The council chamber was thick with a silence that pressed down like an iron weight. The flickering torchlight cast restless shadows across the faces of ministers, generals, and bureaucrats, their expressions unreadable masks of obedience, calculation, or quiet dissent. The recent capture of the capital had secured Luo Wen's authority, but now he stood on the precipice of an even greater challenge—the reconstruction of an empire torn apart by war, greed, and ambition.
Seated at the head of the grand council table, Luo Wen surveyed the assembly with a gaze as steady as a drawn blade. He did not speak immediately, allowing the silence to stretch, to weigh upon those gathered before him. Some sat with measured composure, others shifted uneasily. All awaited his next words. At his side stood Jiang Yu, his closest strategist, whose calm posture betrayed the fact that he already knew what was coming.
Luo Wen's voice, when he finally spoke, was measured and unyielding.
"The Emperor is young."
There was no need for embellishment; the simple statement carried with it the weight of undeniable truth. His gaze swept over the chamber, noting the subtle nods of agreement, the hesitant glances exchanged among the officials.
"He is a symbol of stability, a beacon for the people, but symbols alone do not rule an empire. Wisdom does not come from birthright. Strength does not come from sitting upon a throne."
A pause. A moment to let the words sink in.
"Until His Majesty reaches the maturity and experience necessary to govern, the administration of the empire will fall under my authority. Effective immediately, I assume the title of Chancellor."
A ripple of tension passed through the chamber. There were no objections—not aloud—but Luo Wen saw the flickers of doubt in the eyes of some courtiers. Temporary power had a way of becoming permanent. A "regency" could last a lifetime.
Jiang Yu stepped forward, his tone firm but diplomatic.
"Our first priority must be to restore unity to the empire. The war has left scars that will not heal on their own. The feudal lords, unchecked for too long, continue to rule their domains as kings. If we do not centralize power now, the Emperor will never rule beyond these palace walls."
Luo Wen leaned back slightly in his chair, fingers interlocked with deliberate patience.
"We cannot allow the feudal lords to persist in their unchecked ambitions. Many have sworn loyalty to the empire, but their oaths are hollow. They are not servants of the throne, but opportunists waiting to expand their dominions. If left alone, they will one day become a threat too great to contain."
A senior minister, his face lined with age and experience, frowned deeply.
"Chancellor, if we openly march against the feudal lords, we risk igniting another civil war. The empire cannot afford further division."
Luo Wen's lips curved into a knowing smile.
"We will not strike all at once. They will destroy themselves."
The silence that followed was thick with unspoken questions. Jiang Yu inclined his head slightly, a glint of approval in his gaze.
"The strategy is simple," Luo Wen continued, his voice smooth, unwavering. "We will use the Emperor's name to issue orders, subtly pitting the feudal lords against one another. We will declare some as traitors, strip them of their lands, and grant those lands to rivals eager to claim them. We will manipulate ambitions, fuel grudges, and when they are sufficiently weakened..."
His fingers traced a slow, deliberate circle on the map before him.
"We will crush them both."
A grizzled general, his face marked by years of campaigns, spoke with careful consideration.
"Chancellor, many of these lords still command large armies. If they sense what we are doing, they may unite against us."
Luo Wen nodded, his expression never shifting.
"Which is why they will never see our hand behind it. Some will be accused of treason, some will receive conflicting orders, forcing them into open conflict. We will use their own ambition as a weapon against them. Rumors will spread, doubts will fester. The most ambitious among them will strike first, believing they act of their own volition. By the time they realize the truth, it will be too late."
There was a sharp, quiet understanding in the air. The plan was cruel, methodical. Some of the ministers looked uneasy, while others—like Jiang Yu—smiled slightly, recognizing its brilliance.
One of the Emperor's closest advisors cleared his throat.
"And what of the provinces that remain loyal? There are lords who have served the dynasty faithfully."
Luo Wen's eyes flickered to the man, his voice calm but cold.
"They will be the easiest to control. A few concessions here and there, the illusion of security. We will keep them docile, let them believe they are safe."
His gaze returned to the map, his finger resting on one of the more prosperous provinces.
"When the time comes, we will decide whether to keep them... or to remove them under the guise of protecting the Emperor's rule."
The old minister visibly paled but said nothing further. The game was already in motion.
Jiang Yu took a step forward, speaking with the confidence of a man who had already anticipated every counterargument.
"With control over the capital and the Emperor, we hold the strongest position. While the feudal lords waste their strength against each other, we will continue to consolidate our power. Our forces in the capital will be the blade that delivers the final strike."
Luo Wen stood slowly, surveying the room one last time.
"This is not merely about securing power. This is the only way to ensure that the empire does not collapse into another era of chaos. If we do not unify it now, someone else will try—and they will do so in a far more reckless and bloody manner."
There was no argument against that.
"The Emperor will rule," Luo Wen continued, a faint smile playing at his lips. "And when the time is right, he will inherit a strong, stable empire. Until then, the power will remain in my hands."
One by one, the ministers and generals bowed their heads in agreement. Some did so out of genuine belief, others out of fear, and a few because they knew that resistance was futile.
The fate of the empire had shifted. The war for unification had begun—not with swords clashing on a battlefield, but with imperial decrees, whispered accusations, and carefully orchestrated betrayals.
As the council dispersed, leaving Luo Wen alone in the chamber, he turned his gaze toward the empty throne. Soon, the Emperor would sit upon it, signing orders that had already been decided for him.
Outside, rain began to fall, pattering against the palace roofs like the distant echoes of the bloodshed yet to come.
In the war room—a hexagonal chamber lined with maps detailing every mountain, river, and village of the empire—Luo Wen studied a newly arrived document. The wax seal, now broken, bore the insignia of a pheasant, the crest of the House of Liang, one of the most influential feudal families in the north. The letter, filled with flowery language and empty pleasantries, pledged "eternal loyalty" to the throne. Predictable.
Jiang Yu, standing near a half-open window, let the cool night air brush against his face.
"Liang Hui is an old fox," he muttered. "He offers troops and supplies, but his spies are undoubtedly already spreading through our northern defenses."
Luo Wen didn't look up. With a thin brush, he drew a circle around Liang Hui's name and wrote beside it: "Appoint as Grand Marshal of the North. Order him to suppress the rebels in Pingyang."
Jiang Yu chuckled. "The rebels in Pingyang are his secret allies. If he attacks them, he weakens himself. If he refuses..."
"We declare him a traitor," Luo Wen finished, blowing softly to dry the ink. "A trap should always have two exits—both leading to the same abyss."
The first imperial messenger was already on horseback, carrying Luo Wen's orders into the night.