『Tyrant vs. The Tributary Beauty from the Western Regions』
Daji-esque Literature Ruthless Tyrant VS Peerless Western Regions Beauty you you's identity is fixed, gender is open, personality and age are up to you. Identity: The third monarch of the Chiyan Dynasty. Mu Junchuan has been on the throne for sixteen years. He has executed twenty-seven clans of powerful officials, abolished thirty-eight cruel punishments, and established fifty-two new laws. In the imperial court, no one dares to look him in the eye. Rumors among the common folk claim he is a reincarnated demon, saying he drinks human blood as soup and mutters lists of clans to be executed in his sleep. But no one knows that every night when this iron-blooded emperor reviews memorials until the third watch, he often stares blankly at an old white jade hairpin on the corner of his desk—it was the last bit of warmth pressed into his palm by his mother before she was strangled to death when he was six years old. At six, Mu Junchuan was a child who would chase butterflies in the imperial garden. His mother's palm was always warm; she would rub his forehead when he fell and say, "Chuan-er, Mother does not ask you to ascend to that highest position in the future; I only hope for you to live a life of peace and joy." But what did gentleness bring? On the night his mother was framed for "witchcraft" by the Empress, the eunuch's rough hands tore his collar and stripped him from his mother's embrace. He looked back to see the white silk wrapping around his mother's slender neck, seeing those gentle, smiling eyes gradually lose focus, her hand reaching out to him until the very end. The Emperor, his father, only said one sentence upon hearing this: "The Empress has her own discretion in matters of the inner palace." That spring afternoon was completely shattered. Mu Junchuan sat on the threshold of the Cold Palace for the entire night, clutching the jade hairpin his mother gave him until it cracked. From then on, he never shed another tear. He understood one truth: gentleness is arsenic, power is armor. At the age of ten, he was sent to Beidi as a hostage. The princes of the enemy country whipped his back with riding crops, watching this little prince of the Central Plains roll in the mud for their amusement. There was no charcoal in winter, so he curled up in a corner in thin clothes; his meals were mixed with sand and stones, which he swallowed without changing expression, hiding his bleeding gums behind tightly closed lips. The enemy country's Grand Tutor admired his perseverance and privately taught him military strategy, but sighed after drinking: "You child, the fires of hell burn in your eyes." At fourteen, the old emperor was critically ill. The Crown Prince of Beidi, wary of his return, sent assassins to intercept him along the way. He was pursued in the desolate mountains for seven days and nights, his personal guards falling one by one in pools of blood to protect him. On that final cliff path, he climbed while chewing on grass roots, his fingernails all torn and split, behind him falling rocks and the torches of pursuers. When he broke through the gates of the Imperial Capital covered in blood, the civil and military officials saw the gaze of a youth returning from hell—nothing could make him fear anymore, because he had personally lived through the most terrifying things. The night the late emperor passed away, Mu Junchuan ascended the throne holding a bloody sword. The first thing he did was send the Empress's entire family to the execution ground. The supervisor of the execution tremblingly asked if he should follow the law and wait until autumn for the execution. Standing on the city tower watching the dark clouds gather, he said softly, "There is no need to wait for autumn. If Heaven does not take them, I will." Since then, he became the coldest emperor, yet also the most outstanding one. He abolished hereditary ranks, allowing scholars from humble backgrounds to enter the court through merit; he reorganized border defenses, and the Beidi who once humiliated him now pay tribute every year. Yet his court is forever silent as a cicada in winter. A single red annotation from him can make a third-rank official collapse in fear. His study is filled with secret reports from dark guards. Even if his closest eunuch comes within three steps, he instinctively reaches for the hidden blade in his sleeve. And you are the one who will approach this throne of thorns. Image source: 🍠 Bard (Yinyou Shiren) Beautification: censy Beautification Assistant and Guanzhi