*temp passtrial 0
*temp carriagecount 0

Chapter 1

You wake with a start. 

It takes you five breaths to calibrate your surroundings. The familiar wooden ceiling 
lies above. Soft silk sheets brush against your bared skin. Thin, translucent veils 
shield you from the rest of the room. Something meows from beyond the wooden structure 
of the bed. 

You exhale in one long gasp. That's right, this is your room in the palace. You're safe. 
From the near-fatal attack by the tiger, from the memory of your parents' open affection, 
from the strange dragon - 

It was all just a dream. 

The meowing continues insistently, nearer now to the foot of your bed. You stretch and 
groan, working out the morning kinks, before sitting up to extend your hand beyond the 
veil. 

A head full of fur nuzzles against you. Then something is dropped onto your open palm. 
It feels decidedly sticky. 

"Argh!!!" You leap out of bed, tearing straight through the delicate veils. "How many 
times have I told you not to -!" 

At the foot of the bed, your cat sits gracefully licking her paws. Her green eyes gaze 
in faux innocence over at you. 

You look down at the contents of your hand. There are no gruesomely ripped body parts 
from an unfortunate bird. Instead, a piece of your favorite rose puffs from the Imperial 
Kitchen sits in your palm, albeit rather mutilated in the process of your cat's delivery 
and your outburst.

Yue, whom derived her name from the crescent-shaped patch of white fur against the 
black canvass of the rest of her body above her eyes, meows at you triumphantly. Then 
promptly stalks off in search of her own prey.

"..." 

*choice
  #"... Uh, thanks for the breakfast?"
    You squeeze the rose puff in the your open palm before raising it to your mouth. 

    The minute you bite into it, the flavor explodes on your tongue. You let out a low, 
    appreciative moan. The heavenly taste, the crumbly texture, the complementing mixture 
    of slightly bitter rose petals and the sweet crust - you would know it anywhere, even 
    butchered by Yue's claws. This is the Imperial Kitchen's special recipe all right. 

    With your stomach filled, your temper abates. Besides, it's not as if you were really 
    that angry in the first place... As you finish the rest of your puff, you absentmindedly 
    recall how Yue came to be your cat. 

    At first it was "accidental" meetings - which, now that you understand her character, 
    were definitely premeditated - everywhere around the palace. 

    Innocently appearing at the bend of the road near your chambers? Persistent meowing 
    that rivals the howling of wolves at the full moon? They were all part of Yue's grand 
    plan to prowl her way into your heart. 

    But with your trusting nature you would never have guessed them for what they were 
    on your own. It took Mingzi's wry comparison of Yue's wiles to that of a resourceful 
    and creative palace servant aiming to get the Emperor's attention for it to dawn on 
    you. 

    And oh did she use every trick in the book. Eventually a mournful cry in the middle 
    of a thunderstorm guilted you into bringing the rain-soaked cat to your chambers; 
    and she has never left since. 

    Over time you have gotten used to Yue's presence in your chambers, and even grown 
    fond of the cat. 

    Nor are you particularly shocked by this morning surprise. This bizarre rose puff 
    greeting is only the latest of Yue's sometimes inexplicable antics, which range from 
    [i]creative[/i] places to leave the usual dead rats and birds in to systemic scratches 
    on chamber walls which look suspiciously like coded messages. Once you even caught 
    her engaged in a... conversation with an Imperial Guard, with the latter bowing to 
    Yue from her perched position on a roof above as if to a superior. You never could 
    get anyone to believe [i]that[/i] story. 

    Still, you suppose it is rather sweet for Yue to have snuck into the Imperial Kitchen 
    so early in the morning just to retrieve your favorite snack for you. Mingzi would 
    undoubtedly call this another one of her ploys, but what nefarious purpose could your 
    cat have in the kitchen? 

    You wave the silly thought away. 
    *page_break
    *set Trusting %+10
    *goto worriedpg
  #"Come here, you cute thing! Let me give you a morning hug~"
    You coo after your retreating cat, but she doesn't deign to acknowledge your weak 
    human cries for affection. A single meow, drawn out with similar effect to a human 
    drawl, echoes in the Chamber before Yue disappears out of sight. 

    You let out a disappointed sigh. Although can't say you're surprised. For a pet 
    that stuck to your side like a particularly persistent thorn to get adopted, Yue 
    has never been an affectionate cat. "Well then..." At least she did sneak into the 
    Imperial Kitchen early in the morning to bring your favorite puff to you - even if 
    it is probably because she had some other reason to be in there. 

    As you bite into your puff, you absentmindedly recall how Yue came to be your cat. 

    At first it was "accidental" meetings - which, now that you understand her character, 
    were definitely premeditated - everywhere around the palace. 

    Innocently appearing at the bend of the road near your chambers? Persistent meowing 
    that rivals the howling of wolves at the full moon? They were all part of Yue's grand 
    plan to prowl her way into your heart. 

    Normally you may look down on such dogged plotting, but luckily for Yue, you have 
    always had a soft spot for cute felines. Still, Mingzi's express objections  - 
    including a particularly amusing comparison of Yue's wiles to that of a resourceful 
    and creative palace servant aiming to get the Emperor's attention - delayed your 
    adoption until a mournful cry in the middle of a thunderstorm guilted you into bringing 
    the rain-soaked cat to your chambers. She has never left your chambers since.

    Finishing your puff, you reflect on the various adorable escapades Yue has gotten 
    up to in her time, living in your chambers. This unprecedented rose puff greeting 
    is only the latest of Yue's sometimes inexplicable antics, which range from [i]creative[/i] 
    places to leave the usual dead rats and birds in to systemic scratches on chamber 
    walls which look suspiciously like coded messages. Once you even caught her engaged 
    in a... conversation with an Imperial Guard, with the latter bowing to Yue from her 
    perched position on a roof above as if to a superior. You never could get anyone to 
    believe that story.

    Still, every time your cat does something truly aggravating, you remember her heart-
    melting meows and innocent eyes looking up at you - and all is forgiven. 

    Even now, you smile at the thought. 
    *page_break
    *set Empathic %+10
    *goto worriedpg
  #"When will it leave me alone..." 
    You mutter into the now empty bedchamber. As someone who's never wanted a cat you would've
    laughed in the face of anyone telling you you would one day own one - although owning
    is a loose word for your arrangement with Yue. 

    As you bite into the puff you recall how she came to live in your chambers. 

    At first it was "accidental" meetings - which, now that you understand her character, 
    were definitely premeditated - everywhere around the palace. 

    Innocently appearing at the bend of the road near your chambers? Persistent meowing 
    that rivals the howling of wolves at the full moon? They were all part of Yue's grand 
    plan to prowl her way into your heart. Like the most resourceful and creative servant 
    aiming to catch the Emperor's attention, she well knew every trick in the book - and 
    oh did she use them. 

    But while you were - [i]forced[/i] - to notice her, the warm tingling that legends call 
    "love" never filled your heart when you stared at Yue in exasperation. You were determined 
    not to let the cat sneak her way into your chambers, either.

    But then one stormy night, a mournful cry in the middle of the thunderstorm echoed near 
    chambers. Still you resisted succumbing to the clear ploy. Eventually it was Mingzi - who 
    before then had stood firmly on your side regarding the matter - who reluctantly brought the 
    rain-soaked cat to your chambers for the night. And - as expected - Yue has never left your 
    chambers since.

    You groan in frustration as you reflect on the severity of the matter. This bizarre rose puff 
    greeting is only the latest of Yue's sometimes inexplicable antics, which range from [i]creative[/i] 
    places to leave the usual dead rats and birds in to systemic scratches on chamber walls which 
    look suspiciously like coded messages. Once you even caught her engaged in a... conversation 
    with an Imperial Guard, with the latter bowing to Yue from her perched position on a roof above 
    as if to a superior. You never could get anyone to believe [i]that[/i] story. 

    Surely, just based on these ridiculous exploits alone, no one can blame you for wanting the 
    pesky little cat to leave. How did she even learn that rose puffs from the Imperial Kitchen 
    are your favorite snack anyways? 

    This is definitely part of some new ploy... You make a mental note to inform Mingzi's sweetheart 
    in the Imperial Kitchen to raise security levels, even as you savor the rest of your treat.
    *page_break
    *set Empathic %-10
    *goto worriedpg
  #"This isn't ... poisoned, is it...?"
    You glance suspiciously down at the rose puff in your hand. Yue has never made a morning delivery 
    - of food, that is; of carnage there have been too many - to you before.
   
    Sure, even in its damaged state, its color is the right shade of marble white dotted with rosy reds. 
    You bring it up to your nose and give it a cautious sniff. [i]Well[/i]. It smells right too; the 
    sweet scent of freshly baked cake mixed with the fragrance of the petals. Finally, you take a small 
    bite out of the palm-sized puff. You sigh in pleasure as the familiar taste of your favorite treat
    melts on your tongue. On the off chance that you really are poisoned by this, you know you will go 
    out happy. 

    As you finish the rest of the puff, you reflect on how Yue came to be your cat. 

    At first it was "accidental" meetings - which, now that you understand her character, were definitely 
    premeditated - everywhere around the palace. 

    Innocently appearing at the bend of the road near your chambers? Persistent meowing that rivals the 
    howling of wolves at the full moon? They were all part of Yue's grand plan to prowl her way into 
    your heart. Like the most resourceful and creative servant aiming to catch the Emperor's attention, 
    she well knew every trick in the book - and oh did she use them. 

    But cautious as you are, you were careful to never give her a chance to sneak into your chambers. And 
    yet a mournful cry in the middle of a thunderstorm guilted you into bringing the rain-soaked cat to your 
    chambers; and she has never left since. You sigh quietly to yourself once more. It just goes to show that 
    you should've been even more cautious. 

    Nor are you particularly shocked by this morning surprise. This bizarre rose puff greeting is only the 
    latest of Yue's sometimes inexplicable antics, which range from [i]creative[/i] places to leave the usual 
    dead rats and birds in to systemic scratches on chamber walls which look suspiciously like coded messages. 
    Once you even caught her engaged in a... conversation with an Imperial Guard, with the latter bowing to 
    Yue from her perched position on a roof above as if to a superior. You never could get anyone to believe
    [i]that[/i] story - even Mingzi chalked it up to your suspicious nature. 

    All in all, something about this morning delivery smells fishy, and you don't mean Yue's preferred milk-stuffed 
    fish breakfast. You don't know what business the cat could have in the Imperial Kitchen, but you are certain 
    she is up to something suspicious. 
    *page_break
    *set Trusting %-10
    *goto worriedpg

*label worriedpg

At that moment, the sound of rapid footsteps followed by the thud of the intricately 
carved doors being barged apart resounds in the room. 

Without looking up you know who it is. 

"Master!! Are you well!?" Chen Kun shouts from the doorway, evidently come running 
after hearing your cry. 

Ears ringing, your raise sleepy eyes to him. 

In the years that have passed since your timely acquaintance, the hazel-eyed magical 
prodigy has grown into an accomplished young mage. True to her word, the Empress pulled 
strings to officially place Chen Kun under her brother's household in the family register, 
and personally trained him for some years. To hear her say it, his magery is now on 
par with the disciples of the mysterious Ming Cult, whom devote their entire lives to 
the study of magic.

He has grown in other ways, too. The man whom symbolically offered his sword to you on 
his knees during the ceremony binding you together as Master and Personal Guard just 
days ago was evidently trained in both body and mind. His shoulders were broader, and 
his height filled out. 

But the solemn earnestness in those hazel eyes was, above all, what made you feel safe 
when you accepted the sword, and along with it, his loyalty unto death.

And yet sometimes... That seriousness of his leads to overreactions.

This is one of those times. 

Speaking of which, what do you feel about your new Personal Guard? 

*choice
  #You're happy. You take every chance to reignite your friendship with Chen Kun.
    During the period of time when Chen Kun was learning the ways of magic under the 
    Empress' private tutelage, you would often sneak into her quarters to spend time 
    with him. You suspect now that the Empress secretly knew, allowed and even facilitated 
    those little meetings. 

    After all, Chen Kun was to be your Personal Guard, bound by sacred rites to protect 
    you unto death. An additional layer of private loyalty stemming from a strong friendship 
    would only help foster a more effective partnership. 

    Cooped up as you were in the palace, away from even noble children most times of the 
    year, you delighted in finding a playmate in Chen Kun. And so the bond that began 
    from an ill-fated meeting slowly blossomed into a friendship. 

    Then Chen Kun left on a mission from the Empress. A test, your mother explained, 
    in a rare moment of softness when she saw your confusion and betrayal over your 
    friend's abrupt departure. 

    For years you have missed your friend. And now he's back. With the new Master-Guard 
    bond thrumming between you, you are eager to reignite your old friendship. How many 
    people get to have their childhood friend around them everyday? 

    In public displays of formalities will have to be observed - but away from the judgmental 
    eyes of the traditionalist old courtiers, you speak as informally with Chen Kun as you 
    did back in the days of your childhood. 

    Having your friend by your side for the rest of your life, to share experiences you 
    have imagined for so long, is like a childhood dream come true. 
    *set Chen_Kun %+30
    *page_break
    *goto nyantrouble
  #His overreactions are annoying. Cracks have been building under the ice.
    During the period of time when Chen Kun was learning the ways of magic under the 
    Empress' private tutelage, you would often sneak into her quarters to spend time 
    with him. You suspect now that the Empress secretly knew, allowed and even facilitated 
    those little meetings. 

    After all, Chen Kun was to be your Personal Guard, bound by sacred rites to protect 
    you unto death. An additional layer of private loyalty stemming from a strong friendship 
    would only help foster a more effective partnership. 

    Cooped up as you were in the palace, away from even noble children most times of 
    the year, you delighted in finding a playmate in Chen Kun. And so the bond that 
    began from an ill-fated meeting slowly blossomed into a friendship. 

    Then Chen Kun left on a mission from the Empress. 

    Inevitably, with the passage of time and the lack of interaction, you grew apart. 
    You sought new friends among the nobility with greater vigor. The Emperor approved 
    of your out-of-palace visits to your noble friends' estates, mostly because he saw 
    it as a form of making meaningful connections. 

    And now Chen Kun is back. With the new Master-Guard bond thrumming between you, 
    you are gradually discovering difficulties in reconciling your old friendship with 
    this new relationship. 

    Chen Kun's overprotectiveness is wearing on you. You despair to imagine being followed 
    around by him everywhere for the rest of your life. 
    *set Chen_Kun %-20
    *page_break
    *goto nyantrouble
  #You are appreciative of him, but your Master-Guard relationship is politely professional. 
    During the period of time when Chen Kun was learning the ways of magic under the Empress' 
    private tutelage, you would often sneak into her quarters to spend time with him. 
    You suspect now that the Empress secretly knew, allowed and even facilitated those 
    little meetings. 

    After all, Chen Kun was to be your Personal Guard, bound by sacred rites to protect 
    you unto death. An additional layer of private loyalty stemming from a strong friendship 
    would only help foster a more effective partnership. 

    Cooped up as you were in the palace, away from even noble children most times of 
    the year, you delighted in finding a playmate in Chen Kun. And so the bond that 
    began from an ill-fated meeting slowly blossomed into a friendship. 

    Then Chen Kun left on a mission from the Empress. 

    You missed your friend, but eventually found new ones by seeking out noble children 
    with greater enthusiasm. The Emperor approved of your out-of-palace visits to your 
    noble friends' estates, mostly because he saw it as a form of making meaningful 
    connections. 

    And now Chen Kun is back. With the new Master-Guard bond thrumming between you, 
    you have begun to establish a new relationship more professional than private. 

    Chen Kun is a good Personal Guard, and you feel safe being protected by him for 
    the rest of your life. But something within you regrets the loss of your childhood 
    friendship. 
    *set Chen_Kun %+20
    *page_break
    *goto nyantrouble
  #There has been a strange... simmering in the air between you since the ceremony.
    During the period of time when Chen Kun was learning the ways of magic under the 
    Empress' private tutelage, you would often sneak into her quarters to spend time 
    with him. You suspect now that the Empress secretly knew, allowed and even facilitated 
    those little meetings. 

    After all, Chen Kun was to be your Personal Guard, bound by sacred rites to protect 
    you unto death. An additional layer of private loyalty stemming from a strong friendship 
    would only help foster a more effective partnership. 

