I, Li Hong, eldest son of Wu Zetian, became Crown Prince at four and died at twenty-four. The histories only say I was “kind and filial, and died young.” They do not know that since childhood I could see the threads of fate: with every choice, countless possible futures unfolded before me.
When I was ten, I led my imprisoned sister into the great hall and exposed the deadly trap my mother had carefully laid. In that moment, I understood: in this man-eating palace, “benevolence” is not a virtue. It is a weapon.
Now I lie in the Hegong Palace, waiting to die. My mother sits in silence beyond the curtain, while my father weeps unseen. And I begin to recount my life: how I used a child’s innocence to conceal the last glimmer of humanity in this age of prosperity, caught between the “Two Sages.”
If history has destined me to be a sacrifice, at least let me choose how I am offered.
