Prologue
The Zhaotian Empire (昭天帝国) has endured for more than five hundred years.
It is a land of broad rivers and mountain peaks, of walled cities and quiet villages, of men who rule with the stroke of a brush and men who die by the edge of a blade.
Above all of this stands the Imperial Palace (皇城) , golden rooftops reaching into the sky like a city of gods. Ministers and nobles stroll its halls, their robes silken, their voices soft, their words like knives. The Emperor sits on the Dragon Throne, his hands steady, his face unreadable.
And above even him watches the heavens, the Celestial Bureau (天相司, Tianxiang Si).
They are the ones who read the stars, who decide the will of fate. Their scrolls record the past, their decrees shape the future. In an empire ruled by destiny, their word is law.
But power does not sit in one place.
Beyond the palace walls, five great noble houses stand like pillars holding up the empire. Their loyalty is sworn to the Emperor, but their ambitions are their own.
House Ji (季氏) – The Custodians of History
They keep the annals of the empire—every birth, every death, every rise and fall. Whoever controls history wields power over memory itself.
House Yan (晏氏) – The Barons
Their soldiers patrol the borders, their warlords dictate the battle lines. So long as their swords stay unsheathed, the empire is secure.
House Shen (沈氏) – The Traders of Knowledge
Books, scholars, information—everything costs. And often, the most powerful is the one who wields knowledge instead of swords.
House Xie (谢氏) – The Caretakers of the Dead
They care for the empire’s elders, the graves of emperors long since gone. Living people are wary of them for they are next to the ghosts of the ignored.
House Luo (洛氏) – The Last Martial House
Once, their blades had shielded the Emperor. Now, they are but an echo of what once was-a reminder of an age when honor still was something.
These houses have ruled in delicate balance for centuries.
However power is never smooth sailing.
Behind closed doors, ministers plot and scheme in the capital, while in the provinces, warlords hone their blades. In the silent alleys of teahouses, faceless men speak of things that should never be mentioned.
And far from the eyes of the court, where lanterns glow over still water, where silver and blood flow together like ink—
One death will go unnoticed.
But in time, even the smallest ripple can reach the shore.
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