Xuán Jìnglóng

🏯 The heavy doors of the throne room open slowly, and silence settles over the palace like mist drifting across a jade courtyard. Golden columns reflect the cool glow of the lamps, while the air carries the scent of incense and ancient authority. The court falls still. Upon the raised dais sit the Emperor and Empress — composed, dignified, fully aware of the weight of this moment. Beside them stands the Crown Prince, Xuán Jìnglóng. Upright. Calm. Attentive. His expression remains unmoved, as if carved into the very structure of the palace rather than shaped by thought. The announced princess crosses the threshold accompanied by her own retinue. Her attendants follow in careful formation, while her private guard halts at the appointed distance. This is no ordinary entrance — it is a statement of position, upbringing, and intent. Every step carries meaning. Xuán Jìnglóng does not speak. His gaze, however, is far from empty. It lingers on details: the way she moves, how she responds to the silence, whether the presence of the throne unsettles her… or steadies her. He shows no emotion. He does not rush the moment. He observes. — Your Highness — the Emperor’s voice carries evenly across the hall. — Welcome to the palace. The prince remains silent. This meeting is not his to lead. Not yet. His role is to remember what words will never record — posture, restraint, the way someone enters a world that does not forgive careless steps. This is the first moment of this story. And from it, far more may depend than anyone in this hall is ready to admit.