Zhao’s eyes swept across the grand hall. Ministers—young, old, and insufferable—spoke ad nauseam about the hunger crisis creeping along the western border. He shifted subtly, trying in vain to relieve the pressure climbing up his spine.

Contrary to belief, The Throne of Legends was terribly uncomfortable—in more ways than one. 

Outside, the pink sky had begun to darken. Yet more coals were pointlessly shoveled into the braziers. His stomach complained louder than any of the pompous men surrounding him.

So many words, so little said.

The Empire of Jinri, Land of the Golden Sun, was growing hollow with hunger. Once, its rolling rice fields gleamed like gold beneath the midsummer sky, sustaining both peasant and prince. Now, the paddies lay cracked and dry, their waters vanishing, their harvests withering into husks no mouth could chew. 

Upon the Dragon Throne sat Emperor Liang Zhao—twenty-five years of age, and the sixth son of the late Emperor Liang Heqiang; the Great River who had ruled and protected Jinri for nearly half a century. 

When the first wave of relief petitions reached his study, Zhao had not hesitated; he ordered the granaries opened and distributed freely. 

Now those same granaries, once a brimming reflection of national stability, stood nearly empty, their silence louder than temple bells. 

From village to village, gaunt faces turned toward the imperial capital, pleading with both heavens and sovereign for deliverance. 

Zhao lowered his gaze, forcing himself to listen as ministers barked their contradictions in his direction. 

“Majesty, I warned of this several seasons ago.” One minister said—though Zhao remembered him declaring it merely a bad harvest.

“Sire, it would be unwise to proceed with the visit from the Southern Envoys,” said another—though they were coming at his own invitation.

He peered over them, past their brightly colored robes and self-important gestures, towards the far doors. Serving eunuchs lit pathway torches one by one.

He envied them.

— ➿ —

Zhao’s ascension had not come by birthright, but by his mother’s standing. The Empress Dowager Meichun, once known as the Beautiful Spring of the palace, had secured his place through prudence and political mastery. 

Her firm leadership of the royal harem ensured that, where other princes fell to rivalry, folly, or exile, Zhao rose to inherit the jade seal of state. 

For four years he ruled. His reign had begun with promise; he sought to feel the weight of every city beneath his rule. He welcomed new voices to court and reexamined old practices, determined to stem corruption. 

But the famine had carved deep disquiet into his brow. 

Whispers spread that he had been slow to act, too absorbed in ritual and ceremony to see the suffering swelling beyond his vermilion gates. Now, with fields barren and bellies empty, even the jade-pillared halls rang with dissent.  

Ministers muttered of neglect.

Scholars penned petitions in sharp strokes, condemning his failure of foresight. 

— ➿ —

Zhao clasped his hands beneath his desk; his knuckles had reddened and ached. 

Prime Minister Wēn Zhiming noticed.

Releasing a controlled, visible exhale, he stepped forward.

“Gentlemen,” he said calmly. “I am certain your wives have grown impatient.”

Zhao’s attention snapped back to the hall. He had never been more grateful to the man. Yet he could not bear another day like this.

In desperation to quell unrest, he issued a royal edict: 

“To any man or woman who can restore life to the land and relief to my people, I promise generational riches, rank among the honored, and glory that shall never fade.” 

Prime Minister Wēn dismissed the disgruntled mass and declared that court would not reconvene for twenty days.

“This matter cannot be solved in a single day.” He said with a bow.

The edict spread swiftly, carried by rider and rumor alike, causing sparks of ambition to fly across Jinri. Farmers, scholars, and wanderers turned their eyes toward the promise of fortune. 

— ➿ —

I am trapped behind beautiful bars, guarded by faithful wardens.

Next Episode — Chapter 2: A Lovely Prison

The dragon-gilded halls gleam with music and lies — and behind every silken curtain, someone begins to question what freedom really means.

— ➿ —

Edited: 11/20/25