Daniel
The second carriage had fallen behind somewhere before the outer district gate.
Nothing serious—just a warding fluctuation in one of the axle seals. The steward had offered a thorough explanation, which Daniel barely listened to. He nodded once and stepped down without fanfare.
"I'll go ahead," he said.
The steward bowed and stayed behind.
Daniel didn't need an entourage to walk into a house that bore his name.
He preferred to see it alone first.
The Zhou estate rose in modest symmetry from the merchant quarter of the outer district: traditional architecture, clean lines, mid-tier wealth with clear aspirations. Not noble grandeur, but pride worn visibly.
The front gate opened with quiet precision. No drums. No staff announcements. Just a house butler in dark robes bowing low with a practiced, neutral smile.
"Welcome home, young master."
Daniel inclined his head in return.
Home.
It was a word he still didn't know how to wear. Because it wasn't his home. It never had been.
His home was a fourth-floor walk-up in San Francisco's Chinatown.
God, I hope Mom's okay.
Daniel didn't walk straight in. Instead, he turned down a side corridor and found his way to an elevated stone terrace overlooking the back courtyard. He recognized the layout—but only because of Ethan's memories.
A strange phenomenon.
"It's weird for me too," Ethan said in the back of his mind.
Daniel nodded. No point pretending it wasn't strange.
Still, there was something grounding about the rhythm of the place.
It was neat. Orderly. Unpretentious. It reminded him—strangely—of the back entrance to the old community center where he used to spar. That made it easier to breathe.
The crystal pulsed in his pocket again—imperial blue, state-etched with layered sigil codes embedded in the surface like heat-stamped clearance tags.
Daniel pulled it out and turned it over in his palm.
"So… no home button," he muttered. "Whoever did the technical design on this is an idiot."
"Your mentor designed that."
Daniel paused.
"It's like trying to combine analog and digital systems without the proper parts."
He rolled the crystal between his fingers. "The interface is a disaster. No intuitive controls. Poor user feedback. And it heats up like it's trying to fry itself."
"This is the pinnacle of system design. Now you know why I wanted to change it. You should hear the Imperial Mana Technicians talk about this stuff."
"Typical government tech. Let me guess—they think they're the greatest thing since sliced bread?"
"Typical Empire. And why is sliced bread so great? Did your people only recently discover bread or cutting?"
Daniel shook his head.
"Just don't trigger the long-range alert beacon by accident," Ethan added. "You'll have three different clerks yelling at you in six dialects."
Daniel snorted and whispered the activation phrase.
The crystal flared, then hummed as the registry accepted his key.
He rolled his eyes. "This thing is insane."
"It's imperial-issue," Ethan said. "Originally designed to track generals. Now it's how most of the Empire communicates. And there's this strange phenomenon where commoner girls become really famous. It's… odd."
"So Influencers are universal," Daniel muttered. "Letting private conversations go viral across your Empire."
"What's an Influencer?"
Daniel groaned.
The verification completed. He pocketed the crystal, adjusted his robes, and looked toward the main entrance.
Voices floated in—familiar.
Claire. Which was odd, considering he hadn't dated her.
Claire with her perfect, politically tuned inflection. Claire with just enough charm to dazzle without ever warming the room. His—Ethan's—mother's voice followed, layered with excitement and pride.
Then another voice.
Too loud.
Too smooth.
Caleb.
Daniel rolled his shoulders once.
"You think he's ready?"
"He thinks he is," Ethan replied. "He's going to perform. Try to reclaim the room. You're a threat he didn't plan for."
Daniel nodded.
"Well," he said. "Let's ruin his day."
"I hope it pleases."
"It's lovely," Margaret said quickly. "Thank you, dear."
Daniel straightened.
That was when he saw Caleb.
He hadn't changed physically—still carried himself like a man who believed he had something worth guarding.
But his eyes—
They glittered with performance.
