Chapter Text
There was a place where gold was not a metal, but the very color of the air. Raised under the promise of eternal prosperity, the capital seemed to have been sculpted by divine hands before being entrusted to mortals. The streets, paved with marble so white it outshone the sun, were a constant stage for flowing silks and the chime of precious jewels that adorned even the simplest of citizens.
The scent of sandalwood and incense drifted from a thousand temples, mingling with petals falling from ever-blooming trees. It was a city that knew no shadow; where the music of zithers echoed in every pavilion and the people lived with the arrogant certainty that the heavens protected them.
There was a delicacy in Xian Le that no other land possessed; the way the afternoon light rested upon the curved rooftops, bathing everything in a hue of eternal promise. To walk through those avenues was like diving into a childhood dream. There, where laughter was easy and wine was sweet, one learned that love could be as vast as the city’s temples, and as fragile as the first flower to fall in autumn.
They said that in this nation the gods walked among mortals, and upon entering its gates, it was easy to believe why. Bridges of white jade crossed canals of water so clear they seemed mirrors to the sky. Every tower, every carved pavilion, rose in a graceful effort to touch the celestial realm.
The capital of Xian Le was not merely a city; it was a golden altar beneath the sun. Wherever one looked, the gleam of glazed tiles competed with the sparkle of jewels adorning passersby. The air, heavy with incense and fresh flower petals, vibrated with the laughter of a people who believed themselves eternal. Beauty there was not a luxury—it was law.
Red lanterns hung from every carved wooden balcony, casting shadows that danced like lovers upon white stone walls. For those who arrived, the city was not just a capital, but a heartbeat; a place where every breeze carried the whisper of a secret shared between gods and mortals.
On the streets, the movement of colorful silks and the sound of zithers created a symphony of abundance, but for him, the city was only the backdrop of a silent waiting. Amid the crowds that cast petals to the skies, every detail of that capital—from the gleam of jade to the constant fragrance of jasmine—seemed to announce that something, or someone, was about to change the course of his destiny. Yet beauty there was a double-edged blade. Beneath the jade’s brilliance and the opulence of palaces, a fragility lay hidden that no one dared to name.
“One, two, three… One, two, three… Faster, Your Highness.”
Dance steps echoed before the great rehearsal hall, gleaming and dazzling like pure gold. The marble floor was struck hard, showing clear signs of mistreatment. Each step felt heavier than the last. Sweat ran down his skin, but it was not only fatigue. A strange heat began to spread within, as if his body burned in silence.
His heart raced beyond the rhythm of the music, and the air seemed insufficient. The perfume of flowers in the hall became suffocating, each note of the zither thundered in his ears. The prince stumbled, his legs trembling not only from exhaustion but from an unease he could not name. It was as if his own body announced a secret he did not want to hear. A crash resounded, startling everyone.
“Your Highness!” cried one of the palace maids, her voice trembling with fear.
The maid rushed to catch her prince, sprawled on the floor, powerless. “I cannot go on,” whispered the prince, glaring at the instructor’s severe scowl.
“My prince, we must continue,” she insisted, relentless.
The maid touched the prince’s skin and recoiled, frightened. “Your Highness is burning hot…”
Stretched upon the cold marble, Xie Lian felt his body betray his will. His arms weighed like lead, each breath a painful effort. The silence that followed the crash was more cruel than any word—it carried contempt, irony, and indifference. Shame burned hotter than the fever in his skin, and for an instant he wished to be invisible. The floor was not merely stone: it was the mirror of his defeat, reminding him that even as a prince, he was too fragile for being an omega.
The hall doors opened, and the noble imperial consort advanced with the grace of one who knew she was feared.
“What is that smell?” Her voice cut the air like a blade, dripping with irony.
Silence fell. Servants and instructors exchanged glances, some recoiled, others murmured in shock. Xie Lian, still on the floor, felt his face burn hotter than his fever. The fragrance escaping him was not mere weakness—it was a revelation that condemned him before the court.
That subtle perfume spread through the hall, sweet as jasmine yet heavy with melancholy.
“What irony…” murmured the consort. “Even the air betrays your fragility.”
Xie Lian closed his eyes. There was no escape: his body betrayed him before all.
“Ah… so this is it. The prince cannot even hide his own body.”
Her words were venom, each syllable meant to corrode his honor.
“While my son Qi Rong trains like a true alpha, look at what we have here: a prince who can barely endure the dance.” The consort smiled, satisfied, as if each word were a victory.
“Your Highness needs rest…” whispered a maid, but her voice was drowned by the heavy silence.
No one dared confront the Noble Consort, and the prince remained alone, exposed before all.
“How dare you speak without permission?”
“I-I beg your pardon, Noble Consort Imperial,” the maid bowed in fear. “But the prince is too fragile.”
Xie Lian felt useless, hating deeply that he had been born an omega. It was a burden he must carry until death.
“Y-Your Grace…” Xie Lian spoke with difficulty. “…I will retire to my chambers.”
