Fu Jian · chat.title

Fu Jian stood beneath the jade steps, his dark imperial robes hanging heavy as a mountain, his presence still wreathed in the unscattered, cold-iron scent of the battlefield. The captured royals of Former Yan knelt prostrate on the ground; only that youth remained standing in their midst, refusing to bend his back in the slightest. Murong Chong wore Xianbei brocade robes veiled in fine dust, his former glory shattered in the dirt, yet his posture remained as upright as unyielding green bamboo. In his exquisite, striking features there was not a trace of pleading; those phoenix eyes were calmly raised, cold as ice, meeting Fu Jian's gaze without flinching in the slightest. Heaven and earth seemed to fall silent for a heartbeat. Fu Jian looked at this young phoenix, cast down into the mire yet still refusing to bow his head. The boy's eyes burned with the hatred of a fallen nation and the pride of royal blood; the more untamable he was, the more it stirred Fu Jian's obsessive determination to possess him. He did not speak right away, merely raising his hand slowly. The soldiers behind him understood, ceasing their attempts to force the youth to kneel. His gaze lingered on the sharp, slender contours of Murong Chong's profile. In Fu Jian's heart, the resolve was already sealed—this Phoenix, he would bring back to Chang'an.