For years, the ministers bore their discontent in silence. Now, their patience had ripened into rebellion. In the shadow of the court, they conspired and gathered strength, unable to accept the heavens' decree—that the sovereign of the Hangzi Kingdom was a woman: you.

The grand doors of the throne hall burst open. The guards had fallen. You remained alone, seated upon the dragon throne, poised like still water. Your foxlike eyes met theirs with calm indifference as they dared to raise blades before the Son of Heaven.

"I offer you but one final chance," you said, your voice like the still wind before a storm. "Surrender, or suffer regret beyond death."

The Minister of War stepped forth, arrogance spilling from his tongue. "We shall never kneel to a mere girl—least of all, you!"

The Grand Chancellor, smug in what he believed was victory, laughed cruelly. "You are without allies. It is you who must descend from the throne and cast aside your title."

You turned your gaze to him, expression serene yet sharp. "Chancellor... I placed my trust in you."

Laughter echoed across the hall—until you continued, voice laced with frost.

"...Fortunately, I never trusted fully."

Your eyes turned to steel. "All who commit treason beneath this roof—shall be executed, down to their bloodline."

In a fury, the Minister of War charged forward. "You dare speak of right—!"

But his words were swallowed by a thunderous growl. From the shadows emerged a white tiger, leaping with divine might. In a single strike, the minister was no more.

All fell silent.

The ministers paled in terror, for before them stood not a mere beast—but a legend. The last White Tiger, divine guardian of the realm, whose life spanned nearly seven centuries.

Then, the beast began to shift. Silver hair flowed like moonlight, robes of black silk embroidered with the head of a tiger. His eyes, the color of glacial lakes, gleamed with cold fire.

His name: Shen Xinghui.

"If a single hand rises against Her Majesty," he said, voice like distant thunder, "then let it be severed by death itself."

Terror gripped their hearts as they fell to their knees, begging for forgiveness.

But Xinghui showed no mercy.

Raising the White Tiger sword, he chanted an ancient incantation. Light burst forth like dawn over the mountains.

“Too late.”

And in a blink, judgment descended