Afternoon!

Xia Chen lingered in camp, skipping the usual street patrols.

Whispers from every corner signaled the promotion edict was nigh.

He held a military tome, poring over it intently.

This work, Nine Yang Military Strategy, penned by a famed strategist of this world, was a must-read for any student of Military Strategy. Not Xia Chen’s first dive—even he had

to nod at its profound insights.

“Sir!”

A call broke from the door.

“Come!”

Xia Chen kept his eyes on the book, unflinching.

Li Xi stepped in, gaze landing on Xia Chen at the desk—entranced.

What a refined figure, peerless in grace!

Xia Chen cradled the tome, armor shed for simple robes. His raven hair, pinned up casually, flowed with an easy, celestial air.

“What’s up?”

Xia Chen’s voice stayed even, face unruffled.

“The Leader of Court Gentlemen wants you—good news, likely!”

Li Xi bowed his head, not daring to linger his gaze—this seventh-rank commander seemed poised to ascend, too ethereal for this world.

“Got it—off you go!”

Xia Chen waved, emotions flat.

The closer the stakes, the calmer his mind—no clutter.

Li Xi left; Xia Chen rose, tidying his look—robes, hair.

Then he ambled toward Li Wenzhong’s tent.

Entering, he saw Li Wenzhong at his desk, engrossed in a military scroll—coincidentally, the same as Xia Chen’s: Nine Yang Military Strategy!

“Military Strategy states: A general must calm the heart to craft strategy, steel the qi to discipline the ranks.”

Li Wenzhong spoke first, before Xia Chen could.

“As a leader, keep your heart clear and calm to shape plans, your qi firm to order the troops.”

Xia Chen answered instantly—no pause.

It was Nine Yang Military Strategy’s opening line.

“A general, no matter joy or grief, must stay stone-cold rational, unshaken. You’ve got that steel—worthy of the Xia clan’s storied generals!”

Li Wenzhong set down Nine Yang Military Strategy, beaming with praise.

Amid the capital’s uproar these days, Xia Chen never pestered him—never asked how it unfolded or what he’d score. That poise? No seventeen-year-old’s—more a seasoned politico’s.

“I trust you, sir. Handed it over—now I just wait.”

Xia Chen smiled—steady, poised, brimming with quiet confidence.

“Call me Uncle Li in private, I said!”

Li Wenzhong waved him to sit.

“Curious about your reward?”

“Commandant Qin said this morning it’s likely a bump—taking his spot as Commandant, while he tails you to Dragon Martial Guard.”

Xia Chen replied coolly.

“That was the brass’s merit plan—but things shifted!”

Xia Chen’s brow creased—an upset?

As he mulled, Li Wenzhong pressed on.

“Qin Mu and I are set for Dragon Martial Guard—it’s you!”

“Me?”

Xia Chen eyed him, startled. He’d braced for Li Wenzhong’s generalship snag—not himself.

“You were slated for Commandant, but… His Majesty stepped in!”

Li Wenzhong gave him a deep look.

“His Majesty?”

Light danced in Xia Chen’s eyes—Emperor Wen meddling in his Commandant post?

“Don’t fret—He didn’t nix it, just said no rush for you. Young blood needs tempering!”

Li Wenzhong sipped tea, chuckling—finally, a ripple on this kid’s cool facade, less the steely elder he outdid.

“Good news—countless officials, yet few catch His Majesty’s eye.”

He clapped Xia Chen’s shoulder.

“Pack up—join me to the palace soon!”

“Palace?”

“His Majesty wants you in person!”

Li Wenzhong’s tone grew grave.

These years, Emperor Wen rarely held court—most glimpsed him at the yearly grand assembly.

Affairs ran through cabinet Senior Officials, decrees issued post-huddle.

Now, summoning Xia Chen himself—signaling what? Favor or purpose?

Li Wenzhong couldn’t fathom the imperial mind.

“Understood!”

Xia Chen inhaled, steadying himself. Palace it was—with merit and Imperial Son-in-Law status, Emperor Wen wouldn’t eat him alive, right?

…

Half an hour later!

Li Wenzhong and Xia Chen boarded a carriage, rolling toward the inner city’s heart.

“Fifty-plus years ruling, His Majesty shunned women most of it—two decades on Buddhism, one on Daoism. Ministers begged—no heirs, no dynasty—so came the Crown

Prince, Second Princess, Third Prince.

“Post-kids, he softened some, but these last ten years, he’s grown unfathomable—no one reads him. Face him with a blank slate—understand?”

In the carriage, Li Wenzhong whispered warnings, laying out palace dos and don’ts.

Xia Chen nodded—Emperor Wen’s image sharpened a touch.

Rise and fall by the same hand.

Fifty years, Dawu swelled under Emperor Wen—war wins piled high.

Thirty-six years back, the Huaiyang War nearly crushed Dafeng.

Over twenty years ago, the South Border War pushed Dawu’s edge hundreds of li south.

Now, the East Wilderness demon clash neared its close.

Dawu loomed over all, cowing Daqing, Dafeng, eastern demons, southern barbarians.

Yet endless wars squeezed the people—internal rifts cut deep.

“Today’s Dawu reigns supreme, but teeters on collapse. Without an empress rising, five years hence, that coup would shatter it—glory to ruin!”

In the carriage, Xia Chen wove present and future threads.

Soon, it halted before a towering, majestic wall.

Li Wenzhong and Xia Chen opened their eyes in unison—the palace loomed before them!