The Broken Paths

The grand hall of the Imperial Palace was bathed in golden light, the scent of sandalwood and ink filling the air. Shen Jinhai sat upon his throne, his expression unreadable as the court continued its usual reports—taxes, land disputes, minor border skirmishes.

None of it interested him.

It had been months since the Western storms began shifting. Since whispers of unnatural technology had slithered their way into his domain. First, rumours of steel-piercing weapons. Then, of underworld markets flourishing with strange new goods. And now, something tangible had finally reached his hands.

Wei Xian, his most trusted informant, knelt before him. In the back wrapped in silk, was the object that had set the whispers aflame.

Jinhai arched a brow. "You bring me a gift, Wei?"

The informant smirked slightly. "Not a gift, Your Majesty. A discovery."

With careful hands, he unveiled it—a smooth black slate, its wooden frame carved with an unfamiliar seal. At its base rested a small, white fragment.

The court murmured.

"A board?" one official named Guangzhi scoffed.

"You bring His Majesty a child's plaything?"

Wei Xian smirked. "A tool, Excellency. One that rewrites how knowledge is recorded."

He picked up the white fragment—chalk—and, with a swift motion, wrote across the black surface:

The Regime of Jin Shall Rule for Eternity.

The script was bold, effortless. Then, in one motion, he wiped it away. Gone.

Silence.

The general, Zhiyuan closest to the throne leaned forward, intrigued. "Ink can be smudged. Parchment can be ruined. But this… This remains clean?"

Wei Xian nodded. "It allows for rapid planning, adjusting battle formations, perfecting strategy."

Jinhai finally stepped down from his throne, slow and deliberate. He reached for the chalk, testing the weight of it in his hands before pressing it to the board. He drew a map—sketching a rough outline of the northern borders. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he adjusted a key trade route.

He exhaled, a smile ghosting his lips.

"This is dangerous."

Wei Xian bowed his head. "And already spreading."

Jinhai turned, his golden eyes sharper than ever. "Who else has it?"

"Only two buyers as we know. The first is a trading house known as Ryl Trading, rumoured to be operating near Shrouded Peaks."

Jinhai's expression remained impassive. "And the second?"

Wei Xian hesitated just a fraction before answering. "Us."

The court erupted. Even those who had dismissed the board moments ago now watched the Emperor with cautious eyes.

Jinhai, however, merely ran a finger along the edge of the board, contemplative.

"Ryl Trading… and us. Interesting."

He placed the chalk back. "Find out anything new about Ryl Trading and find who made this or trace the origins at least. If they are thinking beyond Qi, then they are thinking beyond our rule. And that… makes them dangerous."

Chunwen, the head financial advisor, stepped forward, voice measured yet sharp. "Your Majesty, if a mere trading house possesses such wealth and influence, should we not question whether they seek to challenge the authority of the throne itself?"

A murmur rippled through the court. The idea was bold—perhaps even treasonous to suggest. Yet, it could not be ignored.

Zhiyuan, ever the pragmatist, folded his arms. "If they grow too bold, we should strike before they become a true threat."

Another official hesitated. "But to do so without proof risks disturbing the empire's economic balance. They bring wealth, not war."

Jinhai listened, his expression unreadable, as the debate swelled. For the first time in years, the empire faced an unknown force—one that did not wield swords, but something far more insidious.

His fingers tapped against the board. "Then we must decide—will we control them, or destroy them?" Jinhai's gaze darkened, his fingers stilling against the smooth surface of the board. The court continued to debate, voices rising and falling, but he no longer heard them. His mind drifted—back to a time when another force had risen, not in his empire, but far beyond its borders.

Layla al-Zahira. The Queen of the Eternal Crescent.

Her rise had been whispered through the halls of power, carried by merchants and emissaries like the scent of blood before a storm. He had not seen it at first—no one had. A woman, ruling not by lineage but by sheer will, carving her way through the sands and forging an empire from nothing. She had wielded war, trade, and fear with equal precision, never allowing any one force to outweigh the others.

She understood power.

When the desert lords dismissed her as a passing shadow, she turned their own allies against them, planting seeds of doubt in their courts until their foundations crumbled.

