Winter draped the Forbidden City in a shroud of pale gray, its chill creeping into the marrow of its marble walls. Snow dusted the golden rooftops, and lanterns flickered weakly against the biting wind. Inside his private study, Prince Chun (Zaifeng) leaned over a sprawling map of Sichuan Province, its lines etched in charcoal and ink.
Reports of rebellion weighed heavily on him. Starving farmers, corrupt officials, and violent mobs had turned the fertile fields of Sichuan into smoldering ashes. The unrest was spreading—not yet a wildfire, but certainly an ember waiting to catch.
In the glow of the oil lamp, Zaifeng studied the parchment message clutched in his trembling hand. Yuan Shikai had written with characteristic bluntness:
"Your Highness, the situation in Sichuan worsens daily. The local administration is rotting from the inside, and the army there lacks discipline and loyalty. I can mobilize the Beiyang Army to restore order, but doing so risks unsettling the balance of power. Command me, and I will act."
Zaifeng set the letter down, his hands briefly covering his face. Power. It was a word that now felt like both a privilege and a trap.
Yes, he could command Yuan Shikai—the most powerful general in the Qing military—but his authority was borrowed, not owned. Every decision he made, every order he issued, ultimately existed under the looming shadow of Empress Dowager Cixi. She held the strings. If she disapproved, if she sensed even a flicker of ambition, she could pull those strings tight and leave him dangling.
"I can give orders to generals and sway scholars with letters, but in the end, I am still a prince under her command. My power is conditional, and one misstep could see it all unravel."
A faint knock at the door stirred him from his thoughts.
"Enter," he said, his voice sharper than intended.
The door creaked open, and Li Yuan, his ever-faithful eunuch, stepped inside. Behind him followed Youlan, dressed in a robe of pale green silk embroidered with plum blossoms. Her steps were slower now, her pregnancy beginning to show prominently in the curve of her belly. She carried a lacquered tray with a steaming teapot.
"You've been here all night," Youlan said softly as she set the tray down. "You must rest, Zaifeng."
He shook his head, eyes still fixed on the map. "Rest is a luxury we cannot afford, Youlan."
Li Yuan stepped forward, holding another letter sealed with the dragon insignia of the imperial household. "Your Highness, this arrived earlier from the Grand Council. The Empress Dowager requests your presence tomorrow."
Zaifeng's stomach turned. A summons from Cixi was never casual, never without weight.
He reached for the letter, but his hand hovered above it for a moment. His pulse quickened, and an old fear—one he had carried from his first life—rose in his chest. The Empress Dowager giveth, and the Empress Dowager taketh away.
Youlan noticed his hesitation. She stepped closer, her voice low. "Zaifeng, you are walking a dangerous path. But I know you will find your way."
Her calm, her gentleness—it was a balm to the storm raging inside him.
Zaifeng nodded faintly and turned back to the map. "Li Yuan, prepare my reply to Yuan Shikai. I will act before the Empress Dowager asks me why I did not."
"To General Yuan Shikai,"
"Mobilize a portion of your Beiyang forces, but do not overextend. Act swiftly, but act with restraint. The people of Sichuan must see us as their saviors, not their oppressors. Root out the corrupt officials, but make examples of them publicly. Let the people know that justice still flows from Beijing."
"Withdraw your forces as soon as order is restored. I will not give anyone—least of all the Empress Dowager—a reason to question our loyalty."
"Act with caution, General. The empire's balance depends on it."
"Prince Chun, Zaifeng"
Li Yuan bowed deeply as he took the letter and disappeared into the cold night air.
Zaifeng exhaled and turned back to Youlan. She stood quietly, her hands resting lightly on her belly, her eyes soft but unwavering.
"Do you ever wonder, Youlan," Zaifeng said quietly, "if all of this is just borrowed time? That everything I am building could come crashing down with a single frown from the Empress Dowager?"
Youlan stepped closer, her fingers grazing his hand. "You walk a narrow path, Zaifeng. But you have walked it well so far. Trust in your steps."
For a brief moment, Zaifeng allowed himself to close his eyes and lean into her presence—a fleeting moment of vulnerability before the weight of responsibility settled back onto his shoulders.