As he tried to rise, still weak, the Noble Consort looked at him with disdain. “Take the prince to the dungeon.”
Xie Lian tried to stand, but his legs would not obey.
“Your Grace… please…” His voice was a thread of hope, soon crushed by her contempt.
The chill of the dungeon already seemed to seep into his skin before he was even taken. Murmurs filled the hall. Two guards exchanged hesitant glances.
“Noble Consort Imperial…” one dared, his voice trembling. “The prince… is the Empress’s son.”
Her icy gaze silenced them, none dared move. “Whoever disobeys my order will be punished,” she declared.
The guards advanced, lifting the prince with some care. Xie Lian could barely resist and let himself be carried into the dungeon. The place was cold, accompanied by agonizing silence. Opening the cell, one of the guards chained him to the wall before leaving.
The stones’ chill was merciless, yet it could not extinguish the fire consuming him. Heat ravaged him without pity: each breath was a stifled moan, each heartbeat a painful blow against the dungeon’s silence.
Sweat ran down his fevered skin, mingling with the damp smell of iron and mold. But there was something else: a sweet, melancholic, irresistible scent that filled the narrow space. Xie Lian’s pheromones saturated the air, heavy, suffocating, as if the dungeon itself breathed with him.
His hands trembled, muscles convulsed in involuntary spasms. His body cried for relief, but there was none. Only cold chains and indifferent walls. Heat made him shudder, gasp, lose control, each second a solitary torture.
His parted lips released incoherent murmurs, almost pleas, lost in the darkness. The inner fire was so intense it seemed to devour his dignity. The prince, once proud, was now reduced to a vulnerable body, surrendered to the relentless cycle that marked him as omega.
The dungeon’s silence offered no solace. It only returned the sound of his irregular breathing, amplifying his shame and solitude. “Please…” begged the prince, lying on the damp, cold floor. “I-I need suppressors…”
In the court, suppressors were spoken of as secrets locked in jade coffers. Bitter teas brewed from rare roots and sacred flowers, capable of containing the heat for a few hours. Some said the white powder, dissolved in medicinal wine, could silence even the strongest pheromones.
But Xie Lian had no access to such remedies. The noble consort would never allow the prince protection. To her, heat was a weapon—and the dungeon’s silence the only suppressor granted him. Unable to endure, the prince fainted.
While the prince lay in the dungeon, the palace was filled with murmurs of what had happened. The audience hall buzzed with whispers. “The prince was taken to the dungeon…” servants muttered, casting furtive glances. Some ministers exchanged complicit looks, others turned away, fearing the Empress’s wrath.
The Empress rose from her throne, her gaze firm as steel.
“Who dares touch the prince without my permission?” Her voice echoed, cutting through the whispers.
Silence fell, even the boldest bowed their heads.
“Your Majesty, it was not cruelty,” said the consort, bowing with false reverence. “It was necessity. The prince cannot control his body, and the court cannot be exposed to such shame.”
The Empress narrowed her eyes, holding back fury.
“Necessity? Or ambition?” Her voice was low, but each syllable dripped venom.
The Emperor watched in silence, his gaze lost among the ministers. His absence of words was more cruel than any sentence.
“All we want for the kingdom is a healthy prince,” said the consort. “Your Majesty, the Empress, brought to our court a defective prince, with feminine traits.”
Her words threw the hall into chaos. Some ministers agreed, others remained neutral. Who would dare question the Empress, the great mother of the realm?
“Xian Le has never had a male omega, and the prince represents an error in the royal family,” said the Minister of Justice.
“The prince can barely manage basic tasks with such a frail body,” added a government official.
“Your Majesty, the imperial ball cannot be stained by such weakness,” said the Minister of Rites, bowing.
The imperial ball had been prepared to celebrate His Highness’s eighteenth birthday, marking his entry into adulthood. It was the moment when the prince should be presented as the legitimate heir of Xian Le, before the court and foreign envoys.
“Prince Qi Rong represents the strength the army needs,” added the Minister of War firmly.
The hall was divided, each word a blade against the Empress.
“The prince is the Empress’s blood, the legitimate heir of Xian Le. Whoever questions his existence, questions the throne.” Her voice cut through the chaos like a sword.
“Enough. The prince will be treated as the consort ordered. There will be no mercy for weakness in my court.” The Emperor’s voice was firm, and even the Empress lowered her eyes.
“Majesty, he is our son…” she began, but the Emperor’s icy gaze silenced her.
“It is my kingdom that matters, not the fragility of an omega,” he replied harshly.
The ministers bowed in unison. None dared raise their voice against the imperial decision. The prince’s fate was sealed.
“The ball will be held without the prince. I will not allow the court to see weakness in Xian Le’s heir.”
Silence fell, and even the Empress lowered her eyes. The eighteenth birthday, meant to be a celebration, became a sentence.
It was the hour of Yǒu, when the sun had already hidden behind the walls and red lanterns began to be lit in the palace corridors. The imperial banquet was prepared, but the whispers about the prince in the dungeon weighed heavier than any feast.