    Cooped up as you were in the palace, away from even noble children most times of 
    the year, you delighted in finding a playmate in Chen Kun. And so the bond that 
    began from an ill-fated meeting slowly blossomed into a friendship. 

    Then Chen Kun left on a mission from the Empress. A test, your mother explained, 
    in a rare moment of softness when she saw your confusion and betrayal over your 
    friend's abrupt departure. 

    For years you have missed your friend. And now he's back. 

    You surprised even yourself with the eagerness with which you reignited your friendship. 
    There are undoubtedly still barriers to overcome, chiefest of all the connotations 
    of the new Master-Guard bond thrumming between you. 

    But there is - something else growing in the tentatively-breached gulf between you. 
    It is in the brush of fingers lingering just a bit too long over a sword hilt; in 
    the heat of exchanged glances under the bare illumination of an oil lamp, in the 
    warmth that heats within you whenever you are together.
   
    It scares you, what this new thing might do to your already complicated relationship - 
    but you can't quite bury it. 
    *set Chen_Kun_RO %+40
    *set Chen_Kun %+40
    *page_break
    *goto nyantrouble

*label nyantrouble

"I'm fine, Chen Kun." You finally sigh. "It was only Yue."

A look of suspicion flashes in your Guard's eyes. You fervently hope he isn't secretly 
classifying your cat as a possible danger to you. 

"Master, the maids have prepared your garments for the ceremony in the outer chamber. 
It is now seven. The ceremony is at noon. The pre-ceremony proceedings will take around 
three hours and the journey -" 

You groan aloud. 

*page_break

Today is the day of your twenty-first birthday. For any other child in the land that 
might be no more cause for celebration than any other year. 

But for you it means that the royal coronation, the ceremony that will officially recognize 
you as a ${Prince} of the Land of the Dragon. People from all over the land - and some 
foreigners besides - will gather at Duolin Temple at noon today to watch your crowning. 

A holiday will be declared in your name as a blessing to the realm. The royal treasury 
will be opened and a feast thrown for any with enough patience - or desperation - to 
line up to enter the Temple gates by dawn. As it is to be your first official revelation 
to the people, the ceremony is structured to garner you as much popularity as possible. 

Of course, the reverse is also true: it makes for a stellar chance to destroy a royal's reputation. 

What, by the way, are your feelings regarding your ceremony? 

*choice
  #Excited, of course. You're finally going to present yourself to the world!
    A drumming procession led by the royal musicians, a spectacular feast for the people, 
    a grandiose coronation before the eyes of the land... And then a more private, more 
    luxurious dinner with the rest of the royal family and nobles, a series of congratulatory 
    speeches, the appointment to a governing position that befits your rank -

    What is there not to be excited about? Ever since the Empress first told you of the 
    ceremony that every royal must undergo on their twenty-first year, you have been 
    looking forward to it. And now you are positively ecstatic; you cannot wait for the 
    ceremony to begin.

    You will be the talk of the land. The people will love their new royal, you already 
    know it.

    By tomorrow, the treasury will be issuing new coins with your visage minted on them, 
    bakers will be selling pies and cakes with your image, and your praises will be sung 
    by composing bards. You will live the life that every royal dreams of.

    And most important of all - you will finally be granted the right to leave the 
    palace grounds and travel as far as you wish without seeking express permission 
    from your parents. 

    Freedom, recognition and love - what else can you want from a ceremony that will 
    barely take up a few hours of your life?

    You are bursting at the seams from excitement. Only a few more hours left... It 
    suddenly feels as if you have been waiting your entire life just for it to begin.
    *set Empathic %-20
    *page_break
    *goto materials
  #This is only the beginning of your climb to the top of the power ladder.
    Extravaganza, publicizing, posturing - you well understand the purpose behind the 
    ceremony, though you do not personally care for it. No, what you truly desire lies 
    in the realm that the powerful so often hide behind such glamour.

    The Land of the Dragon is an absolute monarchy, but then true personal power cannot 
    be inherited, not even by one born into the royal family. 

    No, true power can only be won.

    Over the years you have become practiced in swaying opinions; a little slip of a 
    secret here, a sheepishly whispered confession there - you made full use of assumptions 
    of your childhood innocence to subtly manipulate the court. 

    Now finally it is time for you to step into the spotlight. The ceremony marks your 
    official introduction to the world, and the night will end with you being appointed 
    to a governing position suitable for your status. 

    Finally, you will be able to cross swords and forge alliances in court with your 
    own power. But even that is only every typical noble's birthright in your land. 

    No, the idle life of an entitled, unambitious noble is not for you. You will 
    settle for nothing less than a position of First Imperial Rank in court, and a 
    fertile land with stable future to govern for yourself. As for the highest seat of 
    all in the land... Who can know what the future holds? 

    But you are certainly set on the path to achieve great power - the ceremony is 
    only the beginning. 
    *set Ambitious %+20
    *page_break
    *goto materials
  #Disapproving. The funds used for the extravaganza could be put to better use.
    The decorations that line all the major streets leading to Duolin Temple, the 
    additional security staff hired to regulate the ceremony, the free-for-all food 
    service - these are only the most substantial withdrawals from the treasury funds for 
    the occasion.

    You know because you specifically enquired about the total sum. When faced with 
    your request, the head treasury officer assured you that there was absolutely no 
    way they could organize a respectable ceremony for you with a budget any more 
    reduced. 

    And so you were forced to acquiesce.

    Reflecting on it again now, you lament the wastage of funds that could be channelled 
    into much more meaningful projects.

    A few new orphanages in the capitol to alleviate the problem of children driven to 
    thieving, a lot more rations to areas slowly broiling with rebellion, funds to kickstart 
    the construction many necessary infrastructures somehow deemed secondary to your ceremony... 
    The list is longer than you can count on your fingers.

    You sigh. It is inevitable now; even if you are able to find a particularly innovative 
    way to slip away from your retainers, you cannot very well leave your family - and 
    the land in extent - shamed by your absence at your own ceremony.

    All you can do is endeavor to implement reforms that may alter the scale of future 
    ceremonies with the governing position that will no doubt to given to you as befitting 
    your status tonight. 
    *set Empathic %+20
    *page_break
    *goto materials
  #Reluctant. You don't see a reason to be put on a pedestal for the people.
    Why should you have a ceremony publicized to the entire land and even beyond on 
    your twenty-first birthday? You have as yet done nothing to distinguish yourself 
    from the uncountable - well, undoubtedly countable in the painstakingly preserved 
    family trees in the royal library - number of nobles preceding you. 

    You do not wish to be celebrated by the people with nothing to your own name. 
    Due to the numerous restrictions on a royal child before your twenty-first year, 
    you have as yet achieved nothing of significance to the world despite the resources 
    available to you.

    And, more than that - why should you alone be held up on a pedestal designed to 
    make you adored by the people, simply because of your birth? Are there not many 
    other more deserving individuals in all kinds of fields in the land, whose talents 
    would greatly benefit the land if they only received a similar spotlight?

    You sigh. It is inevitable now; even if you are able to find a particularly 
    innovative way to slip away from your retainers, you cannot very well leave your 
    family - and the land in extent - shamed by your absence at your own ceremony.

    All you can do is endeavor to prove yourself worthy of the ceremony hereafter with 
    the power of the governing position that will no doubt to given to you as befitting 
    your status tonight.
    *set Ambitious %-20
    *page_break
    *goto materials


*label materials

The necessary materials for your ceremony have been laid out in your outer chamber by 
the palace maids. 

In the middle of the intricately designed rug-lined floor lies a set of formal garments. 
To its left sit five pots of fragrances. Against the wall rests a vanity table, complete 
with a mirror.

You reach out towards....

*disable_reuse
*choice
  #The formal garments, woven specifically for your ceremony.
    Chen Kun catches your eye and respectfully retreats behind a partition door to grant 
    you privacy to change.

    The garments are woven in the most luxurious fabric that the silkworm farms of your 
    land can produce, dyed in pure red. It is an auspicious color normally reserved for 
    wedding couples all over the land - and in the royal palace, an exclusive right of 
    the Empress.

    Huh. Your mother is definitely behind this. You certainly cannot imagine anyone in 
    the Imperial service would be foolish enough to choose this particular shade of fabric 
    dye without consulting her first.

    You can well guess her intentions. By wearing the color ancestrally reserved for the 
    queen mother of the land, you will be presented to the world as the sole trueborn child 
    of the Emperor and the Empress.

    As for the gold woven into the outline of a dragon and decorating the long sleeves... 
    Undoubtedly a reference to the Emperor, although mild enough to avoid accusations of usurping. 

    Such a symbol, subtle enough for the Consorts to be unable to complain but effective 
    enough on the people, is just like the Empress' usual political maneuvering.

    *if (Ambitious>Humble) 
     Well, you can't complain. You couldn't have planned for a set of garments 
     more fitting for your ceremony to establish your status to the world. Favored child of both 
     the Emperor and the Empress? The suitors for your own favor will come pouring to your door. 
    *if (Ambitious=Humble)
     Well, you can't complain. This is the fruit of your mother's efforts to support you as best 
     she can, after all - even if that may or may not be what you want.
    *if (Ambitious<Humble) 
     You sigh in frustration. You don't care for the title of Emperor, and you definitely 
     want to avoid the power struggles that the Empress is propelling you into. When will she recognize 
     that you want no part in the conflict for the throne's heir? But it's too late now to change 
     the garments.

    You bend to pick up the garments. 
    *choice
      #They are in a masculine style.
        The dress of your time is fairly androgynous, but there are subtle differences in the cutting for 
        your men's robes compared to a more feminine style.
       
        Your formal garments for the ceremony contain long-sleeved tops that criss-cross at your collarbones 
        to form the neckline, combined with a heavy skirt that flows to just above your ankles. 

        It is the accessories that go with the robes that gives it its masculine air.

        Ever since your twelfth birthday, you have worn a jade pendant carved with your initials on it with 
        every outfit you don. As with all others able to afford jade, the pendant is your symbol, fulfilling 
        a range of uses from identification to messenger proof. 

        Today will be no different.

        You fix the jade accessory to the golden sash around your waist that doubles as a belt.

        The ceremonial shoes have a black canvas, lined and stitched with gold to form the pattern of a dragon. 

        At your beckoning and a message relay through Chen Kun, a maid enters to fix your hair up into a high 
        bun before securing it under a ceremonial headgear common among court officials.

        As you dismiss the maid, Chen Kun comes up to you. You see the genuine awe in his honest hazel eyes as 
        he bows. "Master, you are truly a Dragon ${Prince}."  

        Satisfied with your garments, you turn your attention elsewhere.
        *page_break
        *goto materials
      #They are in a feminine style.
        The dress of your time is fairly androgynous, but there are subtle differences in the cutting for your 
        woman's gown compared to a more masculine style. 

        Your formal garments for the ceremony contain long-sleeved tops that criss-cross at your collarbones to
        form the neckline, combined with a heavy skirt that flows to just above your ankles. 

        It is the accessories that go with the gown that gives it its feminine aura.

        Ever since your twelfth birthday, you have worn a long, thin jade hairpin slotted sideways into your hair. 
        It bears your initials carved into the precious stone. As with all others able to afford jade, the pin is 
        your symbol, fulfilling a range of uses from identification to messenger proof.

        Today will be no different.

        At your beckoning and a message relay through Chen Kun, a maid enters to tie your hair up into an intricate 
        pattern that resembles rabbit ears known as the [i]fei xian ji,[/i] or Flying Goddess Hairstyle. She then secures 
        the complicated design with your jade hairpin.

        The ceremonial shoes have a red canvas, lined and stitched with gold to form the pattern of a dragon.

        As you dismiss the maid, Chen Kun comes up to you. You see the genuine awe in his honest hazel eyes as he bows. 
        "Master, you are truly a Dragon ${Prince}."
        
        Satisfied with your garments, you turn your attention elsewhere.
        *page_break
        *goto materials
      #They are in an androgynous style.
        The dress of your time is fairly androgynous, but there are subtle differences in the cutting for your purposefully 
        androgynous robes compared to those catered to men or women. 

        Your formal garments for the ceremony contain long-sleeved tops that criss-cross at your collarbones to form the 
        neckline, combined with a heavy skirt that flows to just above your ankles. 

        It is the accessories that go with the gown that gives it its distinctive aura.

        Ever since your twelfth birthday, you have worn a piece of jade corded by a golden necklace around your neck. It bears 
        your initials carved into the previous stone. As with all others able to afford jade, the necklace is your symbol, fulfilling 
        a range of uses from identification to messenger proof.

        Today will be no different.

        At your beckoning and a message relay through Chen Kun, a maid enters to style your hair into a simple [i]chui ji[/i], 
        which bound it into the shape of a skyward cone. Your necklace is carefully woven around the cone as an accessory. 

        The ceremonial shoes have a dark canvas, lined and stitched with gold to form the pattern of a dragon. 

        As you dismiss the maid, Chen Kun comes up to you. You see the genuine awe in his honest hazel eyes as he bows. 
        "Master, you are truly a Dragon ${Prince}."
     
        Satisfied with your garments, you turn your attention elsewhere.
        *page_break
        *goto materials
  #The freshly brewed fragrances, the scents of which irresistibly attract you.
    Just one whiff of those intermixing scents sends you into blissful daze. As a toddler, upon your first encounter with 
    the mysterious pots emanating the wonderful fragrances, one of your nursemaids joked that they were the land's newest 
    fashionable drink. 

    *if (Trusting>Cautious)
     You didn't even wait a beat. Eager to taste the contents of the pots that smelled so heavenly, you poured half of the 
     contents down your throat before your horrified retainers could wrench it away from you - and immediately started crying. 
     The Empress' cool rage was heaven-shaking; it took the Emperor's express pardon to expel the retainers from the palace 
     unharmed. To this day you remember the gut-wrenching stomachache and terrible medicine, but you still never quite got over 
     your love for fragrances. 
     
    *if (Trusting<Cautious) 
     You stared questioningly at your nursemaid. Even though the tantalizing scents wafting to you from the pots compelled you 
     to taste them as you were just given permission to, your instincts cautioned you against it. There was something about the 
     delivery of her words, perhaps, or the way your retainers snuck glances at each other. The moment of hesitation was enough. 
     One of your nursemaids, well attuned to the potentially horrifying consequences, quickly broke the truth, saving the day. 
     To this day, you have never quite got over your love for fragrances.

    *if (Trusting=Cautious) 
     You stared questioningly at your nursemaid. Even though the tantalizing scents wafting to you from the pots compelled you 
     to taste them as you were just given permission to, you're not quite sure if that was a joke. The moment of hesitation was enough. 
     One of your nursemaids, well attuned to the potentially horrifying consequences, quickly broke the truth, saving the day. 
     To this day, you have never quite got over your love for fragrances.

    As such you have developed quite a nose for identifying fragrances. On closer inspection, you immediately know each for what 
    they are. 
     
    According to your preferences you choose the... 
    *choice
      #Pot that smells of earthy marjoram.
        It is a teapot the color of the soil, adorned with hand-painted strokes from an ink brush that shape swirls that might 
        have been the wind. There is a strangely battered but hardy nature to it that is rare among the meticulously cleaned and 
        selected ware of the palace. 

        As you lift the lid, the earthy scent of marjoram fills the air. 

        You remember the sound of fearless laughter as you tumble through the fields, the friction of the fauna brushing against 
        your clothes, the elation of being free and at one with nature. You think of sunlight washing over tanned skin as the wind 
        would caress another's cheek, warm and solid. 

        A remnant shard of memory from your childhood: a proud smile shining down at you while the sun behind glared into your eyes, 
        so that all you can see is a head of tussle auburn hair, bright, red, hot - like the sun. Then the grounding sensation of 
        feeling naturally protected and safe, even as you are lifted high into the air by his strong, muscled arms. The sound of 
        your shared joy ringing out in the air, pure and raw, the idea of division between you as yet incomprehensible. 

        Chen Kun mutters, "That's right, this is Qing - I mean, the Crown Prince's  preferred scent. Fitting for a brute like him..." 

        Blinking, you process that information. Your elder brother, huh... How many years has it been since your last frank talk? 
        In between your mothers' power plays and his distancing military campaigns, your relationship will never return to its simple roots.

        You carefully apply the contents of the pot onto your shirt-sleeves and dress. The grounding scent of the earth covers you immediately.

        You take a deep breath, then exhale. Long Qing will definitely smell it on you later.

