Three Punches

Only Li Chengyuan remained in the imperial study.

The energy candles burned in the corners, giving off faint crackling sounds.

The bright yellow candlelight cast wavering shadows across the dark-gold walls. Those shadows intertwined with the embossed blades and swords on the walls, as though someone were wielding weapons against them.

Li Chengyuan opened his eyes and looked at the reliefs on the vaulted ceiling.

Those reliefs recorded over ten thousand years of Southern Martial Star Realm history, from the founding wars to the glorious victories on the Astral Battlefield. Generation after generation of Southern Martial emperors had been immortalized within them.

He suddenly thought of his father.

That old man had died on the Astral Battlefield when he was still young. Before dying, he had left him only one sentence: Being emperor is not about winning every battle. It is about preserving this country.

Had he done that?

He did not know.

But he knew one thing. Every decision he made now was for the sake of preserving this country. Even if those decisions would make the history books call him a coward, a spineless wretch, a traitor who sold out his country, he would still make them.

Because he was the emperor.

Li Chengyuan rose from his chair and walked to the window.

The sky outside was still dark gray, and the distant spires still flickered with dark-gold light. No matter how stifling the atmosphere within the palace was, those spires remained standing there, as though they had never wavered.

He looked at those spires for a long time.

Then he turned around, returned to the dragon throne, picked up his vermilion brush, and continued reviewing memorials.

The vermilion brush moved slowly over the paper, leaving one red annotation after another. His handwriting was vigorous and forceful, every