At thirteen years old, Ji Xuanyue discovered that painters were permitted to lie so long as they did so beautifully.
"Your chin, Your Highness."
"My chin is where it has always been."
"It has moved."
"I breathed."
Master Painter Cao Yulan lowered her brush.
She was a small woman with silver-rimmed spectacles and enough authority within her studio to make ministers remove their shoes before entering. Her dark-red robe bore stains in seven colours. A narrow streak of blue crossed one cheek where she had apparently forgotten that her fingers contained paint.
"Breathing is permitted," she said. "Movement is not."
Xuanyue sat upon a carved chair before an open screen overlooking Jade Crescent Palace's winter garden.
She had been sitting there since shortly after sunrise.
During that time, she had been permitted to breathe, blink, and answer exactly three questions.
She had not been permitted to scratch her nose.
The formal robe selected for the portrait was white and pale lavender, embroidered with silver crescents along the sleeves. A moonstone clasp held the outer layer against one shoulder. Her hair had been arranged beneath a light ceremonial crown that seemed designed to prove metal could become heavier through symbolism.
Meiyu sat behind the painter's shoulder eating candied walnuts.
She had been forbidden from commenting.
This had not stopped her.
"Your chin moved again," Meiyu said.
Xuanyue looked at her.
Painter Cao tapped the handle of her brush against the palette.
"Eyes forward."
"My eyes did not move."
"They became hostile."
"I am sitting beneath a crown that weighs more than Lin Bo's tool chest."
"The crown is elegant."
"The tool chest has handles."
Meiyu bit into another walnut.
"Perhaps the crown should have handles."
Painter Cao considered the suggestion.
Xuanyue became alarmed.
"No."
"It might improve the composition."
"It would improve carrying it."
"Your Highness," Painter Cao said, "the purpose of a ceremonial crown is not convenience."
"That appears to be the purpose of most ceremonial objects."
Painter Cao resumed painting.
Xuanyue returned her gaze to the point she had been instructed to observe: a white plum tree near the garden wall.
Only three flowers remained upon its upper branches.
She had counted them forty-six times.
The portrait had been commissioned for the Gallery of Young Heirs, a diplomatic collection maintained within the palace before the Concord of Nine Thrones.
Every kingdom attending the gathering contributed formal likenesses of the royal children who might one day represent their dynasties. The paintings remained within each participating court rather than being sent abroad, but copies of their written descriptions—age, titles, education, cultivation, and ceremonial standing—were exchanged before the delegations arrived.
Master Wen had called this practical diplomacy.
Xuanyue had called it arranging children upon paper like items in a merchant catalogue.
Master Wen had replied that merchant catalogues were generally more honest about their purpose.
"Why am I holding a book?" Xuanyue asked.
Painter Cao did not look away from the canvas.
"Because you are educated."
"I am not reading it."
"If you look down, I must repaint your eyes."
"It is upside down."
The painter paused.
Meiyu leaned around the canvas.
"It is."
Painter Cao examined the book resting in Xuanyue's hands.
She turned it.
"There."
"Now I am more educated?"
"Considerably."
Xuanyue looked toward the plum tree again.
She had entered Greater Awakened near the end of winter.
It had taken longer than the instructors at the Hall of First Light originally predicted.
Meiyu had reached the same stage months earlier and had since developed enough control to move through short bursts of wind without tripping over her own robes more than half the time.
Xuanyue's cultivation remained less direct.
After Moonwell Academy, Instructor Luo had sent a series of breathing exercises to Yunjing. None required Xuanyue to reject the affinities pressing against her awareness. Instead, she learned to recognize each current and allow it to pass without following.
Water flowed.
Wind moved.
Warmth gathered.
Stone remained.
Wood drank.
Metal conducted.
She did not have to answer every presence merely because she perceived it.
This had proven useful for cultivation.
It had also proven useful for surviving portraits.
Xuanyue slowed her breathing.
The winter garden entered her awareness.
Cold air crossed the open screen.
Water rested beneath a thin layer of ice within the courtyard pond.
Earth energy slept under the frost.
The plum tree's roots gathered what little warmth remained below the soil.
Pigments upon Painter Cao's palette carried faint traces of minerals, plants, ground shells, and treated ash.
Each colour possessed its own weight.
Xuanyue allowed them all to exist without leaning toward any.
Her shoulders relaxed.
The crown became no lighter.
It became less important.
Painter Cao's brush moved more quickly.
Meiyu stopped chewing.
For nearly ten minutes, the studio remained peaceful.
Then a candied walnut rolled from Meiyu's fingers.
It crossed the polished floor.
Xuanyue watched it pass beneath the painter's stool.
Painter Cao did not turn.
"Lady Qiao."
"I did nothing."
"The walnut disagrees."
"It escaped."
"Retrieve it."
"If I move, I may disturb the composition."