        Satisfied with your applied scent, you turn your attention elsewhere. 
        *page_break
        *goto materials
        *set lqscent true
        *set Long_Qing %+10
      #Lovely, thickly lavender-filled pot.
        The second teapot is of porcelain make, a pale canvas with elegant flower patterns painted across it. One look at it tells you that 
        it is of expensive quality even for palace standards. You carefully take it in your hands, turning it over to examine it. 

        As you lift the lid, the thick fragrance of lavender spreads through the room.

        Your mind shifts to the memory of a low, mesmerizing voice making a speech before the governing officials, the cool breeze from a 
        stately paper fan, and the steady, elegant strokes of a ink brush upon paper, creating beautiful art out of mere words.

        An image surfaces in your mind: a boldly unveiled figure sitting on an erected stage, calmly, confidently offering questions to the 
        gathered masses below. A hand which paleness rivaled that of the snow-white sleeves covering it smoothed over dark hair that flowed 
        over shoulders like a serene fountain from one of the great poets' works. You remember staring in awe from below up at the figure onstage, 
        regal enough to have stepped out from a master artist's painting - and the way your heart skipped a beat when ice cool eyes met yours for 
        a split second.
     
        "That smells familiar... It's something like Imperial Administrator Fang's perfume, isn't it?" Chen Kun comments at your side.

        You blink. That's right, the lady in your memories... is now one of the Emperor's most trusted officials. She will definitely be present 
        at the ceremony later.

        You carefully apply the contents of the pot onto your shirt-sleeves and dress. The cloying fragrance of lavender begins to curl around you.

        You wonder if Fang Yun will smell it on you later.

        Satisfied with your applied scent, you turn your attention elsewhere. 
        *page_break
        *goto materials
        *set fyscent true
        *set Fang_Yun %+10
      #Third pot with spicy green cardamon.
        This teapot is made of resilient ceramic, though unusually seeming not of palace make. Perhaps a foreign import, or a diamond in the rough
        from the capital's street markets - or maybe both. In recent years such products have become commonplace even in the royal palace. It may 
        bear some correlation to the growing strength of the dissenting factions in the provinces that are now spreading throughout the land - no 
        revolution can take place without sufficient funds, after all. 

        As you lift the lid, the spicy scent of green cardamom makes your nose twitch. A strong fragrance indeed, one that could even represent the 
        disturbance that the Uprising is to the Emperor's regime. 

        The scent has sparked your imagination, and prompted your thoughts to wander.

        What kind of Leader might be at the head of the revolutionary spirit? A charismatic orator skilled in the art of manipulation, rousing the 
        people of the land to the cause of rebellion? 

        Or perhaps a known official in the land, masquerading as a shadowy revolutionary leader to prepare for a usurping plot - well, you certainly 
        know who the Empress would guess for this last. The Elder Prince Long Juan has been a legitimate heir and threat to the throne for years now 
        in your mother's eyes.

        "..." Chen Kun is silent beside you, but his eyes are focused on the pot in your hands with a strange look in them. But he shakes his head 
        when you ask if the scent is familiar to him.

        You carefully apply the contents of the pot onto your shirt-sleeves and dress. The tangy smell of cardamom sticks to your figure.

        You wonder if Chen Kun's mysterious friend will smell it on you at the ceremony later among the crowd.

        Satisfied with your applied scent, you turn your attention elsewhere. 
        *page_break
        *goto materials
        *set jscent true
        *set Jin %+10
      #One emitting Buddha's hand fragrance.
        The teapot is made of fine wood, the sort commonly found in the nobility-frequented temples in the capital. Just by looking at it, 
        you can hear the calming, steady sound of the drumming stick on the [i]muyu,[/i] the Wooden Fish used for prayer in temples.
      
        As you lift the lid, the citrusy fragrance of Buddha's hand floats throughout the room.

        Your thoughts, lightened by the soothing scent, drift towards the ceremony later.

        It will take place at Duolin Temple, the most holy place of worship in the land, and the setting of coronation ceremonies for the
        past few generations.

        The ranks of the temple are filled with priests and priestesses of the highest devotion. There are even a few nobles among them.

        Breathing the scent of Buddha's hand in, an unexpected memory prickles your mind.

        You remember the soothing sensation of a comb gently brushing through your hair, the melodious humming of a popular tune making 
        its rounds in the capital streets... The resolute, unregretting smile amidst the weeping of retainers as shorn hair fell in 
        discarded locks all around the figure.

        "It has the scent of temple priestesses. A gift from Duolin Temple for your ceremony, Master?" Chen Kun remarks from his place 
        beside you. Although he does not elaborate, you understand what he is hinting at well enough. 

        You carefully apply the contents of the pot onto your shirt-sleeves and dress. The calming scent of Buddha's hand wraps around
        your frame.

        The religious sects in the land will surely be well pleased by your wearing their symbolic fragrance as a sign of your allegiance
        to their forces, during the ceremony.

        Satisfied with your applied scent, you turn your attention elsewhere. 
        *page_break
        *goto materials
        *set qlscent true
        *set Qin_Lan %+10
      #Last with the smell of western red cedar.
        The last teapot is certainly of foreign make - or at least, a perfect local replica of a western-style pot, thinner but stouter. 
        Its physical design is a perfect match for the strangely familiar scent floating out of it that you recognize as western red cedar.

        As you lift the lid, the natural scent drifts across the room like a heavy cloak of security.

        [i]Security?[/i] Bemused by the direction your thoughts have taken, you close your eyes, trying to chase them to their sources.

        The first memory that surfaces it that of large, rough hands awkwardly trying to be gentle in securing an emergency cloth bandage
        on you. Despite being in the state of fearful crying you still empathetically feel, you relive the laughter that welled up within
        you.

        You knew that you were safe in those hands that only ever became so rough in order to protect you from harm.

        Blinking out of your daze, you find Chen Kun's hazel eyes not quite looking straight at you. There is a faint blush warming his 
        tawny cheeks.

        Ah, yes - red cedar is Chen Kun's own preferred scent. Though some might say it is a luxury unfit for a Personal Guard, you have
        never had cause to reprimand him for it, for his protection of you is indeed without flaw.

        Clearly, he has drawn his own conclusions about your unconscious choice of red cedar.

        Although now would be the time to tell him what you think regarding your relationship... "Uh... Chen Kun -"

        Before you can finish your sentence, your professional, stoic Guard - sworn by death to stay by you for life - emits a panicked cry 
        and escapes out of the partition door.

        "..." 

        That's that, then. You carefully apply the contents of the pot onto your shirt-sleeves and dress. The familiar scent wraps around 
        you like a large, warm hand.
  
        You think of Chen Kun's flustered reaction again, and smile.

        Satisfied with your applied scent, you turn your attention elsewhere. 
        *page_break
        *goto materials
        *set ckscent true
        *set Chen_Kun %+10 
  #The vanity table. You need to check your appearance before you leave.
    You stand before the mirror, taking in your appearance. Before you can examine yourself properly a yawn breaks across
    your face. Blinking it away, you peer at your reflection. As with all others in which magic manifests, weak or strong, 
    your pigmentation differs from the non-magical. 

    Your eyes meet their reflection in the mirror. They are a shade of...
    *choice
      #Black. Dark as ink and as expressive as the liquid when it is scrawled across paper. 
        *set Eye "Black"
        Your ${Eye} eyes pull up to take in the rest of your face. Your hair, inherited from your mother the Empress, is ...
        *choice
          #A shade of ebony. It is a common color among the people of your Land, though your own is darker and shinier than most, if you may say so yourself.
            *set Hair "Black"
            Now, in the morning light filtering through the walls of your chambers, your ${Hair} hair shines with a healthy sheen. 

            As you blink, for a split second you almost swear that you see the golden dragon from your dreams appear in your reflection. But when you open your eyes again, it is gone. You rub your eyes, frowning. Just a remnant from your dreams in your woozy state. That has to be all it is. 

            Finally, satisfied with your appearance, you walk away from the mirror, just before the dragon in the mirror overlaps with your reflected self, its golden eyes gleaming.
            *page_break
            *goto materials
          #A warm brown. When the light washes over it, it shines like the bark of oak trees in the forests. 
            *set Hair "Brown"
            Now, in the morning light filtering through the walls of your chambers, your ${Hair} hair shines with a healthy sheen. 

            As you blink, for a split second you almost swear that you see the golden dragon from your dreams appear in your reflection. But when you open your eyes again, it is gone. You rub your eyes, frowning. Just a remnant from your dreams in your woozy state. That has to be all it is. 

            Finally, satisfied with your appearance, you walk away from the mirror, just before the dragon in the mirror overlaps with your reflected self, its golden eyes gleaming.
            *page_break
            *goto materials
          #The color of spun gold. It is the hue of a meadow of sunflowers in the height of summer in the Land.
            *set Hair "Blonde"
            Now, in the morning light filtering through the walls of your chambers, your ${Hair} hair shines with a healthy sheen. 

            As you blink, for a split second you almost swear that you see the golden dragon from your dreams appear in your reflection. But when you open your eyes again, it is gone. You rub your eyes, frowning. Just a remnant from your dreams in your woozy state. That has to be all it is. 

            Finally, satisfied with your appearance, you walk away from the mirror, just before the dragon in the mirror overlaps with your reflected self, its golden eyes gleaming.
            *page_break
            *goto materials
          #A bright auburn. The color of the most beautiful fallen leaves in the glade when autumn comes around to the Land.
            *set Hair "Red"
            Now, in the morning light filtering through the walls of your chambers, your ${Hair} hair shines with a healthy sheen. 

            As you blink, for a split second you almost swear that you see the golden dragon from your dreams appear in your reflection. But when you open your eyes again, it is gone. You rub your eyes, frowning. Just a remnant from your dreams in your woozy state. That has to be all it is. 

            Finally, satisfied with your appearance, you walk away from the mirror, just before the dragon in the mirror overlaps with your reflected self, its golden eyes gleaming.
            *page_break
            *goto materials
          #A gorgeous pink. It is the shade of your mother's favorite lip paint, a popular blend in the Land.
            *set Hair "Pink"
            Now, in the morning light filtering through the walls of your chambers, your ${Hair} hair shines with a healthy sheen. 

            As you blink, for a split second you almost swear that you see the golden dragon from your dreams appear in your reflection. But when you open your eyes again, it is gone. You rub your eyes, frowning. Just a remnant from your dreams in your woozy state. That has to be all it is. 

            Finally, satisfied with your appearance, you walk away from the mirror, just before the dragon in the mirror overlaps with your reflected self, its golden eyes gleaming.
            *page_break
            *goto materials
          #---. It is an eye-catching color for the non-magical in the Land to be sure, although you find no complaints with its pleasing hues. 
            What is the color of your unique hair?
            *input_text Hair
            Now, in the morning light filtering through the walls of your chambers, your ${Hair} hair shines with a healthy sheen. 

            As you blink, for a split second you almost swear that you see the golden dragon from your dreams appear in your reflection. But when you open your eyes again, it is gone. You rub your eyes, frowning. Just a remnant from your dreams in your woozy state. That has to be all it is. 

            Finally, satisfied with your appearance, you walk away from the mirror, just before the dragon in the mirror overlaps with your reflected self, its golden eyes gleaming.
            *page_break
            *goto materials
      #Brown. They shine in the light with the color of chestnut.
        *set Eye "Brown"
        Your ${Eye} eyes pull up to take in the rest of your face. Your hair, inherited from your mother the Empress, is ...
        *choice
          #A shade of ebony. It is a common color among the people of your Land, though your own is darker and shinier than most, if you may say so yourself.
            *set Hair "Black"
            Now, in the morning light filtering through the walls of your chambers, your ${Hair} hair shines with a healthy sheen. 

            As you blink, for a split second you almost swear that you see the golden dragon from your dreams appear in your reflection. But when you open your eyes again, it is gone. You rub your eyes, frowning. Just a remnant from your dreams in your woozy state. That has to be all it is. 

            Finally, satisfied with your appearance, you walk away from the mirror, just before the dragon in the mirror overlaps with your reflected self, its golden eyes gleaming.
            *page_break
            *goto materials
          #A warm brown. When the light washes over it, it shines like the bark of oak trees in the forests. 
            *set Hair "Brown"
            Now, in the morning light filtering through the walls of your chambers, your ${Hair} hair shines with a healthy sheen. 

            As you blink, for a split second you almost swear that you see the golden dragon from your dreams appear in your reflection. But when you open your eyes again, it is gone. You rub your eyes, frowning. Just a remnant from your dreams in your woozy state. That has to be all it is. 

            Finally, satisfied with your appearance, you walk away from the mirror, just before the dragon in the mirror overlaps with your reflected self, its golden eyes gleaming.
            *page_break
            *goto materials
          #The color of spun gold. It is the hue of a meadow of sunflowers in the height of summer in the Land.
            *set Hair "Blonde"
            Now, in the morning light filtering through the walls of your chambers, your ${Hair} hair shines with a healthy sheen. 

            As you blink, for a split second you almost swear that you see the golden dragon from your dreams appear in your reflection. But when you open your eyes again, it is gone. You rub your eyes, frowning. Just a remnant from your dreams in your woozy state. That has to be all it is. 

            Finally, satisfied with your appearance, you walk away from the mirror, just before the dragon in the mirror overlaps with your reflected self, its golden eyes gleaming.
            *page_break
            *goto materials
          #A bright auburn. The color of the most beautiful fallen leaves in the glade when autumn comes around to the Land.
            *set Hair "Red"
            Now, in the morning light filtering through the walls of your chambers, your ${Hair} hair shines with a healthy sheen. 

            As you blink, for a split second you almost swear that you see the golden dragon from your dreams appear in your reflection. But when you open your eyes again, it is gone. You rub your eyes, frowning. Just a remnant from your dreams in your woozy state. That has to be all it is. 

            Finally, satisfied with your appearance, you walk away from the mirror, just before the dragon in the mirror overlaps with your reflected self, its golden eyes gleaming.
            *page_break
            *goto materials
          #A gorgeous pink. It is the shade of your mother's favorite lip paint, a popular blend in the Land.
            *set Hair "Pink"
            Now, in the morning light filtering through the walls of your chambers, your ${Hair} hair shines with a healthy sheen. 

            As you blink, for a split second you almost swear that you see the golden dragon from your dreams appear in your reflection. But when you open your eyes again, it is gone. You rub your eyes, frowning. Just a remnant from your dreams in your woozy state. That has to be all it is. 

            Finally, satisfied with your appearance, you walk away from the mirror, just before the dragon in the mirror overlaps with your reflected self, its golden eyes gleaming.
            *page_break
            *goto materials
          #---. It is an eye-catching color for the non-magical in the Land to be sure, although you find no complaints with its pleasing hues. 
            What is the color of your unique hair?
            *input_text Hair
            Now, in the morning light filtering through the walls of your chambers, your ${Hair} hair shines with a healthy sheen. 

            As you blink, for a split second you almost swear that you see the golden dragon from your dreams appear in your reflection. But when you open your eyes again, it is gone. You rub your eyes, frowning. Just a remnant from your dreams in your woozy state. That has to be all it is. 

            Finally, satisfied with your appearance, you walk away from the mirror, just before the dragon in the mirror overlaps with your reflected self, its golden eyes gleaming.
            *page_break
            *goto materials
      #Blue. A calming hue that sharpens with intensity when your emotions are heightened.
        *set Eye "Blue"
        Your ${Eye} eyes pull up to take in the rest of your face. Your hair, inherited from your mother the Empress, is ...
        *choice
          #A shade of ebony. It is a common color among the people of your Land, though your own is darker and shinier than most, if you may say so yourself.
            *set Hair "Black"
            Now, in the morning light filtering through the walls of your chambers, your ${Hair} hair shines with a healthy sheen. 

            As you blink, for a split second you almost swear that you see the golden dragon from your dreams appear in your reflection. But when you open your eyes again, it is gone. You rub your eyes, frowning. Just a remnant from your dreams in your woozy state. That has to be all it is. 

            Finally, satisfied with your appearance, you walk away from the mirror, just before the dragon in the mirror overlaps with your reflected self, its golden eyes gleaming.
            *page_break
            *goto materials
          #A warm brown. When the light washes over it, it shines like the bark of oak trees in the forests. 
            *set Hair "Brown"
            Now, in the morning light filtering through the walls of your chambers, your ${Hair} hair shines with a healthy sheen. 