"I must act boldly, yet appear humble. I must command, yet never forget that true power does not rest in my hands—not yet."
The Hall of Mental Cultivation was heavy with the scent of incense and aged wood. Empress Dowager Cixi sat on her throne, veiled partially by a translucent silk screen. Her fan moved lazily in her hand, the faint sound of silk brushing against bamboo filling the silence.
Zaifeng (Prince Chun) knelt respectfully on the cold marble floor, his head bowed low. The tension in the air was palpable, sharp enough to cut.
"You've been busy, Zaifeng," Cixi said, her voice calm but edged with something colder. "Letters to generals, inspections in distant provinces… one might think you are trying to build a throne of your own."
Zaifeng remained still, his voice steady. "Your Majesty, I act only in service to the empire, to ensure its survival in these turbulent times."
Cixi chuckled softly, a dry sound that carried little mirth. "Survival, yes. That is what we all claim. But survival has many faces, Zaifeng. Do not forget that the root of your power comes from me. From this throne. You must not overstep your bounds."
Zaifeng lifted his head slightly, meeting her sharp gaze through the silk screen. "I am mindful of my place, Your Majesty. But the empire trembles, and hesitation will allow the cracks to spread. I seek only to prevent chaos."
Cixi's fan stopped moving. Her eyes narrowed. "And yet you gave orders to Yuan Shikai, the tiger in the north. Do you think I do not see what he is becoming? Power has a way of changing men, Zaifeng, even men who swear loyalty."
Zaifeng's breath hitched slightly, but he forced himself to respond calmly. "Yuan Shikai is a tool, Your Majesty—a sharp one, but still a tool. He acts on my orders, but he obeys your authority. I have ensured he knows that."
The Empress Dowager studied him for a long moment before speaking again, her voice softer this time. "You play a dangerous game, Zaifeng. One misstep, one sign of ambition… and even I will not be able to shield you from the consequences."
Zaifeng lowered his head again, pressing his forehead against the cold marble. "I understand, Your Majesty."
Silence lingered between them, broken only by the faint crackling of a brazier nearby. Finally, Cixi spoke again.
"Rise, Zaifeng."
He stood, his knees stiff from kneeling. Cixi's expression softened slightly, though her eyes remained sharp.
"You are not like the others. You think ahead. You measure your words carefully. Perhaps there is something in you worth watching… worth preserving."
Zaifeng's breath caught. Praise from Cixi was as rare as it was dangerous.
"But tread carefully, Zaifeng," she continued, her voice hardening again. "You may be useful to me, but no one is indispensable. Not even a prince."
Zaifeng bowed deeply once more. "I will not disappoint Your Majesty."
As he turned to leave the chamber, Cixi's voice echoed one last time.
"Do not let the tiger outgrow its cage, Zaifeng. And do not let your own shadow grow larger than mine."
Outside the hall, Zaifeng walked slowly, his shoulders heavy with both fear and resolve.
"She knows. She sees everything. I must tread even more carefully now. Every step must be deliberate, every word measured."
Weeks later, Yuan Shikai arrived in Beijing. The general's crisp uniform bore the marks of both discipline and authority. His mustache twitched slightly as he stepped into Zaifeng's private chamber.
"Your Highness," Yuan said with a small bow.
"General Yuan," Zaifeng replied, gesturing to the chair opposite him.
The two men sat in tense silence for a moment, steam rising from the teacups between them.
"You acted swiftly and efficiently in Sichuan, General," Zaifeng said carefully. "The rebellion has been contained, and justice has been served."
Yuan nodded slightly. "The people responded well to our presence. Discipline was maintained. But this will not be the last rebellion, Your Highness."
Zaifeng's gaze sharpened. "Explain."
Yuan leaned forward slightly. "Corruption festers in the provincial administration. Unless the court intervenes—unless someone intervenes—these outbreaks will continue. Stability requires authority, and authority requires strength."
Zaifeng felt the weight behind Yuan's words. The general was speaking plainly: the provinces needed someone strong, someone like Yuan Shikai himself.
