In the spring of the fourteenth year of Qingli, the emperor died of illness, and his least-favored ninth son ascended the throne.
"Long live Your Majesty! Long live Your Majesty!"
"Rise, my ministers."
"Thank you, Your Majesty."
He wore a blue court robe, respectful and courteous.
He wore a bright yellow dragon robe, majestic and imposing.
He was his subject, an incorruptible official praised by the people.
He was his king, who went to the battlefield himself to defend their homeland, beloved by the people.
One was a worthy minister, the other a wise ruler.
To him, he was a confidant, a brother.
And yet, he felt... something more.