            As you blink, for a split second you almost swear that you see the golden dragon from your dreams appear in your reflection. But when you open your eyes again, it is gone. You rub your eyes, frowning. Just a remnant from your dreams in your woozy state. That has to be all it is. 

            Finally, satisfied with your appearance, you walk away from the mirror, just before the dragon in the mirror overlaps with your reflected self, its golden eyes gleaming.
            *page_break
            *goto materials
          #The color of spun gold. It is the hue of a meadow of sunflowers in the height of summer in the Land.
            *set Hair "Blonde"
            Now, in the morning light filtering through the walls of your chambers, your ${Hair} hair shines with a healthy sheen. 

            As you blink, for a split second you almost swear that you see the golden dragon from your dreams appear in your reflection. But when you open your eyes again, it is gone. You rub your eyes, frowning. Just a remnant from your dreams in your woozy state. That has to be all it is. 

            Finally, satisfied with your appearance, you walk away from the mirror, just before the dragon in the mirror overlaps with your reflected self, its golden eyes gleaming.
            *page_break
            *goto materials
          #A bright auburn. The color of the most beautiful fallen leaves in the glade when autumn comes around to the Land.
            *set Hair "Red"
            Now, in the morning light filtering through the walls of your chambers, your ${Hair} hair shines with a healthy sheen. 

            As you blink, for a split second you almost swear that you see the golden dragon from your dreams appear in your reflection. But when you open your eyes again, it is gone. You rub your eyes, frowning. Just a remnant from your dreams in your woozy state. That has to be all it is. 

            Finally, satisfied with your appearance, you walk away from the mirror, just before the dragon in the mirror overlaps with your reflected self, its golden eyes gleaming.
            *page_break
            *goto materials
          #A gorgeous pink. It is the shade of your mother's favorite lip paint, a popular blend in the Land.
            *set Hair "Pink"
            Now, in the morning light filtering through the walls of your chambers, your ${Hair} hair shines with a healthy sheen. 

            As you blink, for a split second you almost swear that you see the golden dragon from your dreams appear in your reflection. But when you open your eyes again, it is gone. You rub your eyes, frowning. Just a remnant from your dreams in your woozy state. That has to be all it is. 

            Finally, satisfied with your appearance, you walk away from the mirror, just before the dragon in the mirror overlaps with your reflected self, its golden eyes gleaming.
            *page_break
            *goto materials
          #---. It is an eye-catching color for the non-magical in the Land to be sure, although you find no complaints with its pleasing hues. 
            What is the color of your unique hair?
            *input_text Hair
            Now, in the morning light filtering through the walls of your chambers, your ${Hair} hair shines with a healthy sheen. 

            As you blink, for a split second you almost swear that you see the golden dragon from your dreams appear in your reflection. But when you open your eyes again, it is gone. You rub your eyes, frowning. Just a remnant from your dreams in your woozy state. That has to be all it is. 

            Finally, satisfied with your appearance, you walk away from the mirror, just before the dragon in the mirror overlaps with your reflected self, its golden eyes gleaming.
            *page_break
            *goto materials
      #Green. The shade of the beautifully cultivated grass fields of the Imperial Garden.
        *set Eye "Green"
        Your ${Eye} eyes pull up to take in the rest of your face. Your hair, inherited from your mother the Empress, is ...
        *choice
          #A shade of ebony. It is a common color among the people of your Land, though your own is darker and shinier than most, if you may say so yourself.
            *set Hair "Black"
            Now, in the morning light filtering through the walls of your chambers, your ${Hair} hair shines with a healthy sheen. 

            As you blink, for a split second you almost swear that you see the golden dragon from your dreams appear in your reflection. But when you open your eyes again, it is gone. You rub your eyes, frowning. Just a remnant from your dreams in your woozy state. That has to be all it is. 

            Finally, satisfied with your appearance, you walk away from the mirror, just before the dragon in the mirror overlaps with your reflected self, its golden eyes gleaming.
            *page_break
            *goto materials
          #A warm brown. When the light washes over it, it shines like the bark of oak trees in the forests. 
            *set Hair "Brown"
            Now, in the morning light filtering through the walls of your chambers, your ${Hair} hair shines with a healthy sheen. 

            As you blink, for a split second you almost swear that you see the golden dragon from your dreams appear in your reflection. But when you open your eyes again, it is gone. You rub your eyes, frowning. Just a remnant from your dreams in your woozy state. That has to be all it is. 

            Finally, satisfied with your appearance, you walk away from the mirror, just before the dragon in the mirror overlaps with your reflected self, its golden eyes gleaming.
            *page_break
            *goto materials
          #The color of spun gold. It is the hue of a meadow of sunflowers in the height of summer in the Land.
            *set Hair "Blonde"
            Now, in the morning light filtering through the walls of your chambers, your ${Hair} hair shines with a healthy sheen. 

            As you blink, for a split second you almost swear that you see the golden dragon from your dreams appear in your reflection. But when you open your eyes again, it is gone. You rub your eyes, frowning. Just a remnant from your dreams in your woozy state. That has to be all it is. 

            Finally, satisfied with your appearance, you walk away from the mirror, just before the dragon in the mirror overlaps with your reflected self, its golden eyes gleaming.
            *page_break
            *goto materials
          #A bright auburn. The color of the most beautiful fallen leaves in the glade when autumn comes around to the Land.
            *set Hair "Red"
            Now, in the morning light filtering through the walls of your chambers, your ${Hair} hair shines with a healthy sheen. 

            As you blink, for a split second you almost swear that you see the golden dragon from your dreams appear in your reflection. But when you open your eyes again, it is gone. You rub your eyes, frowning. Just a remnant from your dreams in your woozy state. That has to be all it is. 

            Finally, satisfied with your appearance, you walk away from the mirror, just before the dragon in the mirror overlaps with your reflected self, its golden eyes gleaming.
            *page_break
            *goto materials
          #A gorgeous pink. It is the shade of your mother's favorite lip paint, a popular blend in the Land.
            *set Hair "Pink"
            Now, in the morning light filtering through the walls of your chambers, your ${Hair} hair shines with a healthy sheen. 

            As you blink, for a split second you almost swear that you see the golden dragon from your dreams appear in your reflection. But when you open your eyes again, it is gone. You rub your eyes, frowning. Just a remnant from your dreams in your woozy state. That has to be all it is. 

            Finally, satisfied with your appearance, you walk away from the mirror, just before the dragon in the mirror overlaps with your reflected self, its golden eyes gleaming.
            *page_break
            *goto materials
          #---. It is an eye-catching color for the non-magical in the Land to be sure, although you find no complaints with its pleasing hues. 
            What is the color of your unique hair?
            *input_text Hair
            Now, in the morning light filtering through the walls of your chambers, your ${Hair} hair shines with a healthy sheen. 

            As you blink, for a split second you almost swear that you see the golden dragon from your dreams appear in your reflection. But when you open your eyes again, it is gone. You rub your eyes, frowning. Just a remnant from your dreams in your woozy state. That has to be all it is. 

            Finally, satisfied with your appearance, you walk away from the mirror, just before the dragon in the mirror overlaps with your reflected self, its golden eyes gleaming.
            *page_break
            *goto materials
      #Red. The color of a rose petal; or perhaps, more ominously, blood.
        *set Eye "Red"
        Your ${Eye} eyes pull up to take in the rest of your face. Your hair, inherited from your mother the Empress, is ...
        *choice
          #A shade of ebony. It is a common color among the people of your Land, though your own is darker and shinier than most, if you may say so yourself.
            *set Hair "Black"
            Now, in the morning light filtering through the walls of your chambers, your ${Hair} hair shines with a healthy sheen. 

            As you blink, for a split second you almost swear that you see the golden dragon from your dreams appear in your reflection. But when you open your eyes again, it is gone. You rub your eyes, frowning. Just a remnant from your dreams in your woozy state. That has to be all it is. 

            Finally, satisfied with your appearance, you walk away from the mirror, just before the dragon in the mirror overlaps with your reflected self, its golden eyes gleaming.
            *page_break
            *goto materials
          #A warm brown. When the light washes over it, it shines like the bark of oak trees in the forests. 
            *set Hair "Brown"
            Now, in the morning light filtering through the walls of your chambers, your ${Hair} hair shines with a healthy sheen. 

            As you blink, for a split second you almost swear that you see the golden dragon from your dreams appear in your reflection. But when you open your eyes again, it is gone. You rub your eyes, frowning. Just a remnant from your dreams in your woozy state. That has to be all it is. 

            Finally, satisfied with your appearance, you walk away from the mirror, just before the dragon in the mirror overlaps with your reflected self, its golden eyes gleaming.
            *page_break
            *goto materials
          #The color of spun gold. It is the hue of a meadow of sunflowers in the height of summer in the Land.
            *set Hair "Blonde"
            Now, in the morning light filtering through the walls of your chambers, your ${Hair} hair shines with a healthy sheen. 

            As you blink, for a split second you almost swear that you see the golden dragon from your dreams appear in your reflection. But when you open your eyes again, it is gone. You rub your eyes, frowning. Just a remnant from your dreams in your woozy state. That has to be all it is. 

            Finally, satisfied with your appearance, you walk away from the mirror, just before the dragon in the mirror overlaps with your reflected self, its golden eyes gleaming.
            *page_break
            *goto materials
          #A bright auburn. The color of the most beautiful fallen leaves in the glade when autumn comes around to the Land.
            *set Hair "Red"
            Now, in the morning light filtering through the walls of your chambers, your ${Hair} hair shines with a healthy sheen. 

            As you blink, for a split second you almost swear that you see the golden dragon from your dreams appear in your reflection. But when you open your eyes again, it is gone. You rub your eyes, frowning. Just a remnant from your dreams in your woozy state. That has to be all it is. 

            Finally, satisfied with your appearance, you walk away from the mirror, just before the dragon in the mirror overlaps with your reflected self, its golden eyes gleaming.
            *page_break
            *goto materials
          #A gorgeous pink. It is the shade of your mother's favorite lip paint, a popular blend in the Land.
            *set Hair "Pink"
            Now, in the morning light filtering through the walls of your chambers, your ${Hair} hair shines with a healthy sheen. 

            As you blink, for a split second you almost swear that you see the golden dragon from your dreams appear in your reflection. But when you open your eyes again, it is gone. You rub your eyes, frowning. Just a remnant from your dreams in your woozy state. That has to be all it is. 

            Finally, satisfied with your appearance, you walk away from the mirror, just before the dragon in the mirror overlaps with your reflected self, its golden eyes gleaming.
            *page_break
            *goto materials
          #---. It is an eye-catching color for the non-magical in the Land to be sure, although you find no complaints with its pleasing hues. 
            What is the color of your unique hair?
            *input_text Hair
            Now, in the morning light filtering through the walls of your chambers, your ${Hair} hair shines with a healthy sheen. 

            As you blink, for a split second you almost swear that you see the golden dragon from your dreams appear in your reflection. But when you open your eyes again, it is gone. You rub your eyes, frowning. Just a remnant from your dreams in your woozy state. That has to be all it is. 

            Finally, satisfied with your appearance, you walk away from the mirror, just before the dragon in the mirror overlaps with your reflected self, its golden eyes gleaming.
            *page_break
            *goto materials
      #---. It is an unusual color for the non-magical in the Land, but no less beautiful for it.
        What is the color of your unique eyes?
        *input_text Eye
        Your ${Eye} eyes pull up to take in the rest of your face. Your hair, inherited from your mother the Empress, is ...
        *choice
          #A shade of ebony. It is a common color among the people of your Land, though your own is darker and shinier than most, if you may say so yourself.
            *set Hair "Black"
            Now, in the morning light filtering through the walls of your chambers, your ${Hair} hair shines with a healthy sheen. 

            As you blink, for a split second you almost swear that you see the golden dragon from your dreams appear in your reflection. But when you open your eyes again, it is gone. You rub your eyes, frowning. Just a remnant from your dreams in your woozy state. That has to be all it is. 

            Finally, satisfied with your appearance, you walk away from the mirror, just before the dragon in the mirror overlaps with your reflected self, its golden eyes gleaming.
            *page_break
            *goto materials
          #A warm brown. When the light washes over it, it shines like the bark of oak trees in the forests. 
            *set Hair "Brown"
            Now, in the morning light filtering through the walls of your chambers, your ${Hair} hair shines with a healthy sheen. 

            As you blink, for a split second you almost swear that you see the golden dragon from your dreams appear in your reflection. But when you open your eyes again, it is gone. You rub your eyes, frowning. Just a remnant from your dreams in your woozy state. That has to be all it is. 

            Finally, satisfied with your appearance, you walk away from the mirror, just before the dragon in the mirror overlaps with your reflected self, its golden eyes gleaming.
            *page_break
            *goto materials
          #The color of spun gold. It is the hue of a meadow of sunflowers in the height of summer in the Land.
            *set Hair "Blonde"
            Now, in the morning light filtering through the walls of your chambers, your ${Hair} hair shines with a healthy sheen. 

            As you blink, for a split second you almost swear that you see the golden dragon from your dreams appear in your reflection. But when you open your eyes again, it is gone. You rub your eyes, frowning. Just a remnant from your dreams in your woozy state. That has to be all it is. 

            Finally, satisfied with your appearance, you walk away from the mirror, just before the dragon in the mirror overlaps with your reflected self, its golden eyes gleaming.
            *page_break
            *goto materials
          #A bright auburn. The color of the most beautiful fallen leaves in the glade when autumn comes around to the Land.
            *set Hair "Red"
            Now, in the morning light filtering through the walls of your chambers, your ${Hair} hair shines with a healthy sheen. 

            As you blink, for a split second you almost swear that you see the golden dragon from your dreams appear in your reflection. But when you open your eyes again, it is gone. You rub your eyes, frowning. Just a remnant from your dreams in your woozy state. That has to be all it is. 

            Finally, satisfied with your appearance, you walk away from the mirror, just before the dragon in the mirror overlaps with your reflected self, its golden eyes gleaming.
            *page_break
            *goto materials
          #A gorgeous pink. It is the shade of your mother's favorite lip paint, a popular blend in the Land.
            *set Hair "Pink"
            Now, in the morning light filtering through the walls of your chambers, your ${Hair} hair shines with a healthy sheen. 

            As you blink, for a split second you almost swear that you see the golden dragon from your dreams appear in your reflection. But when you open your eyes again, it is gone. You rub your eyes, frowning. Just a remnant from your dreams in your woozy state. That has to be all it is. 

            Finally, satisfied with your appearance, you walk away from the mirror, just before the dragon in the mirror overlaps with your reflected self, its golden eyes gleaming.
            *page_break
            *goto materials
          #---. It is an eye-catching color for the non-magical in the Land to be sure, although you find no complaints with its pleasing hues. 
            What is the color of your unique hair?
            *input_text Hair
            Now, in the morning light filtering through the walls of your chambers, your ${Hair} hair shines with a healthy sheen. 

            As you blink, for a split second you almost swear that you see the golden dragon from your dreams appear in your reflection. But when you open your eyes again, it is gone. You rub your eyes, frowning. Just a remnant from your dreams in your woozy state. That has to be all it is. 

            Finally, satisfied with your appearance, you walk away from the mirror, just before the dragon in the mirror overlaps with your reflected self, its golden eyes gleaming.
            *page_break
            *goto materials
  #You are done.
    *goto fyintro

*label fyintro

Dressed to the nines in your formal ceremonial garments and perfumed in your chosen scent, 
you make your way to where the royal family will meet you before proceeding to Duolin 
Temple for the coronation ceremony.

Your path takes you by Qian Qing Chamber, where the throne room stands and the Emperor
holds his governing officials in court day after day. This morning your coronation marks 
a public holiday. Thus the Emperor has limited the daily court gathering to his own private 
quarters within the Chamber for the day. 

It is only about eight, so you are surprised to see a group of officials streaming out 
of the main door of the Chamber. At their head is a young lady who looks to be only a few 
years your elder, but walks with the steady steps of a leader confident of her followers' 
respect. Her robes are a soft red with a heavenly crane embroidered across the front, 
marking her as an official of First Rank. 

The lady catches your eye as you cross paths. Up close, her features are vaguely familiar, 
but her name is stuck on the tip of your tongue. "${Prince} ${Surname}." She greets with 
a slight bow as befitting an official of her status.

Astute and conscientious as always, Chen Kun promptly replies. "Imperial Administator
Fang Yun." As your Personal Guard, he bows to no one but you - not even the Emperor. 
That is not to say he cannot honor the traditional servant's code of helping forgetful 
masters remember the right names by preceding their greetings. 

