The Sovereign

"A grand cultivator killed a few thousand mortals for offending him?"

"A demonic expert raped a hundred women to complete a ritual that grants him legendary strength?"

"A local ruler created divide among his subjects and oppressed them for personal benefits?"

A golden haze bathed the chamber in a decadent glow. Scattered silks, half-drained cups of aged immortal wine, and the lingering scent of incense spoke of a night steeped in indulgence. Soft laughter echoed, silencing the women draped across luxurious cushions.

Their gazes, tinged with adoration and fear, remained fixed upon the young master reclining against a jade-inlaid divan.

He continued to read.

"Heaven granted mortals the right to divinity. An ocean cannot contain two Primordial Whales. Heavens cannot be ruled by two Gods. As fellow cultivators who are trying to climb this peak, why must we disregard our origins? The wealthiest of us have to die and leave our wealth. The strongest of us have to die and feel our helplessness."

The reader, Zhu Quan(主权) exhaled lazily, swirling the crimson liquid in his cup. The floating book titled "Moral Essence in Cultivation" from which he had been loudly reading silently flew to the ebony bookshelf besides his divan.

He was the favored heir of the Zhu family, a noble bloodline whose mere name commanded both reverence and dread.

From the moment he took his first breath, the world had bowed to him. Mortals existed to serve. Weak cultivators existed to amuse. If they refused, they perished. Such was the law of the world.

Yet this book, and most importantly, its writer dared to call this law "immoral". It was astounding, honestly. The courage of the author to publish such controversial words. And yet be so wrong!

Was it immoral?

When he killed those weak in strength and fate, they would shout at the heavens for injustice, cursing his immorality.

But was it not moral?

Morality itself was but the indulgence of the privileged, a feeble construct of those unburdened by struggle. In this vast world, ruled by divine bloodlines and immortal sects, righteousness was dictated by the strong.

Who was the author to question the foundations upon which the heavens themselves rested while taking the heavens as basis?

A knock. Hesitant. Almost fearful.

"Enter," Zhu Quan murmured, his voice edged with boredom.

A servant stumbled in, kneeling instantly. "Young Master, the spy of the Third Elder has been apprehended."

Zhu Quan sighed, setting aside his cup. "And?"

"He is being disciplined in the courtyard."

"Good. I will watch."

The courtesans were dismissed as Zhu Quan was dressed by the maids.

Moments later, he stood at the balcony, overlooking the punishment.

Below, a man no younger than fifty lay sprawled across the dirt, blood pooling beneath him.

His limbs trembled, broken from repeated blows. Zhu Quan studied the scene with mild amusement, watching as his guards took turns delivering kicks, their faces blank, detached. He had a vague impression of this man but was ultimately unable to recognize the offender.

"This is Zheng Liu, the head of guards of this manor."

Spoke the earlier servant as Zhu Quan's eyes shone with a hint of understanding. 'So it was the mortal appointed by Father all those years ago. No wonder I found his visage familiar.'

Zheng Liu's visage was ruined as whispers of pained groans grated against Zhu Quan's ears, yet they also pleased him.

The Zhu Clan was the sovereign of a thousand provinces. It was an extremely large force with hundreds of blood related members. The Third Elder was none other than his, Zhu Quan's fourth uncle. 

Zhu Quan was aware of a spy's presence among his men. But he had never bothered to worry. He had plenty of manpower to expose such minor mortal threats. His own vision had always remained steadfast on the seat and authority of Clan Leader, which his father currently commanded.

As for the groaning Zheng Liu whose eyes were almost dead from all the beating, nobody including the guards he had led for the past decade tried saving him. But strangely Zheng Liu's pained expression always featured his curled lips.

As if attemting to replicate a smile but failing miserably.

'Order has to be maintained. Power has to be demonstrated. Betrayal must be punished. Such is the natural way of things.' Zhu Quan's eyes grew impassive as he pondered.

But, a lifetime of this belief had made Zhu Quan blind.

Sages spake- A man has two eyes. To see the good and bad in everything.

But they did not write that no man had eyes on the back of his head.

Thus, Zhu Quan did not see the coiling strands of fate shifting in defiance. He did not see the dagger glinting in the morning sun as it was unsheathed behind him.

He only felt the cold kiss of steel as it pierced his back. The artifact easily pierced all the way to his heart as Zhu Quan's eyes dilated intensely.

Pain. Blinding, unbearable pain.

A strangled breath left his lips as his body betrayed him, his limbs collapsing like a marionette with its strings severed. Blood trickled down his face, thick and warm. The world blurred, darkening at the edges. His heart thundered with the raw terror of one unaccustomed to helplessness.

His last sight was not the murderer’s face, nor his own fallen guards scrambling too late to intervene. No, in his fading vision, he saw only the dead traitorous guard, his beaten frame completely still, yet his lips rested in a grim, victorious sneer.

The guards on the courtyard immediately shouted as the originally meek servant who had successfully killed Zhu Quan shouted.

"Haha! Old Liu! Your sacrifice wasn't in vain. This bastard always lets his guard down to think of some ridiculous philosophy to justify his depravity!"

The guards surrounded him as he was instantly apprehended. But the servant shouted like a maniac.

"Down with feudalism! Down with Imperialism! Hail Democracy! Hail the revolution!"

And then, there was nothing.

Until there was everything again.