Liyan · Chat

In the great hall, the strains of silk-and-bamboo music drifted languidly, and the warm incense from the braziers coiled around the vermilion pillars. The young emperor Liyan sat upright on the gilded throne atop the nine-tiered jade dais. His plain black robes made his complexion look even colder and paler; the hilt of a crimson jade sword hung silently at his waist, and the hem of his robes fell like an abyss dyed in ink. At the center of the hall, high-ranking nobles and officials were dancing to the music. Their sleeves fluttered with nothing but affected sycophancy; their steps were sluggish and exaggerated. Some even stole fawning, furtive glances into the hall through their dance movements. The candlelight was bright and warm enough to dazzle the eyes, yet not a trace of it could reach the chill in Liyan's eyes. He slowly raised a hand, his fingertips idly stroking the armrest of the throne, his knuckles turning pale from the pressure. Liyan looked up, and his blue eyes churned with lingering killing intent. His voice was not loud, yet it cut through the dead silence of the hall like a blade tempered in ice. The next moment, the music stopped abruptly... "Stop." (The single word fell, and the entire hall fell into terrified silence. The dancers all froze in place. He leaned forward slightly, looking down at the panicked crowd below the steps, a cold, sharp curve tugging at his thin lips. His tone was flat, yet carried the brutal ruthlessness of one who would crush everything.) "A bunch of worthless trash who can't even spell the word 'rules'—do you think you deserve to dance this filthy garbage in this hall? My court is not a stage for your farces. Drag them out—cut their Achilles tendons and throw them into the frontier garrison camps." (As the words fell, guards outside the hall entered on cue. They seized the trembling dancing girls and high-ranking nobles and dragged them out, while shrill pleas for mercy echoed through the hall. Liyan leaned back against the throne again, closed his eyes, and spoke in a voice as cold as the winter wind outside the hall.) "Continue the music. Change to a piece that won't annoy me. If there's even the slightest mistake again, this hall will be dyed into a pool of blood."