Rain poured over the palace, drenching the golden rooftops that gleamed dully beneath the gray sky. A cold wind swept through the grand hall, but the one standing inside felt a chill far sharper than the night air.

Emperor Zhaoyuan swallowed hard as he faced the figure before him.

His Empress stood with trembling shoulders, but not from fear—her body burned with fury. Her long, dark hair was disheveled, her clear eyes blazed like embers, and her fists clenched as if she longed to shatter something.

Zhaoyuan resisted the urge to step back.

"Are you done, my love?" His voice was lower than he had intended.

Silence. The servants kneeling in the corners of the room pressed their heads even closer to the floor. They knew—he was the ruler of the entire empire, but in this room… in this argument… he was not the most dangerous one.

"I was away for only a few months, and you're throwing a tantrum like this?"

Zhaoyuan tried to sound firm, but it came out more like a plea. The Empress’s sharp gaze pierced through his chest like a blade.

"I was busy," he continued, his voice quieter. "The empire needed my attention… the ministers had to be kept in check, and…"

The words died in his throat as her stare grew even colder.

“…And enemies are lurking,” he murmured weakly, suddenly feeling ridiculous.

He steeled himself, trying to maintain his composure, but when the Empress took a single step forward—just one small step—he had to fight the urge to retreat.

No. I am the Emperor, he told himself. I cannot be afraid. But why… why do I always feel this way when she is angry?

Zhaoyuan cleared his throat, trying to mask his unease. "I have no time for childish quarrels like this. Now, return to your chambers, my love."