[i]Ah, that's right.[/i] A younger version of her face overlaps with the one currently before 
you.

*page_break

Imperial Administrator Fang Yun is a Lady from the noble family of Fangs, the long 
ancestral line of which extends back to the dawn of the Dragon Empire. The histories 
remember the Fang ancestor as the most loyal and influential of the First Dragon Emperor's 
subordinate-allies. 

As the eldest of the Fang children of this generation, she was raised with the expectation
of betrothal as soon as she reached her name day. But the stubborn, intelligent lady 
destroyed all plans of matchmaking, until the Emperor himself took interest and held a 
Grand Competition: it was agreed and announced to the world the man who could match her 
intellect would become her husband. 

Suitors from all over the land and beyond arrived at the capital to accept the challenge
- a play or two were written about the spectacle - but none succeeded. 

And ever since then, she has remained resolved not to marry on anyone else's orders.

You remember watching with the rest of the royal family from below the stage built in 
the heart of the bustling capital city for her Grand Competition. Then, you childishly 
thought that the regal lady sitting atop the stage without a veil must surely be nothing 
less than a fairy goddess descended from the heavens. 

And even before that - as a child, still inseparable from your father, you sat beside 
the Emperor in the throne room as he held court. Elegant, composed, intelligent; her 
low, feminine voice compelled attention despite her extreme youth for a governing official. 

As you both aged, your paths divided into cloistered royal child and prodigious court 
official. You have not seen Fang Yun for some time now, though her name - usually accompanied 
by some incredible new achievement - continues to surface in palace gossip from time to 
time.

"Imperial Administrator Fang. Has today's court ended?" 

Fang Yun smiles. It is only a polite smile, but it lights up her dark eyes and draws 
others' to her full, red lips. "The generous Emperor has dismissed the court early to 
allow officials to enjoy the happy occasion together with the realm."

You may be the Emperor's child, but Fang Yun holds an influence in court that even he 
cannot easily accord to you. If you wish to pursue a serious career there, you would 
do well with her as an ally.

*choice
  #"I am honored to be of service, Imperial Administrator." 
    Your answer is formal to the point of being chill, since proper greetings have already been exchanged. 

    You intend to show that you are both well-informed about court formalities and intending to pursue a strictly professional relationship with her.

    A professional woman like Fang Yun will surely appreciate it - especially if all those tales of officials whose ages range from younger than to twice her own insistently attempting to court her are true.

    And you can guess why. Fang Yun has risen swiftly through the ranks despite her youth - though her detractors pin it on her powerful background - to become an influential member of the imperial administration. 

    You can certainly see the appeal to courtiers interested in political gain, but you disagree with their methods.

    There are ways other than courting a woman to ally yourself with her.

    The smile that curls Fang Yun's perfect lips this time is a fraction less practiced but a great deal more genuine. "And I you. I look forward to working with you in court after your official appointment today. We shall converse further on pertinent matters of the state..."

    As the Administrator speaks, you slyly observe the reactions of her followers to their leader's show of favor towards you. Some have begun to subtly plot in small groups, while others are transparently displaying their displeasure on their faces. 

    A couple of courtiers are even eagerly watching your interactions, an encouraging gleam in their eyes. Staunch supporters of an alliance between their leader and the Empress, perhaps? For even you have to admit that you have as yet no true power to your name...

    Well, at least you have piqued Fang Yun's interest about your future career in court. You just have to ensure that interest never sours against you.
    *set Subtle %+10
    *set Ambitious %+10
    *page_break
    *goto pretrial
  #"Well, I guess all of you owe me a thank you, then?" 
    You choose to take the nonchalant, direct route. Speaking so casually to an Imperial Administrator on a first meeting is impolite by palace manner standards - in other words, a simple way to make an impression, albeit at the risk of offending the Fang faction in court.

    Well, well, let's see how the perfect diplomat handles this... A wry smile spreads across your face. You slowly rove your gaze over the group of courtiers in front of you, before letting it settle on Fang Yun.

    You have no interest in the Administrator's preferred style of politicking; hidden daggers behind perfect smiles, threats thinly veiled by impeccable manners - something like the Empress'. And you're going to make that clear once and for all before your official entry into court life. 

    The shockwave of outrage that ripples through Fang Yun's followers is embarrassingly obvious for courtiers dedicated to the art of masking emotions. 

    To her credit, Fang Yun herself betrays no more of her surprise than an elegantly raised eyebrow. 
    
    "So the Emperor and Empress no doubt wish us all to think. May I take your words as an indication of your inclinations regarding your future career in court?"

    You smirk, lazily folding your arms across your chest as you lean back to stare down at your audience, the picture of a coddled, carefree royal with no fear of the consequences of provoking a high-ranking official.

    "Take them as you will. See you in court, Administrator."

    You catch more than one courtier throwing you scandalized looks, clearly unused to anyone speaking so rudely to their leader. 

    But Fang Yun only smiles. "This has been an illuminating conversation. Yes, indeed... I look forward to seeing you among the ranks of court officials soon." Her dark eyes hold a cold, steady gaze. Challenge accepted. 

    And with that cryptic remark, she turns away from you in a clear sign of dismissal. 

    Well then. You suppose that only time will tell if you have just made a friend or an enemy in court.
    *set Subtle %-10
    *set Fang_Yun_RO %+30
    *set Fang_Yun %+30
    *page_break
    *goto pretrial
  #"Mornin', Lady."
    Your tone is polite but distant. By greeting Fang Yun using her noble title instead of her court position, you are sending a clear signal of your ambivalence to court politics - at least, in regards to her. If Lady Fang is even half the diplomat you've heard she is, she will interpret your meaning. 

    Unfortunately, the barely perceptible frown that surfaces also makes it clear that she's offended by the implication.

    You shift your glance to the courtiers gathered behind their leader. Some of them are shaking their heads, disappointed or gloating. Others are plainly staring at you with blatant surprise at your words. 

    Okay, so maybe you weren't as subtle as you thought you were...

    Lady Yun inclines her head in a cold nod. "And to you, child of dragons and peonies," she replies, referencing the Emperor and the Empress' namesakes. 

    Ah, so that's what it is. 

    Being born into the Fang family may count as an accolade all on its own to most, but Fang Yun fought to rise swiftly through the ranks despite her youth - though her detractors pin it on her powerful background - to become an influential member of imperial administration. She must see your using her family name to address her as an insult to her personal career in court.

    Although you cannot say the same for yourself. At times the Empress' political ambitions weigh so heavily on you that you wish you are indeed the child of a common peony with no expectations to your name.

    "I meant no offense," you call out, feeling a little foolish. In status you outrank her, but you don't wish to offend her any further. 

    But Fang Yun is already turning away from you in a clear sign of dismissal. 

    Oh well. Only time will tell if she will bring this grudge against you into court affairs. 
    *set Ambitious %-10
    *set Fang_Yun %-20
    *page_break
    *goto pretrial
  #"Y-yes, my Lady."
    Your stutter, unexpectedly and embarrassingly. The Lady standing before you is as regal and heavenly as she was in your scattered childhood memories. You have long heard rumors of the young Imperial Administrator's elegant beauty, and you mentally agree with them at the sight of her again now. And it's not merely physical appearance; Fang Yun radiates an aura of attractive confidence.

    Any flirtatious lines you might have dropped slip right out of your mind, stunned as you are by her appearance.

    Shit, I barely formed a proper sentence - for someone as devoted to formal palace manners as Fang Yun, failure at eloquence must be as good as a social death sentence -  you think, and immediately berate yourself for even daring to think such a vulgar word before a refined goddess.

    As your traitorous brain hopelessly short-circuits, Fang Yun stares curiously at you, as if unsure whether she is somehow being insulted or flattered. 

    And then she... Smiles. It is a smile far from perfected, like the polite one she offered you before - but beautiful beyond comparison.

    Because a genuine light sparks in her dark eyes, illuminating the pale face that suddenly does not seem as cold and untouchable as the ever-shifting moon.

    Your heart skips a beat.

    "Young dragon-peony," she says lowly, in her melodious, compelling voice. "I will be watching you at the ceremony. And beyond."

    Young dragon-peony... Drawn from the Emperor and Empress' namesakes, no doubt. It is a peculiar nickname to be sure, and definitely too forward for a first meeting with a royal by palace code, but... You like it. Does this mean that you're - special to her?

    Before you can muster yourself to come up with a suitable reply, Fang Yun turns away from you. But that special smile stays on her face even as she passes you by.
    *set Fang_Yun %+40
    *page_break
    *goto pretrial

*label pretrial

Without any further interruptions, you reach your destination. 

Chu Xiu Chamber, famed in the world as the primary lodgings for the newly initiated noble girls that enter into the service of the royal palace every three years. The ones who catch the eye of the Emperor - or, more likely, hold the favor of a powerful member of court - become royal concubines, while those who fail the selection process remain in the palace as maids. Mistress, servant; the paths of life that later diverge so drastically once began on the same starting line. 

The Chamber symbolizes an initialization; a new beginning. Is that why you have been brought here? 

From a pace behind you, Chen Kun says in a grave tone, "Good luck, Master." 

That sends a chill down your spine. "Uh, is there something I'm missing here...?" 

You peer into the doorway of the Chamber, darkened by the heavy overarching infrastructure bearing its name in a grandiose frame, supported by two thick pillars on either side. In the absence of new initiates, the Chamber is mostly vacant and unused, so you were not alarmed by its abandoned air. 

Now the thoughts of nameless terrors that might lurk within lying in wait for you plague your mind. 

"Uh -"

"My liege, all is prepared. The Trials await. Please come with me." 

For a minute your already strained heart nearly leaps out of your chest at the disembodied voice. Then you spot the figure shrouded in shadow before the doorway. 
The eunuch delivering the message is so thin and tall that he indeed looks like a ghoul lurking under the darkness of the arch.

"I will wait for you here, Master. Don't worry, I will always be with you wherever you go." 

The words that once might have been reassuring decidedly ring ominously in your head now.

*page_break

The eunuch leads you into the main hall of Chu Xiu Chamber. The walls and floor are lined 
with rich fur bearing flower patterns, intertwining to form a beautiful garden tapestry
out of the room. 

The hall has been cleared away of its usual furnishings except for a long table that now 
rests in the centre of the space. 

At the other end of the hall lie three chairs of different sizes and designs. In them sit 
three distinguished figures whom combined hold an unparalleled share of power in the land. 

In the middle rests the ruler of the Land of the Dragon. His throne - for it cannot be said
to be anything less - is cushioned with yellow silk and framed with precious narra wood. 

On his right is his Empress, perfectly postured in her chair of colorful rosewood. Today 
her hair is bound up in a matronly double bun, with a marked lack of opulent accessories. 

Finally, reclining in his seat on the Emperor's right is Crown Prince Long Qing. With his 
half-smirking, mock-sincere smile, he looks every bit the proud, powerful heir - but nothing 
like the serious military commander with the hard-earned respect of the royal army that reports 
from the borderlands spoke of. One thing is for sure; he has changed since the days of your 
shared childhood.

Your guide bows and retreats out of the hall, barring the door behind him with an ominous 
thud that resounds in the silence.

Before you sit your father, mother, and elder brother. For any other family this would 
be a normal gathering before a simple, intimate coming-of-age ceremony - but of course 
not for the royal family of the land. 

In the filtered sunlight, the shadows cast over the trio's faces seem to twist into familiar 
shapes and weights. On your father's - of course - his Emperor's headdress, its veil of pearls 
trailing over his cheek like the tears he never shed. Against your mother's cheek the stray 
tresses her trademark Empress' hairstyle usually leaves unbound. And around your brother's 
face, his General's visor, a grim herald of death and destruction. 

Before you sit your father, mother and elder brother. But they will always be the Land of the 
Dragon's Emperor, Empress and Crown Prince first. 

You bow down in greeting.

*page_break "At ease." The Emperor's voice is stern and even; his court voice. 

As you straighten, he continues, "In this hall shall you undergo the Coronation Trials. For 
years you have learned all that the land can offer under the royal tutor. Prove to us now that 
your abilities are worthy of a ${Prince} of the realm, and we shall proceed with you to the 
ceremony." 

"Fail..." The Emperor pauses. The shadows behind him seem to stretch out nightmarish arms, 
giggling in frantic seizures. A pained expression crosses your mother's painted face. 

Glancing sideways at her, your brother catches the fleeting expression. He lets out a light, 
deprecating scoff, slowly shaking his head as he turns away. A rare fury, sharp and vicious, 
splits the Empress' beautiful face. 

"Fail, and know that you will have disappointed us - and shown yourself incapable of representing 
the royal family of the Land of the Dragon." 

In those simple words, you hear the echoes of a hundred unpleasant consequences. [i]Quietly 
dispose of you? [/i]Surely even the royal family is incapable of doing so to their own kin when the 
only sin is that of incompetence. You are your mother's only child - she would never let it 
come to that without at least a warning to you. 

But this is the first you've heard of the Trials. You don't put it past your family to have hidden 
more secrets about the coronation ceremony from you. 

Exile perhaps, eventually. Or at the very least barred from an official title at court. 

What do you feel about this revelation?

*choice
  #Betrayed. How can your family hide this secret, and then speak so coldly to you?
    You swallow hard against the bile rising up in your throat. This isn't the first time your family 
    has hidden a secret from you, and you can guess that it won't be the last.

    But still, the bitter taste of betrayal ranks in your mouth. 

    You can understand - even forgive - their decision to keep knowledge of the Trials from you; there 
    may be any number of archaic rules regarding the ceremony that forbid prior intelligence. Hell, it 
    even makes sense - to judge based on actual abilities, and not hastily rehearsed ones.

    The real reason for your sense of betrayal isn't that. 

    It's that your family doesn't seem to care for your fate one way or another - at least, not beyond the 
    inconvenience and damage caused to the royal family's image. Not enough to reassure you that however you 
    perform, this is not the end of the line for you. Not enough to even show a bit of humane emotion, [i]gods damnit[/i] 
    you're not asking for much - just one encouraging smile or nod from your parents -

    But it seems even that is too much to ask from your family, to which sound, impartial rule comes always 
    before personal attachments.

    "I understand, Honorable Father." Despite your efforts to keep it steady, your voice comes out choked with 
    emotion. 

    But you really don't.

    The Emperor's heavy brows pull downwards into a frown, evidently having expected a more composed reply from 
    someone with his own royal blood flowing through their veins. The Crown Prince's gaze passes from the Emperor 
    to you, and then back again. He smiles a thin-lipped smile, eyes glinting with a strange mixture of relish 
    and resignation.
    *set Trusting %+10
    *set Empathic %+10
    *page_break
    *goto trialbegins
  #Unsurprised, but pained. You knew that your family cannot tell you everything, but...
    The Emperor's ultimatum washes over you; but the impact is less like an unexpected tsunami crashing into you 
    than a topical flood for which arrival, having experienced before and seen the oncoming signs thereof, you have 
    anticipated and yet feel no less disappointed by. 

    This isn't the first time your family has hidden a secret from you, and you know that it won't be the last. 

    You can understand - even forgive - their decision to keep knowledge of the Trials from you; there may be any 
    number of archaic rules regarding the ceremony that forbid prior intelligence. Hell, it even makes sense - to 
    judge based on actual abilities, and not hastily rehearsed ones.

    But for your family to show so little care or concern for your future, when it is verily in their control... If 
    you are to be honest with yourself, you aren't truly surprised by their coldness either. For the royal family, 
    impartial rule has always come before personal attachments. 

    How then can they coddle or reassure you, if the aim of the Trials is indeed to judge your abilities fairly?

    Still, your irrational, still-human heart aches as you stare hopelessly at your parents' emotionless faces, as 
    indifferent as if they are looking upon a complete stranger.

    "I understand, Honorable Father," you say, despite the emotion choking your words.

    You have for years now, ever since the day your parents first withdrew from your childish demands for love into 
    the cold shells of the rulers of the land.

    The Emperor's heavy brows pull downwards into a frown. The Crown Prince stares at you with a strange, scorning 
    sympathy.
    *set Trusting %-10
    *set Empathic %+10
    *page_break
    *goto trialbegins
  #Unsurprised and apathetic. Of course, the great royals of the land must be remain above human empathy, always.
    You blink, very slowly. Ah, of course. This isn't the first time your family has hidden a secret from you, and 
    you know that it won't be the last. You would like to say you're surprised, but in all honesty you really can't. 