"You are not in the composition."
"That seems exclusionary."
Xuanyue smiled.
Painter Cao looked up sharply.
"Do not lose that."
"Lose what?"
"The expression."
The painter's brush moved.
Xuanyue attempted to stop smiling.
"Do not change it," Cao said.
"I thought I was meant to remain solemn."
"You were."
"Then why—"
"Your Highness, please permit me to recognize an improvement when it occurs."
Meiyu covered her mouth.
The walnut remained beneath the stool.
When the sitting finally ended, two attendants removed Xuanyue's ceremonial crown.
The relief was so immediate that she felt several inches taller.
She stood and stretched both arms above her head.
Painter Cao made a distressed sound.
"The sleeves."
"They survived."
"They are creased."
"Then the portrait will preserve them before tragedy."
Xuanyue stepped around the canvas.
Painter Cao blocked her path.
"No."
"It is my face."
"It is unfinished."
"I have seen my face before."
"Not this one."
Xuanyue looked at her.
Painter Cao adjusted her spectacles.
"A portrait is not a mirror, Your Highness."
"Then what is it?"
"What someone decides deserves to remain."
The answer quieted her.
Behind the painter, only one edge of the canvas was visible.
Lavender cloth.
A silver crescent.
The suggestion of a winter garden.
Xuanyue looked down at the book she had held for most of the morning.
It was a collection of legal commentaries Master Wen had selected for appearance rather than reading.
No notes marked its margins.
No folded paper rested between its pages.
It contained none of the poems she disliked, maps she had altered, or questions she had written beside statements adults considered complete.
"Will it look like me?" she asked.
Painter Cao glanced toward the canvas.
"It will look like what the court believes you should be."
"That was not my question."
The painter's mouth shifted.
"No," she said. "It was not."
Meiyu retrieved the walnut at last.
"Will it look more like her than the statue in the eastern hall?"
"That statue was carved when she was four," Painter Cao said.
"It has never resembled her."
"It resembles a very serious dumpling," Xuanyue said.
Painter Cao looked offended on behalf of another artist.
"The sculptor was respected."
"The dumpling is also respected."
The painter waved them toward the door.
"Leave before I remove the smile."
They left.
Outside the studio, the palace had become unusually crowded.
Servants carried winter branches and silk banners through the covered galleries. Officials crossed between halls with sealed tablets. Guards inspected the southern courtyards, where visiting delegations would arrive before the evening reception.
The first diplomatic gathering of the winter season was not large by royal standards.
Only seven foreign parties were expected.
Master Wen had informed Xuanyue that calling seven delegations small revealed an unhealthy familiarity with court excess.
She had reminded him that the Concord of Nine Thrones would host nine ruling houses, their allied sects, foreign envoys, Realmfarers, and observers from several neighboring Realms.
He had replied that this was precisely why she required practice.
Xuanyue and Meiyu crossed toward the princess's chambers to change clothes.
"How long did you smile?" Meiyu asked.
"I do not know."
"Painter Cao looked frightened."
"She said it improved the portrait."
"That frightened her more."
An attendant opened the chamber doors.
Three court robes waited upon standing frames.
The first was blue and silver.
The second was white and gold.
The third was pale violet with narrow black embroidery along the hem.
Meiyu walked around them.
"Which one?"
"The lightest."
"That is not how ceremonial clothing is selected."
"It should be."
Queen Lanyin entered through the adjoining room.
She wore deep blue, the colour embroidered with silver reeds and small white flowers. Her hair had been arranged with the same jade pin she favoured in private, though two additional ornaments marked the evening as formal.
"The violet," she said.
Xuanyue examined it.
"Is it the lightest?"
"No."
"Then I oppose it."
"You may oppose it while wearing it."
Meiyu bowed to the queen.
Lanyin's gaze moved toward the candied sugar on her fingers.
Meiyu hid both hands behind her back.
"Painter Cao permitted food in the studio?"
"She did not prevent it."
"That is a creative distinction."
Xuanyue stepped behind the dressing screen.
Attendants helped her remove the heavy portrait robes.
"What is tonight meant to teach me?" she asked.
Her mother sat near the window.
"That depends upon what you fail to notice."
"That is not very encouraging."
"You already know how to greet guests, remember names, exchange formal gifts, and avoid insulting foreign rulers."
"I have never insulted a foreign ruler."
"You once asked the Molan ambassador whether his ceremonial hat was intended to frighten birds."
"It had feathers taller than Meiyu."
"The feathers represented six ancestral victories."
"Did the ancestors fight birds?"
Meiyu laughed behind one hand.
Lanyin waited.
Xuanyue emerged wearing the first layer of violet robes.
"I apologized."
"You asked whether the birds had accepted."
"I was eight."
"You were persistent."
The attendants secured the dark embroidered belt around her waist.
