxue gave a small nod. “Open the way for us, Zeduan. I’m here to see General Tang.”
The painted merchant hesitated. “The General instructed me not to allow visitors to disturb him.”
The princess raised a single eyebrow.
The merchant grimaced at once.
“I’ll open the door right away.”
There was no visible sign of anything happening, but Mo Jian felt the surrounding flows of qi shift subtly as the formation parted to grant them passage into the residential district. The three of them stepped through. Contrary to Mo Jian’s expectations, they only walked another fifteen minutes before arriving at the General’s residence. Even then, he almost missed it entirely. The house looked exactly the same as every other residence surrounding it.
If Xiang Muxue had not stopped in front of the doorway, both he and Bai Ning would have walked straight past without noticing anything unusual. There were no towering defensive formations, no imperial guards, and no oppressive aura of a hidden expert lurking nearby. The only protection around the residence was a simple dome of pale light that barely obscured spiritual senses at all.
For a retired general who had once shaken the empire, the place felt almost painfully ordinary.
"Uncle Tiger!" Xiang Muxue shouted, loudly and shamelessly, without the faintest trace of imperial decorum.
Mo Jian jumped in surprise and turned to stare at her. Bai Ning, who shared many of the same instincts and an appreciation for the same sort of antics, did not even blink. There was no response. The princess inhaled slowly. Her qi stirred. Mo Jian immediately took a cautious step backward.
“UNCLE TIGER!” she bellowed.
Her voice exploded through the residential district like a thunderclap. Walls trembled, roof tiles rattled, and the ground itself quivered beneath their feet. A dozen irritated spiritual senses swept toward them from neighboring residences-
-then recoiled almost instantly in naked alarm as their owners realized the disturbance was being caused by two Core Formation cultivators and a Nascent Soul expert.
“Little Moon, you haven’t changed a bit,” came a tired voice from within the house.
The door slid open, and General Tang Huwei, once the legendary Tiger General of the empire, stepped outside. Now, he was a crippled man. Mo Jian had expected someone resembling Shi Wanjun, an imposing warlord radiating overwhelming martial pressure, but General Tang was almost aggressively the opposite. He was neither towering nor broad-shouldered. If anything, he looked slim, elegant, almost delicate, with long flowing hair cascading down his back, hair that had been dyed in alternating stripes of orange and white like a tiger’s pelt. The same striped patterns extended across his face, where tattoos merged seamlessly with his hairline to form something resembling a mane framing his features.
And then there were the clothes. Mo Jian’s brain nearly stopped functioning for a moment. The man’s leather shirt was so tight it looked painted directly onto his body, outlining every line of muscle and contour beneath. His trousers – actual trousers, somehow even more alarming – were covered in glittering embroidery and tiny embedded gemstones that caught the light overhead whenever he moved. Rings gleamed on nearly every finger, while a massive necklace studded with garnets and diamonds rested proudly against his chest. The overall effect was so overwhelming that Mo Jian struggled to reconcile this flamboyant disaster of a man with the title of legendary general.
He was… too much.
Xiang Muxue, at least, appeared accustomed to it. Bai Ning, however, was staring just as hard as Mo Jian was. Her gaze dipped downward for the briefest instant before snapping violently back up toward the General’s face with sheer force of will. Mo Jian followed her line of sight, then immediately looked away. Yes, looking anywhere else was dangerous
…the pants really were that tight.
General Tang Huwei’s gaze drifted from the princess to the two stunned cultivators beside her before he let out a long, exhausted sigh.
“Might as well come in, then,” he said, sounding weary down to the bone. “Though I’ll save you the trouble and give you my answer right now.”
He turned and started walking back inside.
“It’s no.”
……………………………………………………….
The interior of the residence was somehow even stranger than its owner. Mo Jian had expected the home of a retired general to contain maps, weapons, military banners, perhaps relics from old campaigns. Instead, the house looked like the unholy fusion of a noblewoman’s dressing chamber and a battlefield memorial.
One wall displayed dozens of framed weapons, from broken spears and cracked sabers to shattered arrowheads; all mounted with almost reverent care. Another was entirely dedicated to mirrors of varying sizes and styles, bordered by jewelry racks overflowing with rings, hair ornaments, and enough cosmetics to stock a merchant stall. Rich incense drifted lazily through the air. Somewhere deeper inside the house, soft string music played from an unknown instrument.
And in the exact center of the main room sat a massive tiger-skin rug, dyed pink.
Mo Jian decided, then and there, that he no longer possessed the emotional strength to be surprised by anything this man did.