When the merchant clans refused to bow, she seized control of the most vital trade routes—not by war, but by something far more ruthless. She undercut their prices, collapsed their monopolies, and forced them to choose—fall in line, or fade into irrelevance.

When her own generals questioned her rule, she did not offer words. She made an example.

Jinhai still remembered the reports.

The General of the Eastern Tribes—once a fierce warlord, known for his brutal efficiency. He had refused to acknowledge Layla's rule, claiming a woman could not command true warriors. He had disappeared within the week. His second-in-command took his place, swearing fealty without hesitation.

That was Layla. She did what was necessary.

And now, sitting in his imperial court, watching his officials argue over this Ryl Trading, Jinhai felt an unsettling familiarity creeping into his thoughts.

This was how it had begun with her. A force unseen, a power unmeasured.

Would she have let this go unchecked? No probably not.

She would have controlled it. Or she would have crushed it before it became a threat.

His fingers curled against the board.

The echoes of the past weighed against the uncertainty of the present.

Layla al-Zahira was dead.

But someone else was playing her game.

Jinhai's voice cut through the debate like a blade.

"Enough."

The room fell silent. Every official, every advisor turned their eyes to him, waiting.

His golden gaze swept across them, unreadable.

"Send someone to Ryl Trading," he commanded.

"A quiet presence. We will not act blindly—but we will not remain ignorant either."

He exhaled, the decision settling like a stone in his chest.

This was not the Eternal Crescent and I'm not Layla.

But he had learned from her.

And if another power was rising—he would not be caught unprepared.

Meanwhile, in the Silver Lotus Sect, the halls were filled with a different kind of anticipation.

Layla stood before a massive chalkboard, sleeves rolled up, eyes alight with focus. Lin Wuye stood beside her, arms crossed, watching as she refined their plans.

The board was covered in notes—plans for expansions, projected revenue streams, names of potential allies and threats. This was more than just trade; it was looking like the foundation of an empire.

Meyu, watching from the side, whistled. "You look like a tactician scheming for war."

Layla smirked. "That's because I am."

Zhu Fen, standing on his toes, squinted at the writing. "What's all this?"

Lin Wuye stroked his chin. "The future of Silver Lotus."

Layla tapped a section of the board labelled Academy Development. "The chalkboard isn't just for planning. We'll use it for education. Ryl Trading has already started implementing new teaching structures. We'll follow suit. Our warriors must be more than strong—they must be smart."

Meyu grinned. "I will get more chalkboards then but a sect that teaches business, war, and martial arts? You'll terrify everyone."

Layla's smile turned sharp. "Good."

As the meeting wrapped up and the elders dispersed, Layla remained at the board, fingers trailing over the etched writing. The weight of their rapid progress pressed against her mind.

The chalkboard wasn't just a tool—it was an advantage. A way to educate, to plan, to control.

But as the pieces fell into place, a thought came to her, sharp and unsettling.

She turned to Meyu, her voice low enough that only she could hear. 

"Meyu. If Atlas and your people got this chalkboard… who else could have it?"

Meyu raised an eyebrow at the sudden question but didn't dismiss it. She leaned against the table, thinking.

"Well, if we got it, that means it's being traded somewhere. That means three possibilities."

She lifted a finger. "One—someone absurdly rich, outside of us Ryl Trading, has already gotten their hands on it. A merchant house, a private collector, maybe even a rival trading firm."

A second finger. "Two—underground players. Smugglers, information brokers, black market boons. The kind of people who thrive on controlling knowledge rather than using it. If they have it, that means they know its worth."

Then she held up the third finger. "And three—the worst-case scenario. The nobles. And if it reaches the right noble's hands, then you can bet the emperor himself will want it."

Layla's stomach twisted. She had expected that answer. And yet, hearing it aloud made it feel real.

She swallowed, forcing herself to remain composed. "If the emperor has it…"

Meyu folded her arms. "Then he does what emperors do. He hoards knowledge. Controls who gets it, dictates who can use it. It becomes a tool of absolute authority."

Layla's mind spiralled through the possibilities. If Jinhai had access to this, then he wouldn't just use it for governance. He would implement it into his military, his war strategies, his economic structure. It would allow him to centralize power in a way no emperor had done before.

And worse—he was also a strategist like her.