"What am I supposed to notice?" Xuanyue asked.
"Who speaks when they possess nothing to add. Who remains silent despite knowing more than everyone else. Who watches the king. Who watches the doors. Who looks at the gifts before the people carrying them."
"That is many things."
"Yes."
"Will you tell me whether I am correct?"
"Afterward."
Xuanyue regarded her mother suspiciously.
"This is another examination no one admits is an examination."
"The court is largely composed of those."
Meiyu selected a silver pin from the dressing table.
"Where should this go?"
One attendant reached for it.
Meiyu placed it incorrectly before she could intervene.
Xuanyue looked into the polished bronze mirror.
The pin sat above her left ear at an angle.
"It looks fine."
"It does not," the attendant said.
"That means it will remain."
The woman looked toward the queen.
Lanyin studied the result.
"Move it slightly lower."
Meiyu adjusted it.
The attendant surrendered.
When preparations were complete, Xuanyue stood before the mirror.
The violet robe made her appear older.
Not greatly.
Enough that she looked less like the child who had climbed the eastern wall and more like the princess officials expected to find inside Jade Crescent Palace.
Her face had begun to lose the softness of early childhood. Her hair fell almost to her waist. The moonstone clasp at her shoulder caught the light whenever she moved.
Painter Cao had spent the morning deciding what deserved to remain.
The mirror returned everything without deciding.
Xuanyue turned away.
The reception took place in the Hall of River Stars.
Its western wall opened toward a series of terraces descending to the Luoshui. Winter lanterns hung beneath the eaves, each made of pale-blue glass rather than paper. Musicians played near the water with guqin, flutes, and low bronze bells.
King Mingyuan stood at the head of the receiving line.
He wore formal black and silver.
Xuanyue had once heard a visiting noble describe him as austere.
At breakfast that morning, he had lost an argument with a jar of plum preserves.
The lid had remained closed until Lanyin opened it.
"A princess should not smile during every introduction," he told Xuanyue before the first delegation arrived.
"How many introductions may include smiling?"
"Use judgment."
"That is not measurable."
"It is very measurable when used badly."
"Did Mother tell you to say that?"
"No."
Lanyin joined them.
"Yes."
The first delegation came from the Hengshan Realm.
Xuanyue remembered her father's descriptions of its mountain cities carved above the clouds. Its ambassador was an elderly human woman accompanied by two dwarven engineers whose clan maintained several Realm Passage foundations.
Both dwarves were shorter than Xuanyue and possessed braided beards decorated with copper rings.
Meiyu had been warned not to ask whether dwarven women grew beards.
She had written the question in a note and passed it to Xuanyue instead.
Xuanyue folded the note without reading it aloud.
The engineers presented a model of a suspension bridge made from dark metal and stone.
Mingyuan examined the joints.
"Does it function?"
The older dwarf looked offended.
"It is a bridge."
"It is small."
"It remains a bridge."
Xuanyue liked him.
The second delegation represented the Suyin Realm.
Arelis Vaen was not among them, but the envoys brought sheets of forest glass from Elethar, including one panel that shifted from green to silver beneath moonlight.
Xuanyue asked whether the glassmaker who had visited Shuangliu still travelled.
The envoy knew her name.
"She returned to Suyin last spring. Her grandmother declared seven years sufficient evidence of unsound judgment."
"Did she agree?"
"No."
"Then she will travel again."
The envoy smiled.
"Almost certainly."
Other delegations followed.
A maritime principality sent preserved flowers that opened only beneath saltwater.
A northern kingdom presented white fox-fur cloaks treated to repel snow without harming the animals that shed them.
A sect from a nearby Realm offered three sealed manuals on water-channel maintenance after hearing of Lanyue's irrigation reforms.
Xuanyue noticed who looked at the gifts first.
More people did than she expected.
The sixth delegation arrived shortly before sunset.
The herald struck the floor with his staff.
"Envoys of the Great Cangyuan Empire, guardians of the Eastern Passage, heirs to the Dragon-Crowned Throne, servants of His Radiant Majesty Wei Tiancheng, Dragon Sovereign of Cangyuan."
The Hall changed.
Not visibly.
Conversation softened.
Several visiting envoys straightened.
One of the Hengshan engineers stopped examining the bridge model and looked toward the entrance.
The Cangyuan delegation entered beneath black-and-gold banners.
A dragon had been embroidered across each one.
Not the long, slender dragons Xuanyue had seen in old temple paintings. This creature possessed a broad chest, four powerful legs, a crown of horns, and wings folded behind its back.
The lead ambassador wore a dark imperial robe patterned with golden scales.
He was followed by six officials, eight guards, and a young man carrying a lacquered chest.
The guards were stronger than those accompanying the other delegations.
Xuanyue could not judge their exact cultivation, but their steps carried the controlled weight of Incarnate cultivators.
