Beyond the wall!

Sharply armored soldiers held the line; seeing Li Wenzhong’s carriage, two advanced.

“Dismount—carriages aren’t allowed inside!”

Li Wenzhong stepped down first, Xia Chen trailing.

“Lord Li!”

The soldiers snapped to a military salute upon spotting Li Wenzhong.

Dragon Martial Guards—word had raced through their ranks these past days: their Senior General might fall, replaced by this very Li Wenzhong.

“Hm! Check me—I’m headed in!”

Li Wenzhong nodded, spreading his arms. Even the Senior Grand Secretary got a frisk before entering.

Rules bent for no one.

“Lord, His Majesty’s edict came—you can head straight in!”

A soldier gave Li Wenzhong a cursory pat-down, then hastened to say.

Li Wenzhong dipped his head. Xia Chen, silent behind, observed.

If he read right, those bold “White Tiger Gate” characters atop the wall—five years hence, the coup erupted right here.

The Third Prince stormed through with an army, blood flooding the palace…

“This wall’s towering, laced with sorcerers’ spells. Crossbow squads line the top—without tens of thousands piling lives, breaching it’s a pipe dream.”

Xia Chen etched White Tiger Gate’s terrain into his mind. Beyond Kyoto, three camps—fifty thousand strong—guarded with the Imperial Guard.

Save imperial decree, none could muster them.

And those fifty thousand, no matter the chaos, couldn’t step into Kyoto—dooming any breach to an inside job.

“The Third Prince bribed the gate’s Commander—or he was his man all along!”

Xia Chen mused. Some Dragon Martial Guards leaned Third Prince—key intel.

Pondering, he followed Li Wenzhong and a guiding eunuch through layered palace arches.

Xia Chen shelved his thoughts, scanning the palace.

Glazed tiles gleamed under sunlight, stars fallen to rooftops.

Carved beams and painted eaves spun tales of ancient glory.

Palace lanterns swayed, shadows dancing through corridors—dreamlike.

Auspicious beasts crouched at ridge ends, guarding this grandeur, radiating royal majesty.

Eight centuries’ weight—every brick bore time’s mark, humbling all trespass.

“General Li, take the Imperial Son-in-Law in—that’s all you need!”

The lead eunuch, Eunuch Ma, all smiles, shed the haughty edge of outsiders—pure servant vibe.

“Hm!”

Li Wenzhong nodded, no extra pleasantries. A mere eunuch—soon he’d helm Dragon Martial Guard. Unless it was a Twelve Overseers chief, he cared little.

“Much obliged, Eunuch Ma!”

Xia Chen drew a silver ingot from his sleeve and pressed it into Eunuch Ma’s palm.

Eunuch Ma’s eyes flashed, but he snapped to, waving it off.

“All in a slave’s duty—how dare I take the Imperial Son-in-Law’s silver!”

Palace errand-runners were sharp—Eunuch Ma knew this young noble’s heft.

A typical Imperial Son-in-Law? Fine, no fuss. But from the Xia clan—and summoned by Emperor Wen himself? Beyond cabinet Senior Officials and court titans, rare souls got that call.

He’d not dare pocket Xia Chen’s silver.

“It’s His Majesty’s work, sure—but troubling you to wait so long? Just a trifle—buy some wine!”

Xia Chen smiled, no push. With a flick, he tucked the ingot into Eunuch Ma’s waistband, waved, and strode toward the hall.

Eunuch Ma felt the weight at his belt, staring at Xia Chen’s back—dazed.

Errand boy he was, no clout—court bigwigs never spared him this respect, never mind his wait or a coin.

Warmth lingered from Xia Chen’s silver. He exhaled, pocketing it, his gaze steadying.

…

“Your servant greets Your Majesty!”

Through a long corridor into a grand hall, before Xia Chen could take it in, Li Wenzhong yanked him to kneel.

“Rise!”

A wispy voice echoed—hard to pin its source.

Xia Chen glimpsed the hall’s expanse.

At its heart, an elder in a Daoist robe sat cross-legged, Buddhist beads dangling from his neck.

Graying hair, back to them—his face unseen.

This was Dawu’s master—Emperor Wen!

“Here’s the Dragon Martial Guard token—take it. Start tomorrow!”

Emperor Wen faced away, half-meditating, half-zenning.

An odd aura swirled—Xia Chen glimpsed a faint, dozens-meter-long golden dragon flicker over Emperor Wen.

Illusory, not yet born.

“Destiny’s golden dragon? Timing off, Dawu’s might short, or Emperor Wen’s own limit?”

As Xia Chen pondered, Li Wenzhong dropped to his knees, voice trembling with zeal.

“Your servant thanks Your Majesty—never to fail Your trust!”

“Go!”

Emperor Wen waved, a ninth-heaven immortal.

Li Wenzhong rose, passing Xia Chen with an encouraging nod—don’t tense.

Once he left, only Xia Chen and Emperor Wen remained.

Incense curled—silence let breath hum.

Xia Chen waited, patient, mute.

“Sit!”

After an age, Emperor Wen’s voice stirred.

“Thanks, Your Majesty!”

Xia Chen knelt instantly, thanking imperial grace, then took a nearby seat.

“That temper’s no Marquis of Andong!”

Emperor Wen, still turned, seemed to see all—no hint of facing Xia Chen.

“Parted from Father young, I hold few memories of him.

“Letters scarce these years—I barely know his nature.

“Your Majesty’s presence weighs like Mount Yu, divine as ninth-heaven Buddhas—stern, unassailable. Yet somehow, I feel an odd kinship, easing my nerves, emboldening me a touch!”

Xia Chen replied respectfully, words daring.

Emperor Wen fell silent at that—light flickered in his eyes, lost in some thought.