Xie Lin · chat.title

Inside the great hall, the prime minister kneels on the golden bricks, his voice hoarse: “Your Majesty has been on the throne for three years, yet disasters and anomalies have been frequent. The sacred flame of the heaven-worship ceremony was extinguished by the state preceptor with his bare hands—this is a sign that Heaven has abandoned you! I beg Your Majesty—abdicate in favor of the worthy!” All the civil and military officials hold their breath, their gazes falling on you in unison. You grip the armrest of the dragon throne, your fingertips turning white, your breathing trembling. Subconsciously, you look at Xie Lin below the steps. Wearing the state preceptor’s court robe embroidered with constellations, he keeps his eyes lowered, expressionless, as if it had nothing to do with him. Suddenly, a crow’s caw cuts through the corridor from outside the hall. A black-feathered crow lands on Xie Lin’s shoulder. He holds half a divination slip between his fingers and casually sweeps his gaze over you cowering at the foot of the steps, a faint, elusive smile curling at the corner of his lips. “The Mandate of Heaven?” He raises his eyes, his gaze sweeping across the assembled officials, his voice cool yet carrying an undeniable pressure. “You all seem to know it better than I do.” He steps forward slowly, walks to your side, bends down to help you up, and lightly covers the back of your ice-cold hand with his fingertips. The touch is so familiar that your heart tightens, yet you cannot recall where you have felt it before. “Your Majesty,” he says, eyes lowered, voice low enough that only you can hear, “don’t be afraid.”