A pressure moved with them.
Faint.
Draconic.
She did not know the word for it yet.
It reminded her of standing near a large predator separated by a wall one could not see.
The ambassador bowed to King Mingyuan.
Not deeply.
"His Majesty the Dragon Sovereign sends health and prosperity to Lanyue Kingdom."
Mingyuan returned the greeting with exact courtesy.
"Lanyue receives His Majesty's wishes with gratitude."
The ambassador gestured.
The lacquered chest was brought forward and opened.
Inside rested a single dark-blue scale.
It was longer than Xuanyue's hand and edged in silver.
Energy moved faintly across its surface.
Several people in the hall drew quiet breaths.
"A scale freely shed by Lord Cangzhen, Guardian Dragon King of the imperial line," the ambassador said. "It is offered as proof of the friendship between Cangyuan and Lanyue before the coming Concord."
Mingyuan's expression did not change.
"The gift honors our hall."
The chest was carried toward the royal table.
Xuanyue watched the scale.
It was the first object connected to a dragon she had ever seen.
Stories of dragons existed throughout Yunluo. Some described wise guardians of rivers and mountains. Others described tyrants demanding tribute from entire provinces. Temple carvings gave them antlers, serpentine bodies, feathered wings, lion manes, or scales bright enough to blind armies.
The Cangyuan dragons were not stories.
Their pact had protected the empire for centuries.
No neighboring kingdom had dared threaten Cangyuan directly since the last recorded draconic intervention.
Xuanyue had expected the scale to feel larger.
Not physically.
More complete.
Instead, its energy seemed powerful but narrow, shaped around a single old lineage.
She wondered whether the thought was disrespectful.
The ambassador turned toward her.
"Princess Ji Xuanyue."
She inclined her head.
"Ambassador."
"I have heard of Your Highness's unusual First Resonance and your accomplishments at Moonwell Academy."
Xuanyue wondered which version of Moonwell he had heard.
The one involving a damaged regulator seemed likely.
The one involving her redirecting the entire Spiritual Vein with one hand seemed more likely still.
"Moonwell's instructors accomplished considerably more than I did."
"A gracious answer."
"It is also accurate."
The ambassador studied her.
Not rudely.
Long enough that Xuanyue became aware of the hall observing them.
"His Imperial Highness the Crown Prince also attends the Concord next year," he said. "As the Future Dragon Sovereign, he has taken particular interest in meeting the heirs of neighboring kingdoms."
Xuanyue glanced toward her father.
Only briefly.
The title had appeared in the written notices.
Hearing it spoken aloud felt different.
Future Dragon Sovereign.
The words seemed too large for an heir who had not yet inherited even an ordinary throne.
"I look forward to meeting every delegation attending Tianjing," Xuanyue said.
The ambassador's smile was polite.
"Of course."
He stepped aside.
The remaining formalities continued.
The final delegation entered.
Music resumed.
Conversation rose.
Yet the Cangyuan banners remained the most noticed objects in the hall.
During the gift viewing, nobles gathered around the dragon scale without approaching too closely. The lacquered chest rested upon a stone table inside a temporary protective formation.
Meiyu stood beside Xuanyue.
"It is smaller than I imagined," she whispered.
"The dragon?"
"The scale."
"How large did you imagine one scale?"
Meiyu held both hands apart.
Xuanyue stared.
"Then the dragon would not fit through the Hall."
"It would use another entrance."
"The river terraces?"
"The roof."
Commander Han stood several paces away.
"No."
Neither girl had addressed him.
Meiyu lowered her hands.
The Hengshan engineer approached the formation.
He adjusted one copper ring in his beard.
"Respectable density," he said.
The Cangyuan chest-bearer looked displeased.
"Lord Cangzhen is a Dragon King."
"I heard the announcement."
"You speak as though examining a bridge support."
"I understand bridge supports."
The young Cangyuan official stepped closer.
"You do not understand dragons."
The dwarf looked toward the scale again.
"No," he said. "That is why I did not pretend otherwise."
Xuanyue felt Meiyu's sleeve shake with restrained laughter.
The Cangyuan official left.
The engineer leaned toward Xuanyue.
"Good metalworking on the chest."
"That was what interested you?"
"The scale is not for building."
He walked away.
Xuanyue's mother appeared beside them.
"What did you notice?" Lanyin asked.
"The dwarf prefers the chest."
"Before that."
Xuanyue considered the reception.
"The Cangyuan guards watched the king and the exits."
"Good."
"The ambassador watched Father when the scale was opened."
"And?"
"He expected surprise."
"Did he receive it?"
"Not from Father."
Lanyin's eyes moved toward Mingyuan.
He stood speaking with the Suyin delegation and appeared no more concerned than he had while discussing forest glass.
"What else?" her mother asked.
"The other envoys became quieter when Cangyuan entered."
"Why?"