    You can understand - even forgive - their decision to keep knowledge of the Trials from you; there may be any 
    number of archaic rules regarding the ceremony that forbid prior intelligence. It even makes sense - to judge 
    based on actual abilities, and not hastily rehearsed ones.

    And in the end, what does it matter if you do understand? Ultimately, none of your blood care one way or the other; 
    if you trust or doubt them, if you love or hate them... Not as much as they care about the land and their perfect, 
    impartial rule.

    In a way, you [i]do[/i] understand. They are the Emperor and Empress; they balance the fates of millions in the land and 
    beyond in their hands with every policy, every reform. That is the role they were born and trained for their entire 
    lives.

    They just happen to be your parents too.

    "I understand, Honorable Father," you say truthfully, your voice even and without inflection. And you watch as your 
    calm words bounce off the emotionless faces of your parents, cool and perfect as marble.

    Soundless laughter reverberates in your head like the victory bells of demons below. Maybe one day you too will become 
    like them - molded into a cold, inhuman shell for the sake of the greater good. 

    Maybe you already have.

    You feel the Crown Prince's eyes roam over you, as if searching for some kind of emotion. He finds none; your face is 
    resolute in its apathy. After a moment, your brother shakes his head disbelievingly to himself and turns away from you. 
    *set Empathic %-10
    *set Trusting %-10
    *page_break
    *goto trialbegins

*label trialbegins

*if passtrial=0
 The Emperor gestures down at the long table lying in the middle of the hall. "You will 
 choose two of the relics that best show your qualities." 
 
 Walking closer towards the tables, you observe on the thick tablecloth a total of five 
 different objects. Each bear the weathered but sheltered look of an ancient treasure, 
 brought out to see the light solely for the occasion.

*if passtrial=50
 One more Trial awaits you.

*if passtrial>=100
 *goto trialresults

On the far left lies a dully shining wooden box framed with a silvery enamel. As you 
turn your gaze on it, a giggling whisper ripples through your mind. The inscription 
carved into its lid reads: [i]I open only for the silver-tongued. [/i]

Beside it rests a heavy tome of a book, rolled up into a scroll the traditional way. It's 
bamboo has darkened in spots with age. Written backwards in long-dried ink is: [i]Ask and I 
shall Answer.[/i]

The middle of the table holds the relic which purpose is the most obvious: a monster of 
a sword, near a meter long and wide enough to require a two-handed grip. Its handle is 
studded with ornate sapphires. Despite signs of grooming, the blade itself is dull and 
chipped. Evidently aged, it is now more suited as a flashy accessory than for the battlefield.

To its right sits a lavishly decorated bowl made of marble. Its design is oddly ageless; 
simultaneously embarrassingly outdated and outrageously sophisticated. The pale, pinkish mist 
rising out of it suggests that it is a magical artifact. 

The final relic is a muyu, the "wooden fish" with a drumming stick used to set the beat for 
chanting prayers. The wooden surface has weathered the inexorable strokes of time for some 
time now. 

The relic you reach for is...

*disable_reuse
*choice
  #The wooden box with a hidden secret that will only open to persuasion.
    As soon as your fingertips touch the silver lid of the box, you hear the laughter ring out 
    in your mind, this time loud and clear.

    An apparition surfaces before you in the form of a young woman with smiling eyes the same 
    shade as her flowing silver hair.

    Her face is the only part of her that is defined; the rest of her body appears to you as a 
    translucent fog in the vague shape of a human. A spirit, perhaps, sealed in the wooden box by 
    a mage? Or - more likely - a spiritual manifestation of the box itself, grown sentient by 
    absorption of stray magical energy.

    Then the test... Is to convince her to open her physical self up to you? [i]Sounds kinky.[/i]

    A solemn nod from the Emperor confirms that the test has begun.

    [i]Well then.[/i] You turn back to the wooden box and her spiritual form. The spirit is floating 
    over you with lips quickly turning down from boredom.
    *choice
      #Time to turn the charm on.
        *if (Persuasion>30)
         Luckily, you know just what to say and do to turn this back around. Who would've thought all 
         those years spent being chided by the Empress for exercising your glib tongue on palace maids 
         and your father's concubines would bear unexpected fruit?

         With a practiced smile infused with just the right amount of charm, you take her hand - or rather, 
         as your touch passes right through the spirit's form, you stay it below hers - and dramatically 
         exclaim, "Ah, what's this? What have I done to be blessed by the sight of so beautiful a lady?"

         At this point you hear a burst of undignified laughter from the general direction of the Crown Prince. 
         Okay, so it's unknowable if any other than you can see or hear the box spirit, but you are going to 
         succeed in persuading her, damn it. No matter how crazy you may look to your audience, plying air 
         with syrupy flattery. 

         Laughter like the clinking of bells echoes in your head before it abruptly halts as the box spirit 
         stares seriously into your eyes with her supernatural mercury orbs.

         For a second your smile freezes on your face. Was that laying it on too thick after all? A smidgen of 
         doubt worms its way into your heart.

         Then, her eyes glowing with silver light, she reaches down and pulls the wooden box open with her own hands. 

         Watching the box spirit contentedly fold herself back into her physical body, you let out a long breath.

         You've passed the Trial of Persuasion.
         *set Persuasion %+20
         *set passtrial +50
         *page_break
         *goto trialbegins
        *if (Persuasion=30)
         Okay, persuasion... Surely it can't be that hard. It's just talking, and being charming, right?

         Staring at the box spirit before you, you rack your brain for any ideas and angles to start a conversation. 
         But the longer you think, and the more bored she becomes, the worse you begin to panic. Your mind draws an absolute 
         blank on what to do or say.

         "Ah... Ah, beautiful, kind, lady, won't you open your box for me?" You stutter out, twisting your fingers.

         An awkward pause.

         Then an incredulous laugh from the direction of the Crown Prince breaks the silence. The box spirit stares 
         down at you, pouting, silver eyes clearly projecting disappointment and disapproval.

         A flush of heat floods your cheeks. It's one thing to attempt to persuade a spirit who may or may not be visible 
         to anyone else but you and succeed despite some embarrassment - and it's a whole another matter to [i]fail[/i] at it too.

         Desperate, you begin rambling, barely knowing what the words thoughtlessly pouring out of you mouth are. After 
         five awkward minutes, the box spirit purses her lips and rolls her eyes before dissipating from sight. The box 
         itself remains tightly locked. You even think you hear the spirit hiss at you with annoyance when you try to 
         force it open.

         Your heart sinks. Without looking at the Emperor, you know that you've failed the Trial of Persuasion.
         *page_break
         *goto trialbegins
      #Honesty is the best policy. 
        *if (Persuasion>30)
         They say that being too direct is bad for maintaining good relationships, but in your experience simple honesty 
         can work wonders in establishing a good impression.

         Looking earnestly into the spirit's silver eyes, you begin laying out your circumstances. "I don't know if you 
         perceive why you've been brought here, or if you even understand my words. But I need you to open for me - no, 
         for the good of the entire land."

         Gesturing with your hand to your audience, you continue your speech. "You may not know me, but you must know them. 
         The Emperor and Empress only have one child together -" At this you hear a meaningful cough from your brother's 
         direction. "-and a Crown Prince. In these troubled times, its difficult to raise children to adulthood - and my 
         parents aren't getting any younger. What are the odds that there will be another child by the time of succession?"

         "And with the Crown Prince an enthusiastic General away at the borderlands two-thirds of a year, the court will 
         need another royal at hand... in case of emergencies. The Emperor cannot be without a recognized heir, else the 
         realm shall fall into a devastating power struggle... And only a child of his own seed can be an heir recognized 
         by all." As you speak, you inject humility, worry and despair into your words, all the while underlined by a candid 
         tone.

         You feel the eyes of the Emperor, Empress and Crown Prince digging into you - okay, so maybe too much honesty to the 
         wrong audience is a bad thing. But that's a problem you can deal with after the Trial.

         The box spirit's silver eyes have darkened in seriousness. When you repeat your request, maintaining eye contact, 
         she nods slowly. Her eyes glowing with silver light, she reaches down and pulls the wooden box open with her own hands. 

         Watching the box spirit contentedly fold herself back into her physical body, you let out a long breath.

         You've passed the Trial of Persuasion.
         *set passtrial +50
         *set Persuasion %+20
         *page_break
         *goto trialbegins
        *if (Persuasion=30)
         They say that being too direct is bad for maintaining good relationships, but it has to work better than awkward 
         stumbling in establishing a good impression.

         Putting on your best earnest look, you begin explaining your circumstances. "Uh, I don't know if you know why you've been 
         brought here, or if you even understand my words. But I need you to open for me -" Unpracticed in making up and delivering 
         persuasive speeches on the spot, you cringe at the line.

         You hear a disbelieving, scorning laugh from the direction of the Crown Prince, which does not help you regain your composure.

         "Uh, I - I mean, the Emperor and Empress only have one legitimate child, so it'll be a problem when the realm lacks a heir 
         if I fall into disgrace, right? Since my parents are unlikely to raise another child to adulthood at this age -"

         Okay, that did not come out right. You feel the eyes of the Emperor, Empress and Crown Prince digging into you like daggers - 
         your speech may not have persuaded the box spirit to open its physical self, but it definitely convinced the royal family that 
         you were trying to insult them. 

         Desperate, you begin rambling, barely knowing what the words thoughtlessly pouring out of you mouth are. After five awkward 
         minutes, the box spirit purses her lips and rolls her eyes before dissipating from sight. The box itself remains tightly locked. 
         You even think you hear the spirit hiss at you with annoyance when you try to force it open.

         Your heart sinks. Without looking at the Emperor, you know that you've failed the Trial of Persuasion.
         *page_break
         *goto trialbegins
  #The heavy pile of scrolls that will require wit to decipher.
    With careful hands, you unravel the aged relic. But the first bamboo pages you unwind 
    are clean - as are the second, third, fourth - Just as panic begins to grip you - have 
    you somehow already failed the Trial before it even began? Or worse, somehow misunderstood 
    the point of this Trial?

    You hurriedly look back to the first strip of bamboo.

    The ink now reads: [i]I shall Ask and you shall Answer[/i].

    You let out a relieved sigh. Alright, you can do this. A quiz isn't far from what you guessed - 
    it might even be easier than the memory test you expected.

    "I'm ready," you say aloud. As if that were the signal it was waiting for, ink begins to paint 
    its way across the enchanted scroll.

    The first question reads: [i]Who was the first Dragon Empress, and what was her most significant 
    contribution to the land?[/i]
    *if (Intelligence>30)
     Hah. That's easy enough. You distinctly remember your royal tutor lecturing about her and her rise 
     to political power in court from behind the veil of the Emperor's harem in your tenth year. "She was 
     a Lady of the Qin family like the current Dowager. After the first Dragon Emperor's death, she continued 
     wielding political influence, implementing economic and foreign affairs policies to stabilize the empire's 
     control over the land, all without stepping out of the bounds of her harem chambers."

     "But - she also consorted with courtiers and plotted to keep the Qins in power through unnatural means, 
     instead of serving the empire's interests first. Thus opinions on her are largely divisive, by historians 
     then and now." [i]Balance,[/i] you remember, is key in analysis.

     A pause. Then the ink erases itself from the scrolls, before being replaced by a new question.

     And so the cycle repeats itself. By the end of ten questions, ranging from history to philosophy, you feel 
     reasonably confident that you have done passably well.

     When the familiar ink writes out the word: [i]pass[/i] in an ecstatic script, the Emperor nods, and you smile. 
     You have passed the Trial of Intelligence.    
     *set Intelligence %+20
     *set passtrial +50
     *page_break
     *goto trialbegins
    *if (Intelligence=30)
     [i]Uh...[/i] You vaguely recall your royal tutor lecturing about her and her rise to political power. That much you 
     remember, but - what specifically did she do...? You sift through your brain, but the memories elude you. Well, 
     this is definitely not the time to stand there blankly and berate yourself inwardly for not paying more attention 
     during your tutor's lessons.

     "The first Dragon Empress... Uh, she was the first Dragon Emperor's primary wife - And she rose to political power 
     despite being constrained by the harem chambers...?" You trail off weakly. Chancing a glance at the scroll, you see 
     that the strips remain disappointedly untouched. Evidently that was an insufficient answer.

     An awkward pause, as you anxiously come up with a slew of other information that may or may not have been inspired by 
     the lives of later Empresses. Eventually the ink scrawls out the next question.

     And so the cycle repeats itself. By the end of ten questions, you have the sinking suspicion that you have not done as 
     well as you would've liked. When the familiar ink writes out the word: [i]fail[/i] in a dejected script, your doubts 
     are confirmed. 

     You have failed the Trial of Intelligence.
     *page_break
     *goto trialbegins
  #The magnificent sword which can surely pull off a few more swings.
    It takes a good amount of your strength to heave the sword up into your hands. But you manage. Now that you have 
    established physical contact you feel the undercurrent of enchantment on the blade. It will not cut flesh nor 
    draw blood as long as you hold onto it.

    Still... you are not quite sure what the Trial is. "How will I show my prowess with the sword without a partner?"

    Your answer comes from the direction of your audience. "Well said!" Jumping out of his seat in an - unnecessary - 
    show of agile reflexes, the Crown Prince walks towards the middle of the hall.

    Leaning down to rest his elbows on the long table separating you with the menacing grace of a feline predator, your 
    brother pins you with a smiling stare. "I will be your opponent."

    Fire crackles in the air at a snap of his fingers. When it dies down, a blade of similar length and width as the relic 
    has been summoned into his hands. You notice that its pommel is studded with rubies.

    Despite your nervousness at facing your General brother in one-to-one combat, exasperation wells up in you at his 
    actions. Even for a royal this display is needlessly flashy. Long Qing definitely knew of the Trials, having went 
    through them himself years ago. Did he prepare this show to impress your parents, or to undermine you - or both?

    You size each other up, and your brother makes to leap over the table. "Did you know that my opponent on during my 
    Trial bled out after? Although he was only an unfortunate palace guard, so I suppose it didn't matter." His nonchalant 
    tone is in stark contrast to the fiery determination in his eyes. You honestly cannot tell if he is joking.

    Out of the corner of your eye you see the Empress' mouth tighten. But before she can intervene, Long Qing lets out a 
    war cry and charges over at you.
    *choice
      #You're confident of your strength; you go on the offensive.
        *if (Combat>30)
         You match him blow for blow. The first time your swords clash together, the shockwave that ripples up and through 
         your arm nearly jolts your relic out of your hands altogether.

         But, remembering the training you received from the palace weapons-master, you swiftly adjust your grip on the pommel - 
         just in time to catch your opponent's next swing.

         This time neither of you give ground.

         Sparks fizzle in the air between you as pit your strength against each other, each slowly forcing your blade to bend 
         towards the other. The shrill sound of metal scraping against metal resounds throughout the hall. With both your skills, 
         you could disengage from this pure test of strength, but neither of you are willing to pull away first.

         The tension in the air boils to breaking point. Sweat drips down the side of your face. Well, shit, your formal clothes 
         are going to be ruined if this goes on for any longer.

         But finally, finally - your brother emits a frustrated snarl from between gritted teeth. He slides his blade against yours 
         in a way that diverts the momentum creates by both your forces harmlessly away, before stabbing his sword down blade-first 
         into the carpeted floor.

         The Crown Prince staggers backwards, palms upwards. The expression on his face is shocked, as if disbelieving that he could 
         have lost.

         "You win," he finally admits, rubbing a hand across his forehead. There is a strangely melancholic air to his frame as he 
         walks back up to his seat with his back facing you.

         The Emperor's eyes trail from his eldest son to you as if checking for any sign of foul play. At length, he nods. You have 
         passed the Trial of Combat.
         *set Combat %+20
         *set passtrial +50
         *page_break
         *goto trialbegins
        *if (Combat=30)
         You decide to match him blow for blow. The first time your swords clash together, the shockwave that ripples up and through 
         your arm nearly jolts your relic out of your hands altogether.

         You sword flies wide. It is only with a swift retreat that you manage to buy time enough to catch your opponent's next swing.

         But this time your brother easily deflects your parry with his superior strength. And it's not just that, you realize with a 
         sinking feeling, as he pursues and preempts each and every one of your retreating tactics. Experienced warrior as he is, he 
         must've discovered a pattern in your techniques - and immediately pressed his advantage by exploiting your weakness before you 
         have a chance to switch tactics.

