(Kingdom of Medang & Yi Dynasty)
The Kingdom of Medang—a fertile land embraced by forests, mountains, and cascading rice terraces—was preparing to receive envoys from a distant realm: the Yi Dynasty.
On the western side of the palace complex, the pounding of feet echoed alongside the snort of horses and the barked cadence of commands.
Sri, Senapati Anom, famed for her mastery of strategy and valor on the battlefield, was leading the morning drill. Her posture was sharp, her gaze focused, sweat tracing clean lines down her temple.
"Raka, watch the left flank. Their formation's starting to break!"
"Yes, Senapati."
Raka, Tumenggung Madya—Sri's second-in-command and childhood friend—nodded, slicing his sword through the air with practiced precision. He knew all too well: when Sri was in command mode, no one dared joke around.
At a distance, Sri's father—a former great general turned chief royal advisor—watched the session silently. Though no longer active in the field, his training had never been gentle. Sri's resolve was the reflection of his unyielding discipline.
But even in a place where discipline was sacred, royal orders sometimes pushed them into moral gray zones. That morning was one such moment. They had been tasked with securing a secret trade route involving delicate foreign negotiations.
Meanwhile…
Far to the east, deep within the snow-crowned splendor of the Yi Dynasty's palace...
The sharp crash of glass rang out.
"YOUR MAJESTY! The Ninth Prince has climbed the pavilion roof again! This time he's drumming the Harvest God's sacred gong—with his buttocks!"
The Emperor of Yi—ruler of thirteen provinces and victor of six grand wars—rubbed his temples with a sigh.
"Lu Han…" he muttered like a curse, "If you weren't born from my favorite consort, I'd have flung you into the Yellow Sea by now."
Elsewhere, Mei Lin—personal maid to Chen Lu Han—was frantically chasing a carrier pigeon bearing yet another fake love letter Chen had written to the Fifth Empress's cousin.
"If this gets delivered, I'm dead, Your Highness!"
"Relax, Mei Lin," Chen replied from the branches of a plum tree, mouth half-full. "If you die, I'll send a gold-ink condolence letter directly to the God of Death. You like gold, don't you?"
She nearly hurled a shoe at his face.
Not far away, a man stood silently in the shadows. Han Yue, Chen's shadow guard, had saved him from poison, arrows, and no less than three assassination attempts by his father's wives.
He rarely spoke. But that day, he exhaled deeply.
"Why did I have to disguise myself as a female cook and serve cream buns to the Third Concubine's banquet?"
"Because, dear Brother Xu," Chen said as he watered an already-dead flower, "we are engaged in an internal diplomatic operation. Sweet diplomacy."
"You're escaping again tomorrow, aren't you?"
"Naturally," Chen grinned. "But this time to an exotic land—a great southern kingdom. I hear the women there are fierce and quick to anger. I'm intrigued."
Yet Chen Lu Han's journey south was not merely about diplomacy or mischief. Beneath his sly grin was a concealed mission. And lying in wait—crafted by his own brothers—was a deadly trap.
What awaited him in the Kingdom of Medang…
was a fated collision that would alter the course of two nations forever.