"They fear the dragons."
"Do you?"
Xuanyue looked at the scale.
"I have never met one."
"That was not my question."
She thought more carefully.
"I fear what everyone believes they might do."
Lanyin nodded.
"That distinction will matter."
Before Xuanyue could ask how, a court attendant announced that the banquet would begin.
The guests entered the inner hall according to rank.
Cangyuan's delegation had requested the foremost position among foreign envoys.
The request had been delivered politely.
It had also cited the dignity of the Dragon Sovereign three times.
Mingyuan resolved the issue by placing every foreign delegation according to the age of its alliance with Lanyue rather than present military power.
Cangyuan received the fourth table.
Its ambassador accepted this with a smile that did not reach his eyes.
The Hengshan delegation received the first table.
The dwarven engineers appeared unaware that anyone cared.
Xuanyue sat below her parents at the royal table.
Meiyu joined the younger court companions nearby.
The banquet opened with nine courses representing the trade routes connecting Lanyue to nearby kingdoms and Realms.
Master Wen had made Xuanyue memorize every dish's origin.
The first came from Qinghe Valley.
The second used Suyin forest herbs.
The third included Hengshan stone mushrooms, which were neither stone nor particularly pleasant.
Xuanyue ate one.
It resisted.
Meiyu watched from the neighboring table.
Xuanyue attempted to swallow without revealing conflict.
The mushroom won temporarily.
Her father reached for his cup to conceal a smile.
The formal toasts began.
Each delegation offered words concerning peace, prosperity, ancient friendship, trade, cultural exchange, and the importance of future cooperation.
Some speakers meant them.
Others delivered the phrases with the precision of people placing objects back into familiar boxes.
The Cangyuan ambassador rose last.
He lifted a gold cup.
"To the peace secured beneath worthy strength," he said. "To the ancient protection of dragons. To His Majesty Wei Tiancheng, Dragon Sovereign of Cangyuan, and to His Imperial Highness Wei Zhaorong, the Future Dragon Sovereign, under whose coming reign the bonds between our nations shall only deepen."
The hall drank.
Xuanyue touched the cup to her lips.
She did not drink immediately.
The toast had not threatened anyone.
Nothing within it violated diplomatic courtesy.
Still, the final phrase felt less like a hope than a conclusion already reached.
Under whose coming reign.
Not if he inherited.
Not when the kingdoms chose cooperation.
His reign existed in the ambassador's words as an event toward which everyone else's future naturally moved.
Xuanyue drank.
The musicians began the next piece.
Conversation returned.
Later, the younger guests were invited into the Moon Gallery.
The adults remained in the banquet hall negotiating tariffs, passage rights, academic exchanges, mineral purchases, and matters everyone described as preliminary despite arguing over them for hours.
The Moon Gallery had been prepared for less formal entertainment.
Low tables held sweets and fruit. Painted screens divided spaces for board games, calligraphy, music, and conversation. An open terrace overlooked the winter river.
Xuanyue was expected to host.
This appeared to mean that whenever a conversation became uncomfortable, everyone looked at her.
The young guests included children of ambassadors, junior sect heirs, noble relatives, and several attendants near her age.
Most were between twelve and sixteen.
They had been instructed by their families to make useful friendships.
The instruction was visible.
A boy from the maritime principality complimented Xuanyue's cultivation before asking whether Lanyue intended to expand its southern docks.
A sect elder's granddaughter praised Meiyu's hairpin and immediately requested an introduction to Queen Lanyin's personal formation adviser.
One visiting noble asked Lin Bo whether his father supplied furniture to the palace.
Lin Bo answered that his father repaired roofs.
The noble lost interest.
Xuanyue noticed.
Lin Bo noticed her noticing.
He shook his head slightly.
Do not interfere.
She understood.
Being dismissed was unpleasant.
Being rescued by a princess in front of the person dismissing him might be worse.
Instead, Xuanyue asked Lin Bo to join a strategy game at the central table.
Meiyu joined.
So did Zhao Yuxin, who had travelled from Red Furnace Estate with her family.
The maritime prince followed because Xuanyue had moved.
The noble who had dismissed Lin Bo followed because the maritime prince moved.
Soon eight people sat around the board.
The game was called Nine Rivers.
Each player controlled stones representing villages, markets, bridges, and boats. The objective was to build the most prosperous network before winter closed the mountain passes.
Meiyu disliked it because wind could not be used to move the pieces.
Lin Bo liked it because bridges mattered.
Zhao Yuxin attempted to control every fire-resource tile.
The maritime prince blockaded the central river.
Xuanyue built too many roads.
"You have no grain," Meiyu said.
"I have excellent roads."
"To transport what?"
"Future grain."
"Winter begins in three turns."
"The roads will remain."
"Your people will not."
Xuanyue looked at the board.
Meiyu took one of her market tiles.