         The shrill sound of metal scraping against metal resounds throughout the hall. But your deadly dance is quickly revealing itself 
         to be one-sided. 

         Sweat drips down the side of your face. Well, shit, your formal clothes are going to be ruined if this goes on for any longer - 
         although that is the least of your worries now. 

         Your sword may bear a safety enchantment, but you can bet your General brother's does not. 

         Finally, a final strike by your opponent knocks the blade away from you long enough for his own to swing true -

         -And the blade halts an inch away from your throat.

         For a minute the two of you stand frozen, panting and staring hard at each other. Then your brother snaps his fingers once again, 
         banishing his sword in a blaze of flame. "I win," he says slowly, without any of his usual pride in his voice. Then he turns and 
         walks back to his seat. Neither of you mention the fatal look in his eyes in that one tense moment when he held your life in his hands.

         You have failed the Trial of Combat, but perhaps gained some insight into your brother's mind.
         *page_break
         *goto trialbegins
      #You would rather use strategy to match your brother's strength.
        *if (Combat>30)
         Long years in the army have added substantial bulk to the General's naturally lean frame in the flattering form of muscles. If you 
         want to win this, perhaps your best chance is to seek an opening while deftly avoiding meeting his attacks head-on.

         You dodge the first strike, then the next - sidestepping skillfully while keeping lost ground to the minimum. Clearly sensing your 
         strategy, your brother swiftly switches from slow but powerful strikes to quick and lighter strokes.

         For the first few minutes you are evenly matched in a dangerous parody of court dancing - when you give ground, he takes; when he 
         retreats, you advance.

         But then your opponent makes his first misstep. In the middle of a lunge his sword goes wide to the side, and not towards you. It 
         only takes a few seconds for him to reorientate himself - but it's all the time you need. Continuing in the trajectory of your 
         anticipatory strike, you swing towards the opening at your brother's chest, trusting the enchantment to protect him from any serious 
         harm.

         But at the last moment, the Crown Prince deflects the blow with a speed you didn't think possible. Worse - from the look of shock on 
         his face he doesn't know of the protection charm. You watch your brother's expression turn sober. His eyes harden.

         All this transpires in a matter of seconds. In the next your opponent is reviving his assault with renewed vigor. But it's too late. 
         You have exchanged enough moves for you to notice the pattern of his attacks. 

         For every three steps that you move left, right and front respectively, he slows between the second and third strikes. It is a small 
         window of opportunity - but it's enough now that you've recognized the pattern.

         In the next cycle of the pattern you swing your sword true, connecting across your opponent's chest. The Crown Prince stumbles backwards 
         from the momentum. His eyes fly down to his chest, then stare at you as a light of recognition slowly enters them.

         Your brother stabs his sword down blade-first into the carpeted floor. "You win," he says slowly. You remember the fatal look in his eyes, 
         and understand that he means it in more ways than one. Had your positions been reversed, would he have stopped as you did? 

         You watch as the Crown Prince walks back up to his seat with his back facing you, his frame giving off a strangely melancholic aura.

         The Emperor's eyes trail from his eldest son to you as if checking for any sign of cheating. At length, he nods. You have passed the 
         Trial of Combat.
         *set Combat %+20
         *set passtrial +50
         *page_break
         *goto trialbegins
        *if (Combat=30)
         Long years in the army have added substantial bulk to the General's naturally lean frame in the flattering form of muscles. If you 
         want to win this, perhaps your best chance is to seek an opening while deftly avoiding meeting his attacks head-on.

         You manage to dodge the first strike, but your brother catches you, full-force, on the second. A shockwave ripples up and through your 
         arm, nearly jolting your relic out of your hands altogether.

         Clearly sensing your strategy, your brother swiftly switches from slow but powerful strikes to quick and lighter strokes.

         For the first few minutes you are evenly matched in a dangerous parody of court dancing - when you give ground, he takes; when he 
         retreats, you advance.But just as you think you've established an unbreakable pattern between you, a sudden unpredicted thrust disrupts 
         it. You stumble backwards, hastily waving up a retreating parry. But the next strike slices through your defenses like a knife through 
         butter.

         Shit, he must have memorized your strategy and found a weakness in it. But as long as you discover what it is, you can still turn this 
         around - 

         And yet every lunge continues to force you to lose ground, even as you struggle to switch your moves up to escape being predictable. 
         Finally, a final strike by your opponent knocks the blade away from you long enough for his own to swing true -

         In that one second, your heart stops. Your relic blade might bear a protection charm that prevents it from causing serious injury, but 
         you doubt your brother's does. [i]What if[/i] - But surely, he won't go through with it even if he harbors intentions against you, not in 
         front of your parents -

         -And the blade halts an inch away from your throat.

         For a minute the two of you stand frozen, panting and staring hard at each other. Then your brother snaps his fingers once again, banishing
         his sword in a blaze of flame. "I win," he says slowly, without any of his usual pride in his voice. Then he turns and walks back to his seat. 
         Neither of you mention the fatal look in his eyes in that one tense moment when he held your life in his hands.

         You have failed the Trial of Combat, but perhaps gained some insight into your brother's mind.
         *page_break
         *goto trialbegins
  #The ornate bowl beckoning you towards it with its magical energy.
    As you approach the bowl, the pink mist rising from it floats towards you. The faint smell of roses fills your senses. Before you know it, 
    you are shrouded in a cloud of mist.

    The cool touch of the bowl against your fingers startles you. You don't remember taking hold of the relic - but there it is, you ascertain, 
    as you feel the peculiar design of it in your hands.

    [i]Shh.[/i] No, not quite - the soothing sound that resounds in your brain cannot be put into any words in any language you know. Still, its meaning 
    is clear: [i]be calm i mean you no harm.[/i]

    As you slowly relax under the hypnotizing buzz, you fall into a hazy, disembodied trance. When you open your eyes again, dazedly unfazed by 
    the fact that you don't remember having closed them, a sea of  dotted pink overwhelms you.

    Concentrating, you begin to perceive that the dots are firefly-size balls of light glowing fluorescent pink, zipping towards you at top speed.

    [i]!?[/i]

    The wordless voice murmurs in your ear again: [i]Dispel them.[/i]

    Is this the test...?
    *choice
      #Destroy them with your magic.
        *if (Magic>30)
         In this mist-induced illusion, you are effectively disembodied. As it all takes place within the confines of your mind, there is no point 
         in using your physical limbs anyways. 

         Well... Dispel them - in other words, eliminate them from your path. This should be as straightforward as an obstacle course.

         Summoning your magic into a concentrated ball of crackling energy, you pull it back before launching it at the tiny pink lights with the 
         momentum of a cannon.

         For a minute - [i]minute? Does time even pass the same way it does in this magic-conjured world as in the real world?[/i] - your sight is 
         consumed by the force of your attack. When it clears, the world is a pure white unblemished by pink.

         - At least, that's what you think. In the next second, pink dots appear in the distance, quickly growing larger as they gain speed. Well, 
         shit - that first strike sapped a significant portion of your magical reserves. Maybe you were too naive in thinking that the Trial would 
         be over so easily.

         This time you gather your magic into balls the size of a fist, scattering them into the fray at intervals. Your new approach makes for 
         slow progress - your projectiles barely clear their pink counterparts before new ones zap towards you on the horizon. But it is a slower 
         drain on your reserves; with ample time to recharge, you face reduced chances of running out of magic. 

         As time passes, the pattern in which the pink dots are dispatched begins to change. There are waves that sweep from high above, droves 
         which scatter into a vertically slanted line, and finally a last set that vibrate up and down without any fixed pattern.

         But you persevere. Finally, the last pink ball is destroyed in a blast of magic. The white light of the illusionary world brightens in 
         intensity until you are forced to shut your eyes against the glare. 

         When you reopen them, you are back in the hall with the relic still in your hands. The pink mist is gone, seemingly evaporated from use. 
         From beyond, the Emperor nods at you. You have passed the Trial of Magic.
         *set Magic %+20
         *set passtrial +50
         *page_break
         *goto trialbegins
        *if (Magic=30)
         In this mist-induced illusion, you are effectively disembodied. As it all takes place within the confines of your mind, there is no point 
         in using your physical limbs anyways. 

         Well... Dispel them - in other words, eliminate them from your path. This should be as straightforward as an obstacle course.

         Summoning your magic into a concentrated ball of crackling energy, you pull it back before launching it at the tiny pink lights with the 
         momentum of a cannon.

         For a minute - [i]minute? Does time even pass the same way it does in this magic-conjured world as in the real world?[/i] - your sight is 
         consumed by the force of your attack. When it clears, the world is a pure white unblemished by pink.

         - At least, that's what you think. In the next second, pink dots appear in the distance, quickly growing larger as they gain speed. Well, 
         shit - that first strike sapped a significant portion of your magical reserves. Maybe you were too naive in thinking that the Trial would 
         be over so easily.

         This time you gather your magic into balls the size of a fist, scattering them into the fray at intervals. Your new approach makes for 
         slow progress - your projectiles barely clear their pink counterparts before new ones zap towards you on the horizon. Worse, although you 
         intended to conserve your reserves, you find your magical supply swiftly depleting. 

         And then the pattern in which the pink dots are dispatched begins to change. There are waves that sweep from high above, droves which 
         scatter into a vertically slanted line, and finally a last set that vibrate up and down without any fixed pattern.

         But your magic fizzles out at the last minute. Drained, your sight blacks out as the last line of pot dots loom before you. 

         When you finally recover enough to reopen them, you are back in the hall with the relic still in your hands. The pink mist is gone, 
         seemingly evaporated from use. From beyond, the Emperor frowns at you. You have failed the Trial of Magic.
         *page_break
         *goto trialbegins
      #Redirect them with your magic.
        *if (Magic>30)
         The pink dots loom before you like an obstacle course. In this mist-induced illusion, you are effectively disembodied. As it all takes 
         place within the confines of your mind, there is no point in using your physical limbs anyways. 

         Well... Dispel them - in other words, eliminate them from your path. Although... There has to be a more efficient way to do it other than 
         launching strike after strike of magical energy at the oncoming waves.

         As a test, you flick magic balls equal to the size of two pink dots in the direction of an incoming strike. The first few tries all fail 
         from imprecision and you are forced to hastily throw up a protective shield. But then one of your projectiles hits a pink dot at an angle 
         that sends it rebounding into another, taking both down in one.

         Encouraged, you fire more energy balls into the fray, trying to recreate the exact same angle. Once you get the hang of it it is an efficient 
         use of your magical reserves. 

         Then the pattern in which the pink dots are dispatched begins to change. There are waves that sweep from high above, droves which scatter 
         into a vertically slanted line, and finally a last set that vibrate up and down without any fixed pattern.

         It takes you a few more missed attempts, but you quickly adjust. Finally, the last pink ball is destroyed in a particularly spectacular 
         strike of magic energy that knocks six pink dots off the radar at once. The white light of the illusionary world brightens in intensity 
         until you are forced to shut your eyes against the glare. 

         When you reopen them, you are back in the hall with the relic still in your hands. The pink mist is gone, seemingly evaporated from use. 
         From beyond, the Emperor nods at you. You have passed the Trial of Magic.
         *set Magic %+20
         *set passtrial +50
         *page_break
         *goto trialbegins
        *if (Magic=30)
         The pink dots loom before you like an obstacle course. In this mist-induced illusion, you are effectively disembodied. As it all takes 
         place within the confines of your mind, there is no point in using your physical limbs anyways. 
 
         Well... Dispel them - in other words, eliminate them from your path. Although... There has to be a more efficient way to do it other 
         than launching strike after strike of magical energy at the oncoming waves.
 
         As a test, you flick magic balls equal to the size of two pink dots in the direction of an incoming strike. The first few tries all 
         fail from imprecision and you are forced to hastily throw up a protective shield. But then one of your projectiles hits a pink dot at an 
         angle that sends it rebounding into another, taking both down in one.

         Encouraged, you fire more energy balls into the fray, trying to recreate the exact same angle. Once you get the hang of it it is an 
         efficient use of your magical reserves. Although you miss roughly a third of the strikes, it still saps less of your magic per projectile 
         and gives you more time to recharge. 

         But then the pattern in which the pink dots are dispatched begins to change. There are waves that sweep from high above, droves which scatter 
         into a vertically slanted line, and finally a last set that vibrate up and down without any fixed pattern.

         Try as you might, you begin to miss more and more of the never-ending assault of pink dots. Finally, you are unable to shoot all of the 
         pink dots down before they reach you. Your sight blacks out as the last line of pot dots loom before you. 

         When you finally recover enough to reopen them, you are back in the hall with the relic still in your hands. The pink mist is gone, 
         seemingly evaporated from use. From beyond, the Emperor frowns at you. You have failed the Trial of Magic.
         *page_break
         *goto trialbegins
  #The muyu with which you can demonstrate your devotion to the gods.
    You take the drumming stick in your hand, intending to test the acoustic qualities of the muyu. But the moment you make contact a hidden 
    enchantment binds you to it.

    Without warning, the stick stuck to your hand pulls you over to drum on the "wooden fish". The rhythm it begins to beat out is a familiarly 
    slow one usually used to accompany singing chants.

    Is this the test...? To recite scriptures according to whatever rhythm the relic sets?

    Hesitantly, you open your mouth to chant...
    *if (Religion>30)
     [i]Nan mo ah mi tuo fo.[/i] Both the honored name of the fozu and a prayer of homage, it is a simple enough singing chant that suits the 
     slow rhythm. Your hand, still under the control of the drumming stick's enchantment, continues tapping out clear beats on the wood.

     But it quickly becomes apparent that this is not the easy task it seems to be. The movement of drumming the stick changes from being effortless 
     to becoming a strain, especially when the rhythm switches to an irregular tempo. 

     Keeping up with the changes by reciting different prayers gradually turns into a struggle of both wits and endurance. In turn, you switch 
     from excerpts from the Da Ban Ruo Sutra to the shorter mantras, all the while trying to keep your thoughts from straying. 

     The hall is silent; though your eyes do not deviate from the task at hand you feel the attention of your audience burning into you. 

     [i]Relinquish your doubts and let the gods guide you.[/i] Devoted as you are to the art of worship, the familiar sound of the chanting and 
     the wooden fish eventually lure you into the usual state of inner peace that accompanies your private prayers.

     At long last, the drumming slows to a halt. When you place the stick down on the table the enchantment fades away. Bowing to the unseen gods, 
     you press your palms together, pointed skyward, in a sign of worship.

     Even before the Emperor gives you his blessing, you know in your heart that you have passed the Trial of Religion.
     *set Religion %+30
     *set passtrial +50
     *page_break
     *goto trialbegins
    *if (Religion=30)
      [i]Nan mo ah mi tuo fo.[/i] Both the honored name of the fozu and a prayer of homage, it is the simplest singing chant you know that suits the 
      slow rhythm. Your hand, still under the control of the drumming stick's enchantment, continues tapping out clear beats on the wood.

      But it quickly becomes apparent that this is not the easy task it seems to be. The movement of drumming the stick changes from being effortless 
      to becoming a strain, especially when the rhythm switches to an irregular tempo. 

      Keeping up with the changes by reciting different prayers gradually turns into a struggle of both wits and endurance. Try as you might you begin
      to stutter as you fail to remember lines from the longer excerpts of sutras. The steady rhythm of the drumbeat turns into the relentless footsteps
      of doom.

      Unused to the art of worship, the heavy weight of your audience's attention on you unnerves you, and your concentration suffers another hit. 

      [i]Hang on, just a little more... [/i]But how can a true state of worship be achieved without complete devotion of thought? 

      In your distracted state of mind, the rhythms of your chanting go awry - until finally, the drumming stick impatiently flies from your hand to 
      land softly back on the table. 

      Even before the Emperor makes it clear, you know in your heart that you have failed the Trial of Religion.
      *page_break
      *goto trialbegins
  #You have completed your Trials.
    *page_break
    *goto trialresults

*label trialresults  

*if (passtrial>=100)
 The Trials have ended. The relics lie back in place on the table with only subtle signs 
 that they were ever touched. You stand with your back straight and head held high in front 
 of your audience, confident of your success. 

 For a moment more silence reigns in the hall. 

 Then the Emperor laughs, and stands. It is a hearty, genuine guffaw that you have not 
 heard from him in years. When his shoulders cease shaking from the laughing fit, you notice 
 that an imperceptible tension has bled out of them. 

