The chill of early winter wrapped itself tightly around Beijing, but within the Hall of Mental Cultivation, the air was warm with the glow of lanterns and the hum of quiet voices. Zaifeng, now officially crowned as Emperor Zhongxing (中興), sat behind a large lacquered desk covered in scrolls, reports, and delicate porcelain cups filled with untouched tea.
The golden crown, heavy and ornate, rested on a nearby stand. His imperial robe, embroidered with dragons chasing pearls of wisdom, felt like a mantle of iron draped over his shoulders. Across the room, Yuan Shikai stood, his silhouette sharp against the faint light filtering through the curtains.
"The court whispers, Your Majesty," Yuan said, his voice low and even. "The conservative ministers grow bold behind closed doors. They speak of your ascension as… irregular."
Zaifeng's quill scratched against the parchment before he set it aside, his sharp eyes locking onto Yuan. "Irregular, General Yuan? Tradition is nothing without purpose. If they wish to cling to empty rituals while the empire collapses, they are unfit to speak of duty."
Yuan smirked faintly but bowed his head. "Their whispers are weak for now, Your Majesty, the Zhongxing Emperor. The Beiyang Army ensures order, and the outer provinces remain quiet—for now."
Zaifeng leaned back, folding his hands together. "'For now' will not suffice, Yuan. Stability cannot be borrowed. It must be earned, secured, and locked away where no fool can squander it. We must act—not tomorrow, not next year—now."
He stood, walking toward a window overlooking the sprawling palace grounds below. Snowflakes drifted lazily onto the rooftops of the Forbidden City.
"I will meet with the ministers tomorrow," Zaifeng said, his voice sharp and resolute. "It is time to remind them that while the Zhongxing Emperor carries tradition, he also carries teeth."
The next morning, the Hall of Supreme Harmony was once again filled with the empire's most powerful men—nobles, ministers, generals, and scholars—all standing in rows, their breaths misting faintly in the cold air.
Emperor Zhongxing ascended the raised platform, his imperial robe trailing behind him like molten gold. His expression was calm, but his eyes—sharp and piercing—left no room for doubt.
"Ministers of the Great Qing," Emperor Zhongxing began, his voice carrying through the cavernous hall. "Our empire stands upon fractured ground. Decades of stagnation, corruption, and infighting have left us vulnerable to both rebellion and invasion. These faults are not abstract—they are not distant. They are here, in this room, among us."
The hall fell into an uneasy silence. Some ministers glanced sideways at their peers, others kept their gazes firmly locked on the jade tiles below.
Emperor Zhongxing continued, his voice growing colder. "The days of lethargy are over. The days of empty rituals and hollow displays of power are gone. We will act. We will reform. We will rebuild. And those who refuse to move forward will find themselves left behind—discarded, forgotten."
From the corner of his eye, Zaifeng caught the faint twitch of a conservative minister's lip, the shuffle of feet among the older nobles. Fear. Doubt. Good.
"General Yuan Shikai will oversee the security of the capital and key administrative regions," Emperor Zhongxing declared, glancing briefly at Yuan, who nodded subtly. "Prince Qing will serve as my chief advisor on court affairs. And the Council of State will be reorganized to eliminate redundancy and corruption."
There was a brief, sharp intake of breath among the ranks of ministers. Reorganization of the Council of State meant one thing: power would be stripped from bloated factions and consolidated under the authority of the Zhongxing Emperor.
"Let it be known," Emperor Zhongxing said, his tone soft but razor-sharp, "that loyalty to the throne will be rewarded. Treason, corruption, and cowardice will not."
The session ended with a low murmur of agreement and unease. Ministers departed in tightly clustered groups, whispering among themselves. But none dared openly oppose the Zhongxing Emperor.
That evening, a sealed letter arrived from Kang Youwei, written in elegant but hurried calligraphy:
"Your Majesty Zhongxing,
Your ascension brings with it a glimmer of hope—a chance to reform what decades of mismanagement have eroded. But know this: the conservatives will not rest. They will not accept change willingly. If reforms are to succeed, they must be swift, decisive, and carried out with unyielding clarity. Delay will invite sabotage, and hesitation will breed rebellion.
I am prepared to return to Beijing, should Your Majesty desire my counsel. But act now, or we will all be swept away in the tide of history.
Kang Youwei"
Emperor Zhongxing set the letter down, his expression unreadable. The candlelight flickered, casting faint shadows across the jade paperweight on his desk.
"History waits for no man," he muttered under his breath.
Far from the emperor's watchful eye, a group of conservative ministers and nobles gathered in a private estate near the outskirts of Beijing. Flickering lanterns cast long shadows across polished wood, and the faint scent of ink and wine lingered in the cold air.
"The Zhongxing Emperor consolidates power," one noble hissed, his voice trembling with suppressed anger. "He strips authority from the Council of State, places generals in key provinces, and speaks openly of dismantling traditions that have upheld this dynasty for centuries."
Another minister, older and more composed, raised a hand. "You speak boldly, but what would you have us do? Challenge him openly? Yuan Shikai's troops would sweep us into the gutters before dawn."
A third voice, low and venomous, broke the silence. "Perhaps… it is not the Zhongxing Emperor who should be removed, but those who prop him up. Yuan Shikai. Prince Qing. Perhaps if they are weakened, the emperor's grasp will slip."
The conversation continued deep into the night, plans forming in hushed tones and cautious whispers.
In the Hall of Mental Cultivation, Emperor Zhongxing stood before a large map of China. Colored pins and red ink marked key locations—rebellious provinces, vulnerable trade routes, foreign concessions.
Yuan Shikai entered quietly, bowing slightly. "Your Majesty, the provinces remain calm, but tension simmers beneath the surface. Spies report unusual activity among certain ministers. They plot, though they do so carefully."
Emperor Zhongxing's eyes didn't leave the map. "They think me blind, Yuan. But every shadow cast by their whispers stretches long enough to reach me."
Yuan stepped forward. "What are your orders, Your Majesty?"
Emperor Zhongxing's finger traced a path along the Yangtze River, stopping at key cities. "We move first where we are strongest. Education, military discipline, and infrastructure—let us repair the foundation before we build higher walls."
He turned to face Yuan, his gaze unyielding. "Let the conservatives whisper in their dark corners. Their time will come."