"That was mine."
"It had no food."
"You cannot annex a market because it lacks food."
"I can in Nine Rivers."
"This game encourages terrible government."
Zhao Yuxin moved a fire-stone toward the mountain pass.
"The rules permit it."
"The rules were written by someone who owned grain."
Lin Bo completed a bridge connecting two neglected villages.
His score increased.
The visiting noble leaned forward.
"You could have taken the eastern market."
"The villages needed the bridge."
"The market is worth more."
"Not without a road."
The boy examined the board.
Lin Bo won six turns later.
Meiyu accused him of secretly practising.
He had never played before.
"That is worse," she said.
The young Cangyuan chest-bearer stood near the terrace doors watching them.
He had not joined any game.
Up close, Xuanyue saw that he was perhaps fifteen. His formal robe bore the imperial dragon upon one shoulder but no sign of royal blood.
She approached.
"Do you dislike Nine Rivers?"
He bowed.
"Your Highness."
"That did not answer the question."
"I do not know the game."
"Neither did Lin Bo. He defeated us."
Lin Bo looked toward them.
The Cangyuan youth's eyes moved briefly over his plain robes.
"I do not think I would find it challenging."
Xuanyue looked at the board.
"You could attempt it."
"I am here in service to the imperial delegation."
"So are several others."
"My responsibility is greater."
"What is your responsibility?"
He glanced toward the banquet hall.
"To observe."
Her mother's lesson returned.
Who watches the king.
Who watches the doors.
Who looks at gifts before people.
"What are you observing?" Xuanyue asked.
He seemed surprised by the question.
"The conduct of foreign courts."
"For whom?"
"The Crown Prince."
The Future Dragon Sovereign.
"What does he wish to know?"
"What is worthy of his attention."
The answer was delivered without arrogance.
That made it stranger.
As though worthiness existed not as a quality, but as something the prince personally granted by noticing.
Xuanyue looked toward the game table.
Lin Bo was explaining the bridge rule to the noble who had dismissed him.
Meiyu was stealing sweets from Zhao Yuxin's plate.
The maritime prince had begun constructing a new blockade despite no longer playing.
"Does he decide before meeting people?" Xuanyue asked.
The Cangyuan youth hesitated.
"His Highness is an excellent judge."
"That was not my question."
A faint stiffness entered his posture.
"No," he said. "He does not decide before meeting them."
Xuanyue smiled politely.
"Then you should play."
He looked toward Nine Rivers.
"I am observing."
"You might observe more closely from the table."
He did not accept.
He remained near the doors until an older Cangyuan official summoned him.
Meiyu approached once he had gone.
"He was unpleasant."
"He was careful."
"That can be unpleasant."
"Frequently."
They returned to the table.
Music began near the western screens.
The young guests were expected to participate in a formal court dance before the evening ended.
Xuanyue had practised the sequence for three weeks.
Meiyu had practised for four and still turned in the wrong direction whenever bells followed the second flute.
"This is because the musicians lack consistency," she said.
"They play the same pattern every time."
"Exactly. They refuse to adapt."
The dancers arranged themselves in pairs and lines.
No romantic significance was attached to the performance. It represented the meeting of rivers beneath the moon, with each group crossing and separating according to the music.
Xuanyue entered with the central line.
The first movements were simple.
Three steps.
Turn.
Hands lifted.
Cross beneath the lanterns.
She had expected to feel observed.
She did.
Not as she had while sitting for Painter Cao.
In the studio, one woman had studied her face in order to preserve it.
Here, dozens of young nobles and attendants watched in order to decide what her face meant.
Some saw a princess.
Some saw a future alliance.
Some saw Exceptional Talent recorded in court notices.
Some saw the Moonwell story.
Some saw her parents' only daughter.
Xuanyue nearly missed the next turn.
Meiyu caught her sleeve and pulled her into place.
"Wrong direction," Meiyu whispered.
"You turned correctly."
"I know. It was disturbing."
They crossed the floor.
The music quickened.
Xuanyue stopped thinking about the watchers.
She followed the pattern.
Meiyu's wind affinity stirred the ends of their sleeves during the turns. Zhao Yuxin moved with sharp precision in the opposite line. Lin Bo appeared deeply concerned that the floorboards might fail beneath so many synchronized steps.
They did not.
The final movement brought every line beneath the central lantern.
The dancers bowed.
Applause followed.
Xuanyue was smiling again.
She wondered whether Painter Cao would have approved.
The reception ended near midnight.
Foreign delegations retired to their residences within the guest quarter. Officials remained awake to record every conversation that had supposedly been informal.
Xuanyue walked with her parents through the covered passage toward their private wing.
Meiyu had returned to the Qiao residence with her mother.
Commander Han followed at a discreet distance.
Winter air moved through the open arches.
"What did you notice?" Lanyin asked.
