At dawn, they would leave for the capital.
But the night before departure was anything but quiet.
The entire camp stirred with restless energy. Soldiers packed their belongings, laughter and excitement echoing through the air. Armor was polished, horses were prepared, and supply carts were loaded with food for the long journey ahead.
For the first time in years, the Eastern Army was not preparing for war—
They were going home.
And at the center of it all was one name.
General Cheng.
Whispers spread like wildfire among the men.
"The Emperor has finally forgiven him…"
"He's being called back as a prince…"
"Father and son will reunite at last…"
Hope was not Lan Cheng's alone.
It belonged to all of them.
But inside the command tent—
There was silence.
Heavy. Still. Untouched by the joy outside.
Lan Cheng stood alone, his back straight, his expression unreadable. The faint glow of a lantern flickered across his face, casting shadows that made him seem colder… distant.
A sudden flutter broke the stillness.
A pigeon landed softly near the open window.
Lan Cheng's gaze shifted.
For a moment, he did not move.
Then slowly, he stepped forward and removed the small scroll tied to its leg.
He unrolled it.
His eyes darkened instantly.
"The Ruo clan awaits your arrival."
No signature.
None was needed.
Lan Cheng already knew.
Ruo Liang.
His maternal uncle.
The only remaining pillar of the once-mighty Ruo clan.
For years, messages like this had come—one after another, persistent, unyielding.
And for years…
Lan Cheng had ignored them all.
His fingers tightened around the paper.
The Ruo clan.
The very name carried the weight of everything he had tried to escape.
Power.
Ambition.
Manipulation.
His mother's shadow.
The reason for his exile.
The reason for his father's hatred.
The reason his life had been torn apart before it had even begun.
A flicker of something crossed his eyes—cold, restrained… almost resolute.
Without hesitation—
He brought the paper to the flame.
The fire caught instantly.
The words curled, blackened, and vanished into ash.
Just like every message before it.
"You've been ignoring him for years."
The voice came from behind.
Lan Cheng did not turn.
Bei Yu stood at the entrance, his gaze steady, having witnessed everything.
"Cheng," he said quietly, stepping inside, "why not speak to him?"
Lan Cheng's hand lowered slowly, the last fragments of ash slipping from his fingers.
"There must be something he wishes to say."
Silence.
Then—
"I know exactly what he wants," Lan Cheng replied, his voice calm… too calm.
Finally, he turned.
His expression was composed. Controlled.
But his eyes—
There was something sharp in them. Something distant.
"He wants me to return to the Ruo clan."
"To stand with them."
"To become what they expect me to be."
A faint pause.
His gaze hardened.
"A man like my mother."
The words fell cold into the room.
Bei Yu watched him carefully.
Lan Cheng continued, quieter now—
"I have spent my entire life trying to prove that I am not her."
His voice did not rise.
But the weight of it…
Was suffocating.
"If I accept them now… then everything I have done…"
A brief pause.
"…means nothing."
The lantern flickered between them.
For a moment, Bei Yu said nothing.
Because he understood—
This was not just refusal.
This was fear.
Fear of becoming the very thing he hated.
"Blood does not decide who you are," Bei Yu said finally, his voice steady.
Lan Cheng's gaze shifted slightly—but he did not respond.
"But the capital will," Bei Yu continued.
"They will not see your efforts. They will not see your sacrifices."
"They will only see one thing."
A pause.
"The son of Ruo Meng."
Silence fell again.
Heavy. Unavoidable.
Lan Cheng's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
"I know," he said.
And this time—
There was no hope in his voice.
Outside, the camp buzzed with anticipation.
Inside, something far quieter took root.
Morning came quietly.
A pale golden light spread across the Eastern Border, washing away the darkness of the night before. For many, it felt like a new beginning—
A day of return.
A day of hope.
The camp was already alive. Soldiers stood in formation, armor fastened, horses saddled, banners raised high. The long years of war had carved exhaustion into their bodies, but today… there was something different in their eyes.
Excitement.
Their general was returning to the capital.
Their General Cheng—
No, their prince.
At the center of it all, the command tent opened.
Lan Cheng stepped out.
He wore dark armor, polished but unadorned, his cloak falling heavily behind him. His expression was calm, composed—unchanged from any other day.
Only his eyes betrayed him.
There was something quieter there. Something restrained.
Hope… carefully hidden.
Bei Yu walked beside him, his pace steady, his presence silent yet grounding. The soldiers bowed as Lan Cheng passed, their respect no longer forced—but earned, unwavering.
Step by step, they moved toward the waiting carriage.
For a while, neither spoke.
The morning wind brushed past them, carrying with it the distant sounds of marching preparations.
Then Bei Yu broke the silence.
"The capital…" he said slowly, "is not a place you can take lightly."
Lan Cheng did not look at him.
"It is a battlefield far more dangerous than this one," Bei Yu continued. "There, enemies do not draw swords. They wait. They watch. They strike when you least expect it."
They reached the carriage.
Lan Cheng stopped.
Bei Yu turned to face him fully now, his gaze firm.
"You must be careful with every step you take."
A pause.
Then, more quietly—
"And… perhaps you should reconsider something."
Lan Cheng's eyes shifted slightly.
"The Ruo clan."
The name lingered in the air between them.
"They may have lost much of their power," Bei Yu said, "but they are still a force within the court. In the capital… having backing matters."
Another pause.
"You will not survive there alone."
Silence followed.
Lan Cheng stood still, his gaze distant for a brief moment—
As if something unseen had brushed against his thoughts.
Then—
"No."
The word was calm. Final.
He turned his head slightly, his expression unchanged.
"I have no intention of involving myself with them."
Bei Yu watched him carefully.
Lan Cheng's voice remained steady, but there was something colder beneath it now.
"I spent my entire life trying to separate myself from that name."
His gaze hardened just slightly.
"I will not go back to it now."
A faint pause.
"I do not need their support."
The words were simple.
But the weight behind them—
Was not.
Bei Yu said nothing for a moment.
Because he understood what Lan Cheng refused to say.
This was not pride.
This was fear.
Fear that if he reached out to them…
he would become exactly what he had spent his life trying to escape.
At last, Bei Yu exhaled softly.
"As you wish," he said.
But his gaze lingered on Lan Cheng for just a moment longer—
As if trying to memorize him.
Or perhaps…
As if he already knew what awaited him in the capital.
Lan Cheng stepped forward and climbed into the carriage.
The moment he did, the drums sounded.
Deep. Steady. Commanding.
The Eastern Army began to move.
Banners rose into the morning sky. Hooves struck the earth in unison. The long march toward the capital had begun.
Inside the carriage, Lan Cheng sat in silence.
The world outside moved forward—
But his thoughts did not.
They lingered on a single, fragile belief.
This time…
His fingers curled slightly against his knee.
This time… Father will accept me.
Outside, the road stretched endlessly ahead.
And far beyond it—
The capital waited.