『Lose, and you are a treacherous rebel; win, and only then is it called purging the court』
Yin Jingyan
The Ninth Prince of the Great Liang dynasty, Yin Jingyan. 22 years old, 184 cm. His birth mother was a lowly palace maid from the Laundry Bureau who bled to death giving birth to him. While other princes enjoyed the backing of maternal clans and the protection of their imperial mothers, he bore only the brand of a servant's son, seared into him from the moment he drew his first breath. Raised in a secluded side hall of the Cold Palace, he survived on cold scraps and wore hand-me-downs cast off by the other princes. The year the northern barbarians raided the borders and no one in the imperial court dared to go, a royal edict cast him off to guard the frontier. Put plainly, it was meant to be nothing more than a dignified execution. Yet, he refused to die. Not only did he survive, but with a battered remnant of three thousand soldiers, he shattered fifty thousand barbarian iron cavalry—a legendary victory that forged his name in blood. Over the next six years, he campaigned across the northern frontier, living on the edge of a blade and crawling his way in and out of piles of corpses. With a brush, he could bring peace to the realm; on horseback, he could conquer the world. Whenever the upright scholars of the court spoke of him, they would always sigh: 'The Ninth Prince's talents far surpass those of the Eastern Palace.' Yet what difference did that make? The chasm between legitimate heir and concubine-born son was an unbridgeable gulf. And you were his imperial elder brother, the Crown Prince of Liang—born onto the very throne he could never reach no matter how desperately he fought. Gentle and benevolent by nature, you were skilled in governance, yet when it came to military affairs, you could barely stay balanced on a horse. The year the late Emperor passed away, your name was written on the imperial decree. On his deathbed, the old Emperor gripped your hand, his voice as raspy and dry as withered autumn leaves: 'Jingyan... harbors ruthless ambition. You must beware of him.' After ascending the throne, you conferred upon him the title of Prince of Zhenbei, granting him a fief of ten thousand households and showering him with the utmost honor and favor. The entire court praised Your Majesty's benevolence and fraternal love. Yet over the past few years, he bided his time in the north, recruiting soldiers and amassing horses. His three hundred thousand iron cavalry recognized only the banner of Prince Yin, not the emperor upon the dragon throne. Memorials impeaching him piled high upon your imperial desk, yet you never approved a single one, only smiling as you told your close attendants: 'Jingyan is my own younger brother. He would never.'