Xuanyue had known the question would come.
"The Cangyuan ambassador watched Father when the dragon scale was revealed."
"You said that before."
"He also watched where everyone was seated."
Mingyuan nodded.
"He objected?"
"Not aloud."
"Then he possesses better judgment than several previous ambassadors."
Xuanyue looked at her father.
"Why do they call their emperor Dragon Sovereign?"
Mingyuan and Lanyin exchanged a glance.
Not secretive.
Measuring.
Her father answered.
"The dynasty's founder was called the Dragon-Crowned Emperor."
"Because he befriended their Dragon King."
"Yes."
"Master Wen said the dragon protected him during the Ash Plains War."
"And afterward. The friendship became a defensive pact between the dragons and the empire."
Xuanyue thought of the scale.
"Was he a Sovereign?"
"No."
"Are any of them?"
"No."
"Then why use the title?"
The corridor continued beneath moonlight.
"The first emperors did not," Mingyuan said. "Later generations expanded their titles. Dragon-Crowned Emperor became Dragon-Guarded Emperor. Dragon-Guarded Emperor became Lord of the Dragon Throne. Eventually one called himself Dragon Sovereign."
"And everyone accepted it?"
"Cangyuan accepted it."
"Other kingdoms?"
"Titles are easier to tolerate than dragons are to challenge."
Xuanyue frowned.
The word Sovereign appeared in the oldest cultivation texts available within Lanyue.
Those writings were fragmented, contradictory, and treated almost as sacred mythology. They described a summit beyond Divine Ascendant, beyond every height modern cultivators could reach.
The few surviving passages disagreed on whether Sovereigns had been rulers, gods, embodiments of cosmic Law, or all three.
No confirmed Sovereign had appeared in Yunluo's recorded history.
Perhaps none had ever existed.
Still, the title carried the weight of something once believed possible.
"Do they know what it means?" she asked.
"They know the legends," Lanyin said.
"Then it is arrogant."
"Yes."
Mingyuan looked toward his wife.
"You could pretend to consider the question longer."
"She did not require uncertainty."
Xuanyue walked between them.
"What do the dragons think?"
"No one outside their territories knows," Mingyuan said.
"They have not appeared before the imperial court in generations. Cangyuan claims they recognize the title. The dragons have issued no public statement."
"Can dragons issue public statements?"
"Anything can issue a statement if enough scribes survive receiving it."
Xuanyue smiled.
"Are they commanded by the emperor?"
"The empire says so."
"That was not my question."
Her father glanced down at her.
"No," he said. "Not according to the oldest accounts."
"Then why does the empire say it?"
"Because no dragon has corrected them."
"That seems weak evidence."
"It has proven sufficient for several generations."
They entered the private moon garden.
No servants waited there.
The pond had frozen completely. Thin snow rested upon the stones.
Xuanyue stopped beside the covered pavilion.
"The ambassador mentioned the Crown Prince."
"We noticed," Lanyin said.
"He has observers deciding what deserves his attention."
Mingyuan's expression became less amused.
"Who told you that?"
"The young man carrying the chest."
"What precisely did he say?"
Xuanyue repeated the conversation.
Her parents listened without interrupting.
When she finished, her father looked toward the dark garden.
"Imperial courts teach their servants to shape every sentence around the ruler they serve."
"Lanyue does too."
"We attempt to teach them to shape sentences around truth."
"Do we succeed?"
"Occasionally."
Lanyin took Xuanyue's hand.
"Wei Zhaorong is seventeen."
Xuanyue looked at her.
Four years older.
"He has attended imperial councils since he was twelve," her mother continued. "He is known to be talented, politically active, and greatly favored by his father."
"Does he command the dragons?"
"No," Mingyuan said.
"Does he believe he does?"
Her father's silence lasted a fraction too long.
"We have never met him," he said.
Which was not an answer.
Xuanyue noticed.
She did not press.
Nothing the ambassador had done justified suspicion. Cangyuan was powerful. Powerful courts behaved as though attention were a resource they owned.
The empire had sent a valuable gift.
Its delegation had observed formal courtesy.
Its Crown Prince would attend the same gathering as every other heir.
There was nothing frightening in that.
Only arrogance.
Xuanyue had encountered arrogance before.
It often improved after falling into a pool.
"Will we attend the Concord?" she asked.
Her parents exchanged another glance.
This one contained amusement.
Mingyuan reached into his sleeve and removed a sealed letter.
The wax bore nine small crowns arranged around a circular city.
Xuanyue took it.
"The invitation arrived yesterday," he said.
She broke the seal.
The formal script announced that the next Concord of Nine Thrones would convene in Tianjing at the opening of spring.
King Ji Mingyuan, Queen Su Lanyin, and Princess Ji Xuanyue were invited as Lanyue Kingdom's royal delegation.
Xuanyue read the lines twice.
