Chapter 3
The royal palace of the Kingdom of Sailiang is a dying beast.
The gilded dome still towered, but it no longer reflected its former splendor, only a struggling gloom. On the walls, relief carvings of past kings peered through the dust, silently gazing upon this crumbling kingdom. The air mingled with the decaying scent of ancient wood, the rich incense that masked decay, and an invisible yet pervasive poison called despair.
Wen Ling stood before a vast star-field mural, depicting his ancestors piloting starships and expanding their territory. The radiance of the stars never faded from the canvas, but in reality, Sailiang's star map was being gradually eroded by the powerful Federation.
His young back stood straight, like a bamboo growing stubbornly in a strong wind, refusing to bend. He was here today to greet the Minister of Foreign Affairs, Miao Weizhen, whom he had judged countless times in his mind.
In Wen Xunyi's mouth, that name is synonymous with "pragmatism" and "mediation", but among the people, it is synonymous with "traitor" and "federal running dog".
Outside the hall, a blood-red dusk fell. The setting sun stained the clouds a mournful purple-red. Light streamed in through the vast, multicolored glazed windows, stretching and twisting across the ground like some ominous omen, slicing the grand main hall into a magnificent cage of light and darkness.
The heavy gold-inlaid door was slowly pushed open by two servants, making a long and dull sound, breaking the dead silence in the hall.
He is here.
Against the dim light outside the hall, a tall and stern figure walked steadily in. The light outlined his clear shoulders, but could not illuminate his face.
As he walked into the hall, the light and shadow faded from him, and Wen Ling could see his appearance clearly.
Miao Weizhen looked young, no more than thirty. If one overlooked his slightly weathered and melancholic demeanor, one could easily call him one of Wen Ling's peers. His features were gaunt and handsome, far beyond the "treacherous" image Wen Ling had imagined. He wore a perfectly tailored, dark purple diplomat's uniform, meticulously detailed with a golden ribbon and intricate epaulettes, a symbol of the authority bestowed upon him by the Empire. This magnificent attire enveloped him like a cold armor.
His footsteps were silent, like gliding on smooth ice, with a sense of alienation that seemed out of place in this solemn palace. His eyes calmly swept over the luxurious decorations in the hall, without awe or admiration, only a detached, almost bored assessment, as if he were examining an old object about to be sent to a museum.
Finally, the gaze fell on Wen Ling in the center of the hall.
Those were a pair of bottomless phoenix eyes. The moment their eyes met, Wen Ling felt an invisible chill.
It wasn't like looking at a prince, but more like examining the quality of an object. Calm and sharp, it instantly cut through his luxurious royal attire, piercing the tension and resentment he tried to conceal. Wen Ling subconsciously tightened her fingertips, her chin slightly raised, meeting that gaze.
Miao Weizhen stood three steps away from Wen Ling, a carefully calculated distance that felt neither too close nor too distant. He nodded slightly, his movements smooth and precise, as if he had practiced them thousands of times.
"Miao Weizhen, greetings to His Highness."
His voice was steady and without a trace of emotion, like the water in a deep pool, without a ripple.
Wen Ling suppressed the discomfort of being offended and maintained the dignity expected of a royal. His tone, however, carried the undisguised sharpness of a young man. "I've heard a lot about you lately, Minister Miao. Seeing is believing. I hope those rumors about your 'achievements' aren't entirely true."
The corners of Miao Weizhen's lips seemed to move slightly, but it was not a smile at all, but a kind of knowing, even sympathetic sneer.
"Your Highness," he began, his voice like precious jade colliding gently, cold and pleasant, yet the content was as hard as iron. "Rumors always favor the most dramatic versions. But reality is often boring and..." He paused delicately, his gaze pressing on Wen Ling's shoulder as if it had substance. "There is no other choice."
"No choice?" Wen Ling seemed irritated by the word. He took a step forward. "So, selling out the nation's mining rights and licking the Federation's boots is the choice you made in 'no choice'?"
The air froze instantly, and even the light filtering through the window seemed a bit colder. The palace servants standing in the distance almost held their breath.
Miao Weizhen did not immediately refute this sharp accusation. He just looked at Wen Ling quietly for two seconds. In his deep eyes, something extremely heavy seemed to flash by, so fast that it was impossible to catch it. Then, he made a move that was completely unexpected by Wen Ling -
He also took a step forward.
Instantly, the distance between them was so close that their breaths could be heard. Wen Ling could clearly see the dark gold embroidery on his uniform, the thorn pattern representing the glory of the empire, and could smell his aura, a stark contrast to the decayed aroma of the palace, a chilling scent of stardust and rusted metal.
"Your Highness," Miao Weizhen lowered his voice so only the two of them could hear. Every word was like an icicle, hammering at Wen Ling's heart. "You are right. I am making my choice. But how I choose is my personal freedom. Only when Your Majesty adopts it can it be elevated to a national value."
His eyes were as sharp as a scalpel, as if they wanted to cut open Wen Ling's skull and look directly at every thought in his mind.
"If Your Highness is able to convince His Majesty, then someday," Miao Weizhen said with a hint of sarcasm in his eyes, "you can become the head of state yourself and then execute me."
After saying this, without waiting for Wen Ling to recover, he simply stepped back, re-establishing the polite yet distant social distance. It was as if the almost treasonous whisper just now was just an illusion created by Wen Ling's extreme anger.
The expression on his face returned to its initial calmness and aloofness, even colder than before.
"I have agreed with the Federation to meet with you for negotiations in ten days. This matter is urgent, and I hope Your Highness will make early preparations. I will take my leave."
He performed another impeccable salute, turned around, and the dark figure merged directly into the increasingly thick darkness outside the hall without any reluctance, like a ghost that had never appeared.
The hall fell into dead silence again.
Outside the palace, Miao Weizhen boarded the waiting private aircraft. Once he was shielded from the outside world's gaze, he allowed a hint of extreme fatigue to stain his brow. He closed his eyes, his knuckles firmly pressing against his throbbing temples.
The headache started again.
The aircraft glided silently into the sky. He looked out the window at the palace gradually being swallowed by the night, and muttered coldly in his heart: "Although the flame is bright, it can easily burn oneself."
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