Jiang Yan reclined lazily on a jade couch, his voluminous robes spilling over the edges. A wolf-tooth stone brooch glinted in his hand, its reflected light flickering bright yet indifferent in his eyes.
A group of courtesans approached, their faces painted with practiced smiles. One gently tugged at his sleeve, her waist swaying as she pressed close. "Your Highness, must you dwell on memorials and stones? Let this humble one entertain you with the *Dance of the Swift Swan*—you've always adored it." Her coyness was a calculated ploy, her painted lips brushing his shoulder like a cool, teasing breeze.
Jiang Yan waved her off, peeling a lychee from the fruit tray a courtesan held. Shifting sideways, he gestured for two others to kneel and massage his feet. The lead dancer, sensing his disinterest, stepped back and began singing *Butterflies Love Flowers*, her sleeves fluttering like ripples on water. Jiang Yan offered her a fleeting smile before turning back to the brooch.
When the song ended, he clapped once. "Splendid!" On a whim, he dismissed the attendants, leaving only the courtesans. A chessboard of pearwood lay before him, flanked by boxes of black and white jade pieces. "Gather round. See this game?"
The women tensed, gripping their skirts. Jiang Yan, however, offered a gentle smile. He blindfolded each, guiding their trembling hands to place pieces. "No fear," he murmured. "Trust your instincts." The lead courtesan swallowed hard, dropping a white stone at random. Jiang Yan adjusted its position with care.
Another placed a black piece, her sweat-damp palm steadied by his. Gradually, the women relaxed, giddy at the prince's touch, their minds spinning tales of royal favor. One bold courtesan leaned close enough to share his breath. "My lord," she purred, "who wins this game?"
Jiang Yan merely chuckled, tousling her hair. Hours later, he halted the game. A blue-robed woman had formed an unbroken line of five stones. "Remove the blindfolds," he ordered. "What prize does victory bring?" she dared ask.
Back turned, Jiang Yan replied, "If white wins, execute He Chang, magistrate of Rongcheng. If black, behead An Bi, prefect of Dianxi."
Two sharp screams pierced the air, followed by dead silence.
"Dismissed. Each player receives a hundred taels of silver." The courtesans fled, trembling.
Alone, Jiang Yan scooped up the scattered stones, eyes narrowed. A steward entered, collecting the board and a ledger marked with vermilion checks. "They laughed and sang well enough," Jiang Yan mused, "until death entered the game." Rising abruptly, he locked eyes with the steward. "Imagine if power could be won through song and dance—how absurd." Unlike Bai Changming's icy composure, Jiang Yan wore his ambitions openly. Yet he never forgot: he was royalty, the embodiment of the realm's authority, the hand that wields its blade.
"The courtesans know little beyond their art. Your Highness need not heed their frailty," the steward offered, replacing the fruit tray with memorials.
Jiang Yan tapped the empty board. "In this game, everyone is a piece. The court demands order, stability, eternity. Yet victory or ruin..." He smirked. "...hinges on a ruler's whim. *That* is power."
Catching himself, he fell silent. The steward kowtowed, swearing deafness.
Gazing upward, Jiang Yan palmed a chess piece, mind drifting to the throne—a seductive enigma, stoking his hunger to conquer. To claim it, he would need a far grander board.
Elsewhere, Bai Changming sneezed abruptly, his robes clutched tight against a chill creeping into his bones.