General Tang dropped himself into a chair with the air of someone collapsing after a twelve-hour battle rather than walking twenty steps to his sitting room. Up close, the exhaustion in him became more obvious. His qi felt… wrong. Vast, yes, but stagnant in some places and fractured in others, like a river whose course had been forcibly broken apart. If he had not been told beforehand, Mo Jian would never have guessed this man was still in the Core Formation realm.
The Tiger General noticed him noticing. “Ugly thing, isn’t it?” he said casually, tapping a finger against his navel. “Lost half the meridians in my soul, and the rest of my spiritual circulation is a complete disaster.” His gaze drifted lazily toward Bai Ning and Xiang Muxue. “So whatever it is you people want, I’m not the man for it.”
Xiang Muxue ignored the statement entirely and seated herself across from him with easy familiarity.
“Shi Wanjun is dead.”
That, at least, earned a reaction. General Tang blinked in surprise before slowly straightening in his chair. “What did that idiot do?” he asked. “Piss off your cousin?” He snorted faintly. “Still… to think I’d live long enough to see him die before I do. Perhaps the Heavens aren’t completely unjust after all.”
Muxue remained unmoved. “The Heavens had nothing to do with it. Shi Wanjun was assassinated on my orders.”
For the first time since they had entered, the lethargy vanished from Tang Huwei’s expression. His narrowed eyes fixed on Xiang Muxue without blinking. Then, slowly, they shifted toward Mo Jian and Bai Ning with evident intent. Finally, he leaned back into his chair once more, though now he looked genuinely interested.
“You aren’t here just to convince me to return to court, are you?” he asked quietly.
Xiang Muxue shook her head. “I am not trying to convince you of anything,” she said. “This is the best opportunity we will ever have to deal with Chengxuan, and I will not allow anyone – myself included – to squander it.”
As she spoke, she slipped a hand into her storage pouch and withdrew a jade vial, sending it drifting through the air until it hovered midway between herself and the General.
“You will take the pill,” she continued calmly, “and then accompany me above. Gather your commanders and your soldiers and declare war on the Lion Army. The Tiger Army will march into the Inner Court and force them out. Anyone who resists will be killed.” Her golden eyes remained cold and steady. “We must move quickly enough that my uncle has no time to react, and ensure that the Tiger Army takes control of the Inner Court before he can interfere.”
Behind her, Mo Jian exchanged an incredulous glance with Bai Ning. This was what she had meant when she said they were about to go to war?
Tang Huwei’s gaze flicked toward the hovering vial, but he made no move to take it. Instead, he looked back at Xiang Muxue with open disbelief. “That,” he said flatly, “is an absolutely terrible plan.”
He pointed lazily toward her. “You’ve explained nothing. You’ve simply strung together a collection of dangerous-sounding words and called it strategy.”
Bai Ning coughed into one hand.
Tang ignored her entirely. “Even if” -he raised a finger- “and this is a very temporary if, I take the pill and heal myself, openly fighting the Lion Army inside the Imperial Palace would still end with the Emperor beheading me and every soldier under my command once the dust settles.”
He leaned back further into his chair. “And that’s assuming your cousin politely sits still while we do it.”
“He will,” Xiang Muxue replied immediately.
The General’s eyebrow twitched upward.
“Right now, nobody even knows the Lion General is dead. At most, they think Shi Wanjun has gone missing or hidden himself somewhere. Even Chengxuan knows nothing.” A dangerous smile touched her lips as she leaned forward slightly. “What do you think he is doing right now? Watching me? Guarding against you?” She shook her head. “No. He is searching for Shi Wanjun while remaining completely unaware of us. And that means we possess something incredibly valuable: an opportunity no one sees coming.”
Tang Huwei snorted softly. “So we surprise him before dying horribly afterward,” he drawled. “Hardly the glorious return you’re trying to sell me, Little Moon.”
Mo Jian frowned. Not merely because of Tang Huwei’s apathy, but because he also agreed with him. If he was being generous, this plan sounded catastrophically risky.
Xiang Muxue, however, remained utterly confident. “We won’t die,” she said. “The Lion Army’s loyalty belongs first to Chengxuan and only second to my uncle. No Emperor enjoys that sort of arrangement.”
She gestured sharply with one hand as she spoke. “If we move quickly and ruthlessly enough – if we collapse the Lion Army’s structure by eliminating its commanders and veterans before they can reorganize – and then force the remnants out of the Inner Court, my uncle will punish us, yes, but not enough to kill us. And certainly not enough to strip the Tiger Army of its new position as guardians of the Inner Court.
“The entire conflict can be dismissed as an internal dispute between two military factions after what Shi Wanjun did to you,” Xiang Muxue continued. “More importantly, Chengxuan will be too occupied stabilizing his own position, and dealing with the sudden loss of several more supporters, to retaliate immediately.”
