The Threads of Fate

The corridors of the Ling estate were once adorned with silk tapestries, their golden threads gleaming beneath lantern light. Now, in the depths of memory, Ling Xuefeng recalled how she had walked those halls with silent steps, unseen yet ever watchful. The air carried the scent of sandalwood and ink, a familiar comfort from the countless nights she spent studying under the flickering glow of candlelight. Even as a child, she was different. Where others played, she observed. Where others obeyed, she questioned.

Her father, Ling Weisheng, was a man of great renown—a scholar, a tactician, a governor whose word carried weight even in the Emperor's court. He had built the family into a formidable force, respected by allies and feared by those who sought to challenge them. The Ling family's influence spanned trade routes, military affairs, and the delicate web of court politics.

But for all his power, Ling Weisheng underestimated his own blood.

Xuefeng was not his heir; that honor fell to her eldest brother, Ling Yifan, a warrior groomed for leadership. Her other brothers and sisters were scattered in different roles, some married into noble families, others trained as diplomats or scholars. Yet, from the beginning, Xuefeng had known she was destined for something greater. She saw what others could not—the fragility of alliances, the hypocrisy of oaths, the way power shifted with a whisper rather than a blade. She had listened to her father's lessons, but she had learned far more in the spaces between his words.

She was the one who found the cracks in the foundation of their family's strength, the hidden grievances among the lesser officials, the resentment harbored by ambitious generals. She was the one who saw that her father's power was not absolute—that it could be taken, reshaped, reforged in her own image.

And so, she began.