"The emperor's voice cracked like brittle parchment as he entered the court, bearing a decision that would alter fate."
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———
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Flashback:
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The days were adding to difficulties as the emperor entered into the royal court, and the ministers sat solemnly in a state of silence.
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"My trusted advisors, you know my fears concerning succession. It is clear my brother's line still plots to destabilize my rule," the emperor said, coughing. "I summoned you here today to make my decision known.
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The room had virtually been holding its breath while the emperor decreed something-anything. They had debated for months now about whether to invite Lokìan Shēn, some spirit trapped for hundreds of years for his trickster nature but also with his most unnatural abilities, or to look forward more toward diplomatic views. Both had their high risks. "I have given it some thought and I've decided to send for Lokiàn Shén," he announced.
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An uproar erupted in the court.
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"With his power, our future may be secured, though there is something we will need to pay. Some of you may have suggested not to tamper with spiritual forces, but after trying many ways, no male heir has been born. This is a gamble we have to make."
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Most devout ministers objected, but the emperor's mind was made up, he had to make his claim before it was too late, that night in secret, a conjuration rite for Lokiàn Shén would begin. The empire's fate would soon begin to twist in strange new directions.
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That same evening, under the full moon light, a shaman performed a ritual to speak with Lokiàn Shén. The emperor and a few ministers anxiously stood by to watch how the incense burned and chants went up in the air.
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Slowly he slipped into a trance. As he spoke, an odd echo followed his words, as though another person used his lips. "Who dare summon me?! What is it that Lokiàn Shén can offer you in this hour?"
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The emperor stepped forward in fear, "Great one, that thou mayest bless my line with a male child, so my brother's line shall not divide this realm. In return, we do all which thou requirest of us."
Lokiàn Shén smirked as he looked the emperor in the eye, "Tell me, great emperor, would you sacrifice your crown to save your people, or sacrifice your people to keep your crown?"
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The emperor remained silent.
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Cold laughter spilled from the shaman. "As you know, your request comes with a price mortal, as all bargains with me do. I will see to it that your queen bear a son within the year. But in return you offer rituals in my name three times yearly. Is this a price you will pay?"
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Now fear gripped the emperor's heart, he knew deep down that no deal came with a sacrifice that easy, but he had no choice if he wanted his crown to be secured: "I will accept your terms, great Lokiàn Shén. Now fulfill your promise."
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With that, the shaman fell, the ritual was completed.
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The interference of the spirit was on its way. The future of the heir to the throne changed forever in ways so unimaginable that very night.
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Years later, the palace held so much festivity in honor of Prince Cheng's 10th birthday, but right at the height of the merrymaking, disaster struck.
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As Prince Cheng smiled and accepted well-wishes, he was suddenly overcame by an odd sensation, as if the claws of some unseen creature had gripped his brain. He gasped and fell, convulsing wildly. Panic seized the palace.
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For seven days, the royal physicians remained mystified while Cheng lay unconscious, apparently in a state impervious to any remedy or tonic.
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Desperately praying at his son's bedside, emperor Wei was startled when a shamaness came forward with a grim realization.
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"This accursed sickness is grounded in the old Rite," she spake to the emperor, "Now Lokiàn Shén's disordered spirit torments the prince's body and soul for its own gain. 'Tis like it seeks to gain entry into the real world through the aid of the prince's frame. Unless its influence is suppressed, these fits will only grow worse over time."
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"Do whatever it takes to bring my son back "
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That night, rituals were performed to imbue Cheng's spirit with control. The smoke of incense surrounded him as the shaman chanted, guiding his qi to push back Lokiàn Shén's grip. Slowly, color returned to Cheng's cheeks, his eyelids flickered open.
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"Father-what is happening?"
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The emperor explained his curse with a heavy heart. "But take hope, my son, the shaman said you have been granted rare power over your mind and body. Through discipline of thought and command of qi, you can suppress even this unnatural affliction."
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The shaman stepped forward and knelt by his bed. "Only by suppressing your passions can you subdue the chaos within", he told the conscious prince. "You must learn balance".
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"Your training begins now. Daily you will learn meditation, combat forms, and ways of finding calm even in turmoil. Only by gaining mastery over your emotions, can you dominate the storm within. It will not be easy, but you must endure - for your destiny as emperor may depend on your victory over this chaos"
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From that day on, Cheng's curse began manifesting, threatening to undo his rule before it could even begin. Only constant training in spiritual disciplines allowed him moments of control. But the spirit's hold was deep, changing Cheng's path toward an uncertain destiny shaped by forces beyond any mortal's will. He faced a difficult road, but with determination he pledged to walk it.
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In the monk's mountain sanctuary, Cheng pushed his training to its limits. He cultivated mindfulness through solitary meditation. In combat forms he honed body and spirit as one. And through healing arts he learned to guide qi's flow.
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Slowly, he gained a sense of the chaotic presence within - and ways to curb its influence. On the best days he felt almost at peace. But fatigue or stress could still trigger its resurgence in unpredictable fits.
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As the years wore on, Cheng grew ever more reclusive. He went to the capital less frequently and saw no one but his tutor. Some admired his devotion; in others, the "cursed prince" grew disconcerting. The royal family maintained a respectful distance while the people were kept ignorant of his plight.
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Only with the monk did Cheng find understanding. "You have transformed your affliction into advantage", he told Cheng. "Let not the views of petty souls hinder your focus. You were born for a higher purpose. With god's favor, you may yet prove the omen wrong and fulfill your destiny as this land's savior". Cheng left each session strengthened in mind to prove the naysayers wrong.....
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Back to the present, In his private chamber, Prince Cheng sat in stillness. Outside his room, the bustle of the palace carried on, but within these walls was only silence.
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Cheng focused on his breathing, feeling his energy flow with each breath in and out. He felt a familiar prickling at the edge of his mind – the sly spirit noticing a sign of weakness, as it always did. But instead of causing a wild rush like before, Cheng now faced it calmly.
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He let the sensation wash through him, neither resisting nor fueling it. His qi flowed without obstruction, centering his spirit. The presence receded, frustrated by his balance. Only mastery over emotion could dominate this curse. And through long years of discipline, Cheng had gained profound control.
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Yet he knew external turbulence could still incite its stirrings. Which is why the conspiracy threatening his life must be ended swiftly, before its stress overwhelm even his training.
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- In a secluded mountain village, an elderly man coughed violently, his body wracked with chills. All around, villagers fell ill to the same strange malady that spread around the village.
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An air of unease pervaded the streets in the imperial city. Citizens murmured of ominous signs-crops withering before harvest, beasts howling at night as if calling some unseen terror. The emperor too had taken ill more frequently of late, his strength waning. At the annual dragon parade, normally a joyous affair, spectators seemed subdued.
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As illness took hold and the populace lost faith, it seemed some storm was brewing that not his mastery might weather.
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