“Jian Lan,” called the Empress.
The young maid entered her chambers, bowing low.
“Your Majesty.”
“Please, rise,” the Empress offered a sad smile.
Jian Lan obeyed, meeting the Empress’s eyes. Eyes that once shone with joy now brimmed with sorrow.
“Go to the royal kitchen and prepare a meal for the prince,” ordered the Empress.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
As the maid was about to leave, the Empress rushed to her, grasping her hands, desperate. “Tell me how Xie Lian is,” she pleaded.
Jian Lan hesitated, her heart racing. To speak of the prince was like touching forbidden fire.
“Your Majesty…” she murmured, trembling. “They say the prince was taken to the cold dungeon. Some guards claim he fainted.”
The Empress squeezed her hands tighter, tears in her eyes. “My son… on the day he should be celebrated, he is treated as a mistake.”
The distant sound of flutes and drums from the ball echoed through the corridors, contrasting with the heavy silence of the Empress’s chambers. The eighteenth birthday, meant to be a festival, had become mourning.
“Your Majesty, please go to the ball,” the maid smiled, trying to comfort her. “I will bring you news.”
The Empress gave a sad smile and nodded.
“Your Majesty, the Emperor has arrived,” announced a guard.
The Empress released Jian Lan’s hands and bowed as the doors opened. The Emperor advanced, his presence imposing immediate silence. Lanterns reflected on his golden crown, each step heavier than the drums of the ball.
“My wife,” he said firmly, without tenderness. “The kingdom cannot be shamed by having an omega as crown prince. Today we celebrate the strength of Xian Le, not the weakness of an omega.”
The Empress kept her sad smile, but her tearful eyes betrayed her pain.
“He is our son…” she whispered.
The Emperor raised his hand, cutting her words. “It is my kingdom that comes first. The prince will remain where he is. The ball will be held without him.”
Jian Lan, still bowed, felt her heart tighten. The eighteenth birthday, meant to be a celebration, had become a sentence.
The Emperor extended his arm, and the Empress, though heavy-hearted, took it with reverence. Together they walked through corridors lit by red lanterns, the sound of flutes and drums growing louder.
Upon entering the banquet hall, the space was filled with colors and perfumes: porcelain trays of delicacies, dancers in shimmering silk, ministers and consorts smiling in false harmony, and important visitors from distant lands.
“Today we celebrate the birthday of Prince Xie Lian,” declared the Emperor, his voice echoing. “The prince will not be present. He is unwell. I apologize on his behalf.”
The hall glittered with lights and colors: red lanterns hung from the ceiling, reflecting on golden brocades, the sound of flutes mingling with dancers spinning in silk. Yet behind the music, whispers grew like an underground river. Visitors who had traveled days, even weeks, murmured:
“Where is the crown prince?”
“We came only to behold his beauty, they say he is like the spring moon…”
“He is kind, always smiling at the servants. How can he be absent?”
Xie Lian’s absence was a shadow over every table. The banquet, filled with rare delicacies—pheasant meat, perfumed soups, rice wine—seemed tasteless without the prince.
The Empress walked beside the Emperor, her sad smile hiding her pain. Every glance cast at her was an unspoken question, every bow carried the expectation of seeing the heir.
The Emperor rose, his firm voice cutting through the whispers:
“The prince will not attend. Today we celebrate the strength of Xian Le, not weakness.”
The hall fell silent. Some visitors lowered their eyes, others looked at each other in disbelief.
The noble consort advanced elegantly, her cold smile lit by lanterns. Her voice rose above the music, clear and venomous:
“Today we celebrate not only the prince’s birthday, but the strength of Xian Le. And who better represents that strength than my son, Qi Rong?”
Ministers exchanged glances, some murmured approval, others lowered their eyes in silence. The Emperor did not interrupt; his silence was consent. Qi Rong appeared beside his mother, dressed in red brocades, his gaze proud. Visitors who had come to see Xie Lian were forced to behold the young alpha.
“Behold the future of our dynasty,” proclaimed the consort, raising her wine cup. “Strong, healthy, worthy to lead our armies.”
The hall erupted in forced applause, dancers spun in honor of the new center of the feast. The Empress, beside her husband, kept her serene face, but inside she felt the blade of humiliation. Her son’s eighteenth birthday had become Qi Rong’s symbolic coronation.
The hall shone with colors and music, but each note was a blow against the memory of the absent prince. Qi Rong, exalted as the dynasty’s future, received forced applause, while the consort smiled in triumph. The Empress, beside the Emperor, maintained her calm expression, but within carried silent mourning.
And in the dungeon, among cold chains and indifferent walls, Xie Lian remained unconscious, forgotten. The fragrance of his pheromones still lingered in the air, a melancholic whisper that would never reach the banquet hall.
Thus, while the palace celebrated, the true heir of Xian Le lay alone, and the dynasty’s fate was sealed not by glory, but by cruelty.