Claire shifted slightly when she saw Daniel. It wasn't surprise. It wasn't welcome.
But it was something.
She looked at him like she was trying to place him again.
"Look who made it," Caleb said, voice smooth and just loud enough to carry. "I was worried House Li might've forgotten to send someone."
Daniel turned his gaze slowly.
"Not this time," he said. "Though I hear forgetting can be contagious."
The air dipped just a touch.
Caleb leaned back and poured himself a cup of wine.
"Of course, not every marriage makes it past the paperwork. Some pairings are ceremonial. The kind that don't require... intimacy."
The sisters blinked.
Claire's head barely moved—but Daniel saw the tension in her grip.
He smiled mildly.
"Ceremonial bonds are still honored bonds. The strongest walls often begin with clean lines on paper."
"That's poetic," Ethan murmured. "But he won't understand the dig."
Caleb snorted. "Spoken like a man well-versed in getting stopped by walls."
Another sip.
Claire rose and walked toward her father, setting the teacup in front of him without comment.
Emily and Elise giggled nervously in the corner.
Daniel raised an eyebrow.
That didn't make any sense.
"Is your brother an idiot?"
"Undeniably," Ethan said with a laugh.
Daniel stood. The air of indifference rolled off him like mist from a forbidden mountain.
And that, he realized, was why Caleb was fidgeting beneath the surface.
The room buzzed with polite noise and the unspoken pressure of a power struggle neither side acknowledged outright.
But Caleb kept smiling.
Too wide.
Too sharp.
He poured more wine—slow and theatrical, like the act itself was a performance.
"So," Caleb said, as if continuing a private joke, "how's it feel, Ethan?"
Daniel didn't answer.
Caleb didn't stop.
"I mean, I suppose you get your own room, your own projects, your own sword—very ceremonial. Very tidy. But tell me…"
He leaned forward.
"Does it get strange? Living in a house where your wife won't even acknowledge you?"
Daniel's jaw tightened.
Claire's fingers froze mid-pour.
Caleb pressed on.
"I mean, Vivian Li? One of the most beautiful women in the Empire—and she's out there touring provinces while you're stuck polishing scrolls."
He smirked.
"Maybe she's just smart enough to know that cold steel doesn't belong in her bed."
Daniel stood.
No word. No warning.
He didn't posture.
He just moved.
Three steps. Direct. Fluid.
And then he slapped Caleb across the face.
Hard.
Not wild. Not theatrical.
Just clean.
Sharp.
Deliberate.
Caleb jerked back, stunned. One hand flew to his cheek, eyes flashing red with sudden rage.
The room froze.
Claire stiffened but didn't move.
The twins gasped.
Margaret's hand fluttered near her throat.
Robert Zhou didn't react—yet. He simply watched. Calculating.
Caleb's hand dropped to the hilt of his blade.
Daniel's followed.
He didn't draw.
Didn't blink.
Didn't need to.
"You slapped him?" Ethan's voice rang out in his head, tight with disbelief. "You slapped our brother? In front of your—my—our parents? Now you fight back?!"
"Yup."
"What are you thinking?!"
"That I'd like to see what he does next."
"Wait. You're not even mad?"
"No. I just don't like being tested by amateurs. And everything he said? He's not wrong, per se."
Outwardly, Daniel's expression was ice.
His posture radiated barely restrained violence.
"Caleb. Brother." Daniel said softly—too softly. "I'm only going to say this once."
His voice was flat. Measured.
Deadly.
"You do not speak about my wife in my presence. Ever. Not in jest. Not in contempt. Not even in theory."
His eyes didn't waver.
"You have opinions? Good. Keep them. Lock them in your throat. Swallow them if you must."
A heartbeat passed.
Then Daniel added, voice just sharp enough to make the tension sing:
"Because if you speak her name again with that tone, you won't be drawing a sword. You'll be digging a grave."
Caleb's fingers twitched on the hilt.