"And yet," Zaifeng said evenly, "authority must answer to the throne, General. Strength is admirable, but ambition… ambition is dangerous."
Yuan's mustache twitched slightly, his eyes narrowing. But then, he nodded. "I serve the empire, Your Highness. You have my loyalty."
The words were spoken clearly, but Zaifeng could feel the sharp edge beneath them. Loyalty offered with conditions is no loyalty at all.
When Yuan left the chamber, Zaifeng sat in the silence, his fingers drumming softly on the polished wood of his desk.
"He obeys—for now. But how long until his ambition outweighs his caution?"
The lanterns flickered in Zaifeng's study as the cold wind rattled against the wooden screens. Li Yuan had just delivered another letter—a response from Kang Youwei—hidden in a shipment of scrolls. The parchment felt fragile in Zaifeng's hands, but the words written on it carried weight.
"Authority must adapt, or it will break. But revolution is not the answer—it is chaos in noble clothing. The dynasty can still survive, but only if it bends to the winds of change without snapping."
Zaifeng set the letter down, his brow furrowed in thought. The words danced in his mind, questions overlapping questions. He needed clarity.
A day later, in a quiet tea house outside Beijing, Zaifeng met one of Kang Youwei's intermediaries—a scholar named Wen Ruqing, a frail man in his late fifties with sharp eyes behind round spectacles.
"Master Kang sends his regards, Your Highness," Wen said softly as they sat in a secluded corner. The faint scent of jasmine tea drifted between them.
Zaifeng unfolded a small parchment he had written earlier and passed it across the table.
"If we cannot reform through authority, then will authority survive reform? Will power allow itself to change without resistance? These are not academic questions, Wen. They are the chisel and hammer we are striking against the foundation of an empire."
Wen read the words, his thin lips tightening slightly. "His Excellency Kang Youwei understands your dilemma, Your Highness. But his response remains the same: radical change breeds chaos. Stability must precede reform, not follow it."
Zaifeng's fingers tapped lightly against the rim of his porcelain cup. "And yet… even now, the court resists every change I suggest. They do not fear reform, Wen—they fear losing their privileges."
Wen nodded slowly. "That is true, Your Highness. The old guard sees reform as poison, not medicine. But the court is not unmovable—it is merely stubborn. Small victories will build momentum."
Zaifeng's gaze drifted to the steam rising from his cup. "Momentum will not protect us if the tiger in the north decides to pounce. Or if the Empress Dowager decides I have overreached."
Wen's voice grew softer. "Trust is fragile, Your Highness, and ambition often wears the mask of loyalty. But Master Kang believes in you. He believes you walk the only path that might still save this empire."
The two men sat in silence for a long moment, the faint hum of voices from the main hall of the tea house filtering into their secluded corner.
Before they parted, Wen passed Zaifeng another small slip of parchment.
"Change the roots before you prune the branches. If the roots are strong, the tree will survive even the fiercest storm."
Zaifeng walked away from the tea house with the weight of Kang's words pressing heavily on him.
"Change the roots. But what if the roots refuse to change? What if the tree cannot bear the weight of the storm?"
As the carriage carried him back to the palace, Zaifeng realized a truth he had been avoiding: The time for hesitation was ending. Soon, he would need to make choices that could not be undone.
The cold wind carried faint cries through the palace corridors. Inside their chambers, Youlan lay on a silk-draped bed, her face pale and damp with sweat. The faint cries of a newborn filled the air, piercing the silence like a bell.
Zaifeng stood frozen in place, staring at the tiny bundle swaddled in silk.
"You have a son, Your Highness," the physician said with a bow.
Zaifeng approached slowly, his hands trembling as he reached down to touch his son's small fingers.
"Youlan," he whispered, his voice catching.
She smiled faintly from her bed, her eyes heavy with exhaustion but glowing with pride.
"What will you name him?" she asked weakly.
"Puyi," Zaifeng said softly. "His name will be Puyi."
At that moment, staring down at his son, Zaifeng felt the crushing weight of responsibility settle into his bones.
"I must succeed—for him, for Youlan, and for the empire. Hesitation is no longer an option."