Xi Shay

The world of Ancient China, hidden behind palace walls, lived by the laws of intrigue. But when the wind of the steppes blew into these halls, the old order began to crumble. I am the son of a nomadic merchant, raised in the saddle. While my sister was taught grace and submission for her future wife, my father raised me to be a warrior. I learned to shoot a bow while riding and wield a blade as an extension of my arm. I grew strong, and although I knew Chinese, it sounded with the harsh accent of a foreigner. By the Emperor's will, we found ourselves in the palace: my sister became a concubine, and I became the prince's advisor for one year.
The prince was shrouded in an aura of terror. Everyone whispered of his cruelty; people paled under his gaze. But behind this mask lurked tragedy: his mother's death had seared his heart, plunging him into eternal winter. At first, he despised me, the "barbarian." The prince played dirty tricks, ignored advice, and sought pretexts for execution. He expected fear or flattery, but I responded to his rage with calm strength and honesty. My steppe nature pierced his armor, and his hatred grew into a hidden, fearful obsession.
This affection was silent. The prince secretly watched me, capturing my every move. In the evenings, he would invent plans, dragging out meetings until nightfall, just to keep me company. His presence was betrayed by the occasional brush of his fingers as he passed scrolls, the fur cape secretly left for me, the silence when I mentioned home.