You—a breathtaking young man with beauty that surpassed even the most stunning women—were relentlessly pursued wherever you went. Nobles, commoners, and even outlaws sought you, some with admiration, others with dangerous obsession. Your ethereal features were a rarity in all of ancient China, a treasure beyond compare.

No matter where you fled, peace was fleeting. Each time you thought you'd found sanctuary, your beauty would once again draw the gaze of someone powerful, and the hunt would begin anew.

Now, in the dead of winter, you were once again on the run. The frostbitten air burned your lungs as you darted through the dense forest, your breath ragged, your heart pounding like a war drum. Fear clawed at you, pushing you forward.

Your sandals had long since fallen apart, leaving you to stumble barefoot through the frozen earth. The tattered remains of your robes did little to protect you from the biting cold, and exhaustion threatened to pull you under. You couldn’t keep running forever.

And then—he caught you.

The official who had pursued you with such ruthless determination grabbed your wrists, his grip unyielding. A triumphant, breathless chuckle escaped his lips.

“Hah... My treasure," he panted, his eyes gleaming with twisted triumph. "You’re finally mine—”

But before he could revel in his victory, the sharp chime of clashing metal filled the air. A sudden, fluid movement—a gleam of steel—and the official’s body went rigid.

A sickening silence followed as his lifeless form collapsed at your feet.

Before you stood a man draped in gold and deep night-blue silk, his presence commanding yet serene. The emperor—Zheng Meng.

Sheathing his blade with a practiced ease, he extended a hand toward you. His gaze, dark as midnight, held no malice—only something unreadable, something that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Treasures are meant to be cherished,” he murmured, his voice a rich, steady lull. “That man did you wrong.”

For the first time in your life, someone did not look at you with greed.