Daniel didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Internally?
He was curious.
Would Caleb strike?
Would he back down?
Was there still enough of Ethan's brother in there to choose sense over pride?
"You're enjoying this," Ethan muttered.
"Only a little."
Slowly—grudgingly—Caleb's hand fell away from his weapon.
He didn't speak.
Didn't meet Daniel's eyes.
Daniel stepped back half a pace.
Lifted his hand from the hilt of Qinglan's Silence.
The moment ended.
But the chill it left behind?
Stayed.
Caleb stood, fists clenched, jaw tight.
"I will say what I please—"
Pop.
Daniel thumbed the clasp of Qinglan's Silence. The faint click of steel clearing the sheath made everyone jump.
And then the door opened.
Caleb's hand was still half-tensed on the hilt of his sword when the knock sounded.
Not the polite rap of a steward.
Not the muted step of a servant.
A deep, resonant chime rolled through the estate—formal. Regal. The kind of tone that accompanied a state visit, not a family brunch.
Low. Resonant. Formal.
Not a servant's announcement.
Something closer to a ritual.
Every conversation died instantly.
Daniel turned toward the main doors.
He heard them before he saw them—silver wind flutes, cold and precise, playing a melody that wasn't meant to soothe.
It was meant to announce.
The doors opened wide.
Attendants stepped in first, their robes marked with the Li crest, formation sharp and silent. Floating trays followed—each one inscribed with layered protection glyphs and bearing chests of tribute: swords wrapped in beast-hide, scrolls sealed in spirit-thread, rare coins glinting with imperial crests, vials humming with active mana.
And behind them—
Vivian.
Vivian Li.
She didn't just enter.
She descended.
Her robes were the kind of ceremonial formal that made others look underdressed just by standing near her—midnight violet, silver crane embroidery gliding like flight across the hem, spirit-glass threads catching the light with every measured step.
She moved like law.
No hesitation. No apology.
Just sovereign control.
Her posture was flawless. Her expression unreadable. Her hair braided and pinned with white jade and lunar combs. Her presence hit the room like a falling banner—declaration first, questions never.
Daniel didn't breathe.
He didn't need to.
Because no one was looking at him.
Not anymore.
They were all looking at her.
Claire stiffened.
The twins forgot to blink.
Margaret Zhou actually stood, like she wasn't sure if she should bow.
Even Caleb—
Caleb stepped back, eyes wide, stunned into silence.
Of course he's surprised, Daniel thought. She wasn't supposed to come. She wasn't supposed to back me.
And yet—here she was.
His wife.
His... force of nature.
Vivian Li didn't say a word.
Didn't even glance at Caleb.
Her assistant, Mei, stepped forward with flawless timing.
"Eldest daughter of House Li. Heir apparent. Lady Vivian Li comes bearing gifts and acknowledgment on behalf of the Patriarch—for the hospitality extended to her husband, Ethan Zhou."
Daniel's name.
Spoken cleanly.
With weight.
Vivian stepped forward.
She stopped beside him.
Not behind.
Not ahead.
Beside.
She didn't touch him.
Didn't smile.
But her presence alone sent a message louder than words.
She had arrived.
With ceremony. With power.
With full House Li authority at her back.
And she had shown up for him.
Daniel felt the entire room recalibrate.
Caleb slowly lowered his wine cup.
Claire's jaw set.
Margaret Zhou exhaled like she'd been holding her breath for a full minute.
Even Robert shifted—barely—but enough that Daniel noticed.
Vivian looked at him then.
Just a look.
No signal. No nod.
Just connection.
It wasn't warm.
It wasn't soft.
But it was acknowledgment.
Daniel inclined his head slightly, just enough for her to see it.
They didn't need words.
Not here.
Because this?
This wasn't a conversation.
This was House Li moving a chess piece across the board and daring the room to answer.
Daniel stood still. Silent. Present.
And let the silence do its work.