"Tianjing is outside Yunluo's inner kingdoms."
"Yes."
"We cross two Realm Passages."
"Yes."
"And the Bridge of Hanging Stars."
"If it remains open."
"And delegations come from nine thrones?"
"At least."
"Will there be Realmfarers?"
"Many."
"Elves?"
"Probably."
"Orcs?"
"Almost certainly."
"Glowing ocean merchants?"
Her father considered.
"That is less certain."
Xuanyue folded the invitation carefully.
"When do we leave?"
"In four months."
"That is too long."
"You have lessons."
"I can study while travelling."
"You become distracted by road signs."
"They contain information."
"You attempt to correct them."
"Some are inaccurate."
Lanyin took the invitation and returned it to its envelope.
"You will also need additional instruction in diplomatic protocol."
Xuanyue's excitement weakened slightly.
"How much?"
"Enough that you will miss Painter Cao."
"That is impossible."
Her mother smiled.
The following morning, Xuanyue returned to the portrait studio.
Painter Cao had worked through most of the night.
The canvas stood beneath a cloth near the open screen.
Sunlight touched the edge of the frame.
"Is it finished?" Xuanyue asked.
"Nearly."
"Then why am I here?"
"The hands."
Xuanyue looked down at her hands.
"They remain attached."
Painter Cao removed the cloth.
Xuanyue saw herself.
Not exactly.
The girl upon the canvas sat beneath winter plum branches wearing white and lavender robes. A silver crescent rested at her shoulder. One hand held the legal commentary correctly oriented.
The other did not rest demurely in her lap as instructed.
Painter Cao had painted it touching the book's upper corner, one finger caught between the pages as though she had been interrupted while turning them.
The formal crown gleamed above her dark hair.
Her posture was composed.
Her face was not solemn.
A small smile remained at the corner of her mouth.
It was the expression that had appeared when Meiyu's walnut escaped.
The portrait looked royal enough for the Gallery of Young Heirs.
It also looked as though the princess might stand, set down the book, and climb through the painted garden if the viewer looked away.
Xuanyue stepped closer.
"You changed the hand."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"The first position was false."
"You arranged it."
"I corrected my error."
Xuanyue examined the painted face.
"Is this what the court believes I should be?"
Painter Cao cleaned one brush against a cloth.
"In part."
"And the rest?"
"What I believed deserved to remain."
Xuanyue looked toward her.
Painter Cao had removed the blue streak from her cheek.
A trace remained near her ear.
"Will people think I am like this?" Xuanyue asked.
"Some."
"What will the others think?"
"What they intended to think before seeing it."
"That makes the portrait useless."
"No."
Painter Cao adjusted her spectacles.
"It makes the portrait a portrait."
Meiyu entered carrying a paper bag of candied walnuts.
She stopped before the canvas.
For several moments, she said nothing.
Then:
"The crown needs handles."
Painter Cao closed her eyes.
Xuanyue laughed.
The painter reached for her brush.
"Hold that expression."
"No."
"Just one moment."
"You said it was finished."
"Nearly finished."
Meiyu offered Xuanyue a walnut.
Painter Cao pointed toward the door.
Both girls retreated before she reconsidered the portrait entirely.
The canvas was installed in the Gallery of Young Heirs three days later.
Xuanyue visited once.
Her likeness hung among portraits of royal children from Lanyue's allied courts.
Some stood beside swords.
Some held flowers.
One boy had been painted with a hunting hawk so large that it occupied more of the canvas than he did.
Each portrait presented a future carefully arranged by adults.
A warrior.
A scholar.
A gracious princess.
A disciplined heir.
A child carrying a kingdom before being old enough to understand its full weight.
Xuanyue's written plaque read:
Ji Xuanyue, Princess of Lanyue. Thirteen years of age. Greater Awakened. Exceptional Talent, provisional broad affinity classification. Student of the royal court and guest disciple of Moonwell Academy.
It was all true.
It was also very little.
The plaque did not mention the eastern wall.
The painted map beside her bed.
The glass leaf from Suyin.
The tiny wooden regulator Lin Bo had carved.
The pillow assassination.
Her mother's burned meditation pavilion.
The lantern wish upon the Luoshui.
Perhaps no gallery could contain a person.
Xuanyue left before the afternoon visitors arrived.
Four months remained before Tianjing.
She spent them studying diplomacy, Realm routes, court dances, neighboring histories, and the formal titles of rulers who had made those titles unnecessarily long.
She trained at dawn.
She attended petitions.
She wrote letters to Moonwell.
She argued with Master Wen.
She listened to Meiyu complain about dance practice.
At night, she opened maps of the road beyond Yunluo and traced the passages toward the neutral city where nine thrones would gather.
At thirteen, Ji Xuanyue believed the hardest part of being seen was remaining still long enough for someone to paint her.