She leaned back at last. “It will work.”
No, Mo Jian thought silently, it absolutely did not sound as though it would. Still, he kept his silence. This was Xiang Muxue’s stage. It was her plan and her gamble to make. He had chosen to come to her, had pledged his loyalty and support, and at some point, that meant trusting her judgment even when the outcome sounded insane. In the book, Xiang Muxue and Ye Chen had eventually managed to outmaneuver Chengxuan, and if Mo Jian was being honest, most of that success had been her doing, not Ye Chen’s. With the situation being what it was, all he could do now was hope she could do it again.
The General remained silent. His eyes bored into Muxue’s, gauging her seriousness.
"Dealing with the sudden loss of more of his allies," Tang Huwei said slowly. "And Shi Wanjun's death." His gaze shifted to Mo Jian, locking on with unnerving precision. The man had sharp instincts, Mo Jian would grant him that. "Are you going to tell me how you managed one, and how you plan to accomplish the other? And while you're at it, just who, and what, have you made a deal with?"
Xiang Muxue shook her head.
“I will, but later. We don’t have time for lengthy explanations right now. Even once you take the pill, you will need half a day to recover, and then more time to gather your soldiers and launch the attack. Every moment we delay is another moment the chances of failure increase.”
Tang Huwei nodded, looking largely unbothered by the answer. Behind him, Mo Jian and Bai Ning exchanged another surreptitious glance. It wasn't as though they had expected to get through this entire alliance without sharing their secrets with anyone else, but still, it was a little alarming to hear Xiang Muxue casually promise explanations to the Tiger General.
“Uncle,” the princess pressed, “you were loyal to my father once, and I know you haven’t stayed here out of shame or fear, regardless of what others say. You stayed because you saw no path to victory, even if you returned.”
“True enough,” Tang Huwei admitted. His gaze drifted somewhere past her, distant. “Even if I had returned, I would have had to live like a dog, unable to raise my head, or suffer another defeat at Shi Wanjun’s hands. One probably more permanent than the last.”
Muxue leaned forward, animated and urgent. “Then come with me now. We have a chance, one that may never come again. I have spent the last fifty years dreaming of how to topple Chengxuan, and though this opportunity came about through someone else’s ambition rather than my own efforts, I would be a fool not to seize it.”
Her golden eyes burned with conviction. “This is it. Our path to victory.”
For a long moment, silence filled the room. The General said nothing. The princess had exhausted her words as well, her face slightly flushed from the force of her argument. Mo Jian remained silent too, knowing there was nothing he could offer that would carry even a fraction of the weight of Xiang Muxue’s words. The same was true for Bai Ning.
Finally, the General stirred. “It might lead to our deaths,” he said. “But what the hell.” A faint smile tugged at his lips. “As you said, opportunities like this do not come every day.”
He reached out and took the jade vial. “All right. For the love and loyalty I bore your father, and for the chance to see you cut off that snake Chengxuan’s head, I will do my best to support you.” His smile widened slightly. “And if we fail, well. Better to die trying than die doing nothing.”
A smile broke across the princess’s face like sunlight through storm clouds.
“I wish you would not be so pessimistic, Uncle. If you’re going to support me, then speak less of death and more of victory.”
Tang Huwei snorted. “Your father was the best man I ever knew, and even he died. I’m just being realistic.”
A wry smile appeared on Muxue’s face. “He didn’t know who he was up against, but we do.” Then she snapped her fingers. “Oh. I need you to do me a small favor as well.” She gestured toward Mo Jian and Bai Ning. “Right now, these two are officials assigned to the second level of the palace. I need them reassigned to the Inner Court. Can you give them ranks in the Tiger Army? That way, when our attack succeeds, they can remain there permanently.”
Huh. Mo Jian’s eyebrows rose. On second thought, it made perfect sense. Beside him, Bai Ning was nodding along, likely having reached the same conclusion.
Tang Huwei’s gaze drifted lazily over the two of them.
"No problem. Though I find myself curious about these two." He let the implication hang in the air. "And since the upcoming attack will require every capable hand we can find..." He trailed off, his meaning obvious.
Xiang Muxue smiled wryly and glanced back at them.
Bai Ning’s bright grin was answer enough. Mo Jian could only offer a rueful smile of his own.
"Welcome to the Tiger Army," the General said, sounding not at all surprised. "Let's see what you're made of."
............................................................................................................
AN: Welcome, soldier, to the glorious Imperial Army of the Great Xiang Empire. Your sacrifice will not be in vain....