 Relief gleams in his shining eyes. Walking towards you, he extends a hand - for a second 
 you foolishly think that your father is about to embrace you - but of course the Emperor 
 can do no such thing to his grown child. 

 A curious embarrassment spreads across his face. He stops before the table dividing the 
 space between you. The questing hand falls back to his side.

 "${Fullname}. My child. I knew you would do us proud." 

 He turns briefly to look at the Empress, but she does not take her eyes off you. Your 
 mother's rouged mouth is pressed into a thin line; not from displeasure, but barely 
 contained elation. 

 The Emperor turns back to you with a rueful smile. "Well. That marks the end of the Trials. 
 Well done, my children." Almost as an afterthought, he graces Long Qing with an approving nod. 
 Your brother casts your father a smile; distracted, complicated, disarming.

 The Emperor walks around the table at a slower gait than you remember. From this distance 
 you can see silver threads knotted in dark hair. [i]Ah, that's right.[/i] How long has it been 
 since the last time you walked down the majestic steps of Qian Qing Chamber hand in hand with 
 your father, back in the days of the childhood when parent and child were inseparable?

 He continues walking down the hall. Your lips part. When did you become so foreign to 
 each other that even words fail you? For a minute you truly believe your father is about 
 to -

 -then the Emperor strides right past you. Stopping at the opened door, the sunlight beyond 
 as bright as your future rendering his frame a dark shadow, he announces:

 "Now the Land of the Dragon has two heirs." 
 *set trialpass true
 *page_break
*if (passtrial<100)
 The Trials have ended. The relics lie back in place on the table with only subtle signs that 
 they were ever touched. You stand with your jaw locked tight and head bowed low in front of 
 your audience, knowledge of your failure stinging your bones. 

 For a moment more silence reigns in the hall. 

 Then the Emperor stands abruptly. His chair shakes dangerously with the force of his sudden 
 departure. His face is a storm of emotions; fury, disappointment, sadness, helplessness. 

 As he strides down the hall you numbly notice that he looks as if he has aged ten years in 
 the interval of your Trials. 

 When he raises his hand by his head you unthinkingly flinch away. The instinctive action makes 
 both of you give pause. Your father has never hit you, so why - 

 [i]Doesn't mean he's never given you cause to hurt,[/i] a voice deep within your mind whispers. 

 "${Fullname}. You have failed your Trials. Do you know what this means, for the Land?" 

 You bite back a hundred things you could have said. Instead, you keep your head down along 
 with your silence. 

 The Emperor's heavy footsteps thump on. You hear him sigh, deeply, ineffectually, as he passes 
 you by.

 You raise your head by a fraction. The Empress is looking at you, rouged lips pressed into a 
 thin line; from sadness or disappointment, or both, you cannot tell. Long Qing stares off into 
 the distance, perhaps at the Emperor, or maybe focused on nothing at all. You wonder if he is 
 relieving memories of his own Trials. 
 
 "Now the Land of the Dragon will only have one heir."

 The Emperor's voice is cold. So is your body. What does he mean to do to you? 

 You look to your mother, but the Empress is in complete control once more. Her perfect features 
 betray nothing. Will she be as cold, even if she watches her husband murder their child, one way 
 or another? 

 Turning to your brother, you see none of the arrogance or gloating you expected. His face is only 
 full of loathing that is not entirely for you. 
 *page_break

The distant sounds of retainers greeting the Emperor barely register in the daze that 
falls over you. 

After a minute's pause, the Empress too walks out of the door, where her maidservants 
await. Before leaving, she acknowledges you with a soft pat on your shoulder. But through
the fabric of your garments you feel nothing. 

Soon you and Long Qing are alone in the hall. 

Then your brother leaps up and out of his chair with a feline grace. He saunters until 
he stands parallel to you, then abruptly stops. 

You turn a wary glance onto him. 

But Long Qing only tosses a nonchalant smile your way. "Come, ${brother}. Shall we not 
stroll together on this beautiful day?" 

Unable to deny his request, you follow your brother out of the hall. The time now is about 
ten in the morning. The sunlight casts a healthy glow on Long Qing's naturally tan skin, 
deepened by long years in the royal army. His auburn hair flares like a beacon under the 
bright sky. 

You walk beside each other with a casual arm's distance between you. It's as close as 
you have been in years, in every meaning of the phrase. 

Behind you, Chen Kun and Long Qing's Personal Guard, a tall girl with a prominent scar, 
fall in a pace slower. Close enough to intervene, but far enough to preserve an illusion 
of privacy. And swiftly catching up beyond them is the rest of both your entourages, 
ready to escort you to Duolin Temple for the ceremony. In reality, unless a secret code 
of communication were established, none of your conversation would be truly private.

"So? Aren't you curious?" Long Qing asks ambiguously. The hawk-like gaze of his green eyes 
belies the light tone of his voice.

*choice
  #Why is he following you around? This is suspicious...
    "Why're you following me around?"
   
    Your reply is both direct and cutting. You don't bother to hide the wariness from your expression. 
    There's really no point - the way your brother is watching you, it would be impossible to disguise 
    your true emotions anyways.

    To his credit Long Qing does not seem to take offense. Spreading his hands to his sides in the universal 
    gesture for incomprehension, he turns an innocent look onto you. "Why do you think I am?"

    "..." The lazy deflection grinds on your nerves, especially after your frank question. "Stop speaking 
    in circles, or stop speaking at all."

    Your brother raises only a eyebrow at the rude reply, when you could have easily imagined him pulling 
    a fist - and had indeed been prepared against it. 

    But Long Qing has always been unpredictable. At the age of fourteen he surprised the realm when he 
    publicly requested for the Emperor's blessing to join the army before the entire court. The Emperor was 
    thus persuaded to agree when he might not otherwise have relinquished his eldest son and heir to the 
    tumultuous borderlands. 

    Later you learnt that your brother did so without even consulting his birth mother, Imperial Consort Nefertari. 
    Why choose to leave his home at court and the study of words, for which he indeed showed only signs of 
    interest, for the cold, lonely borderlands and the grueling discipline of the army? Rumors of illicit 
    scandals and secret plotting abounded, but no one really knew for sure. And so a secret it remained.

    "Why, to see what my dearest ${brother} really thinks of all this, of course." Long Qing finally relents, 
    his tone turning serious. Turning to face the rising sun, he continues, "Our dearest father. Our darling 
    mothers. This palace - and the realm beyond it." At the last words he turns, a dark gleam in his eyes.
    *set Subtle %-20
    *set Trusting %-20
    *goto lqtest
  #Distract him by asking about his time in the army. You'll find clues by yourself. 
    "Do you always speak so informally now, honored elder brother? It does not become the Crown Prince of 
    the Land." You keep your tone teasing but polite, subtly underscoring the differences in the formality 
    of your language.

    To his credit Long Qing does not seem to take offense. Laughing in the same indecorous manner you accused 
    him of, your brother replies, "I've been in the army for ten years now, ${brother}. At the far ends of the realm palace laws cannot warm you against the cold. Only your fellow comrades-in-arms may."

    You lift an eyebrow, your retort ready on your tongue. "And are there no ranks of order in the royal army? 
    Do you, General, not command your comrades as master?" 

    "Master..." Long Qing repeats meaningfully. "Master of the royal army - and as the next step, Master of the 
    realm? Tell me, ${brother} of my blood - do you wish to be Master of the Land?"

    "I do not know what you mean, honored elder brother." Of course, you cannot answer that question directly. 
    Not for the first time you wonder what really goes on in your elder brother's mind.

    At the age of fourteen he surprised the realm when he publicly requested for the Emperor's blessing to join 
    the army before the entire court. The Emperor was thus persuaded to agree when he might not otherwise have 
    relinquished his eldest son and heir to the tumultuous borderlands. 

    Later you learnt that your brother did so without even consulting his birth mother, Imperial Consort Nefertari. 
    Why choose to leave his home at court and its guarantees of heir-hood, for the cold, lonely borderlands and 
    the indiscriminate discipline of the army, if it is indeed power he seeks? Rumors of illicit scandals and 
    secret plotting abounded, but no one really knew for sure. And so a secret it remained.

    "Why, to see what my dearest ${brother} really thinks of all this, of course." Long Qing finally relents, 
    his tone turning serious. Turning to face the rising sun, he continues, "Our dearest father. Our darling 
    mothers. This palace - and the realm beyond it." At the last words he turns, a dark gleam in his eyes.
    *set Subtle %+20
    *set Ambitious %+20 
    *goto lqtest
  #You haven't seen your brother in years - you want to start filling in the gaps.
    "I - haven't seen you in years. Well, you came back in the summer, but I didn't get a chance to speak with 
    you." You start off awkwardly. Eager as you are to reestablish your relationship with your brother, the years 
    spent apart have opened an immeasurable gulf between you. Surely you will be forgiven for tentatively testing 
    its distance now. 

    An unconscious smile surfaces on Long Qing's face, then tenses, as if afraid of some trick. "Why didn't you, 
    then?"

    "You were staying in Imperial Consort Nefertari - your mother's chambers the entire time, weren't you?" Even away from 
    the capitol, he must know of your birth mothers' rivalry.

    Your brother falls silent. You walk on, each trying to believe the other's words to be true, and not quite 
    succeeding. That must be the curse of all within palace walls; in a place where truth is an oft-hidden gem, can 
    it really exist between two born to be both foes and allies without the innocent shield of childhood?

    Not for the first time you wonder what really goes on in your elder brother's mind.

    At the age of fourteen he surprised the realm when he publicly requested for the Emperor's blessing to join the 
    army before the entire court. The Emperor was thus persuaded to agree when he might not otherwise have relinquished 
    his eldest son and heir to the tumultuous borderlands. 

    Later you learnt that your brother did so without even consulting his birth mother, Imperial Consort Nefertari. Why choose 
    to leave his home at court - leave [i]you,[/i] for the cold, lonely borderlands and the grueling discipline of the army? 
    Rumors of illicit scandals and secret plotting abounded, but no one really knew for sure. And so a secret it remained.

    And when he left the court, he ended the idyllic, ignorant days of your childhood together. What can breach the distance 
    between you now? 

    Finally, Long Qing forces a smile that is a far cry from his usual prideful smirk. "I want to know, ${Fullname}." Turning 
    to face the rising sun, he continues, "Our dearest father. Our darling mothers. This palace - and the realm beyond it. 
    What do you really think of it all?" At the last words he turns, a dark gleam in his eyes.
    *set Long_Qing %+40
    *goto lqtest
  #Knowing your honored elder brother this is only a rhetorical question. You wait.
    You hold your brother's gaze and try your best to transmit the trust you feel towards him. It has been years since 
    you last saw each other - well, Long Qing came back in the summer, but you never got the chance to speak to him.
   
    Still, the memories of your shared childhood are tinted a nostalgic hue that makes you predisposed to look kindly 
    upon your brother, no matter the distance that has grown between you.

    You well know the reason for your distance is not merely physical - but whatever the plans your birth mothers harbor 
    for you, you will always see the Crown Prince as both your elder brother and future Emperor.

    Long Qing stares back at you unblinkingly for a long moment. "They say the eyes are the doors into the soul..." Not 
    for the first time you wonder what really goes on in your elder brother's mind.

    At the age of fourteen he surprised the realm when he publicly requested for the Emperor's blessing to join the army 
    before the entire court. The Emperor was thus persuaded to agree when he might not otherwise have relinquished his eldest 
    son and heir to the tumultuous borderlands. 

    Later you learnt that your brother did so without even consulting his birth mother, Imperial Consort Nefertari. Why choose to 
    leave his home at court and its guarantees of heir-hood, for the cold, lonely borderlands and the indiscriminate discipline 
    of the army, if it is indeed power he seeks? Rumors of illicit scandals and secret plotting abounded, but no one really 
    knew for sure. And so a secret it remained.

    Finally, as if ascertained of your wordless loyalty, your brother breaks your locked gaze and turns towards the rising sun. 
    "I understand, ${brother}. Leave it to me. And... Thank you. For making this easier than it could've been. But - call your 
    brother paranoid, but - let me here you say it in your own words." At the last words he turns, a dark gleam in his eyes. 
    You understand that despite his words, he is no longer speaking as siblings, as equals - but as an Emperor to his liege.
    *set Trusting %+20
    *set Ambitious %-20
    *goto lqtest

*label lqtest
*choice
  #You are disgusted by and tired of the palace's archaic rules, and its inhabitants' lies and detachment. You see no point in lying about this.
    *if (Direct>Subtle)
     "This place... It's sick and decaying. The archaic rules that award a master absolute power over a servant, the indifferent
     masks everyone must wear to hide their human emotions, the amorality of court politics and its ruthless methods." You say 
     bluntly, pointing out the poisons plaguing this system you have lived your entire life in. "You know it too. It's why you
     left, isn't it?"

     Long Qing stares at you hard, as if trying to gauge your truthfulness of your words. 

     Then the darkness in his eyes slowly dissipates. In its place a light of recognition surfaces. "Yes," he admits slowly.

     The court has long suspected your brother's departure into the royal army as the consequence of dirty politics - and now his
     response as good as confirms it.

     "If you hate this place as much as you say, then why not stay far away from court at the borderlands? Why did you return?" 

     Your brother looks at you with a newfound respect that is swiftly overwhelmed by a fiery determination. The sadness that 
     flickered in his eyes drowns in a flood of coldness. "If you understand the darkness festering in this palace then you must 
     know what one of us has to do - for this place, for the realm."

     And with those words, whatever understanding you reached that momentarily bridged the gap between you has been removed once again. 

     "And I suppose you think it must be you? Well, you are the Crown Prince. Take your birthright. It's only what the Emperor expects 
     of you. Become the next Emperor, and go on thinking you can change the court with the Heaven's Mandate. I'm giving you my blessing, 
     [i]huangxiong.[/i] Isn't that what you want?" You speak coldly, using your language's word for a royal elder brother. 

     Anger and disappointment vie for dominance in the Crown Prince's face, but when his shoulders slump it is with sober resignation. 
     "I'm beginning to think it's not what I want at all, ${brother}."

     The rest of your walk to the horse carriages waiting at the palace gates is silent.
     *set Long_Qing %+20
     *set Subtle %-10
     *page_break 
     *goto choosecompanion
    *if (Subtle>Direct)
     "This place... It's sick and decaying. The archaic rules that award a master absolute power over a servant, the indifferent
     masks everyone must wear to hide their human emotions, the amorality of court politics and its ruthless methods." You say bluntly, 
     pointing out the poisons plaguing this system you have lived your entire life in. "You know it too. It's why you left, isn't it?"

     Long Qing stares at you hard, as if trying to gauge your truthfulness of your words. 

     Then the darkness in his eyes gradually grows. "Is that really what you think, ${brother}?" Because you are usually more subtle 
     than direct in speech, your apparent candidness this time only draws skepticism.

     Under his heavy, dangerous gaze, your composure crumples. "Uh, you're mistaken, I'm really telling the truth -!" You try desperately 
     to explain, but from the darkening expression on your brother's face, your ineptitude in speaking bluntly is only revealing itself 
     ever more. Worse, he evidently reads your uncharacteristic stammering as a clear tell of your lying guilt. 

     [i]Even though he'd never be able to catch me in an actual lie, [/i]you think with resignation. The irony of the situation is not lost 
     on you.

     Eventually, Long Qing nods once, savage and self-deprecating. "I see that you have been poisoned by the very same things you claim to
     see here, whether you truly know it or not... Have it your way. I'll see you on the other side..." And on that ominous note, the Crown
     Prince walks off alone in the direction of the horse carriages waiting at the palace gates. You know better than to try to follow. 
     *set Long_Qing %-20
     *page_break
     *goto choosecompanion
    *if (Subtle=Direct)
     "This place... It's sick and decaying. The archaic rules that award a master absolute power over a servant, the indifferent masks 
     everyone must wear to hide their human emotions, the amorality of court politics and its ruthless methods." You say bluntly, pointing 
     out the poisons plaguing this system you have lived your entire life in. "You know it too. It's why you left, isn't it?"

     Long Qing stares at you hard, as if trying to gauge your truthfulness of your words. 

     Then the darkness in his eyes gradually grows. 

     "Is that [i]really[/i] what you think, ${brother}?" Because you are usually impartial between subtlety and bluntness, your brother cannot
     read your true intentions - but that alone is enough to spike his skepticism.

     Having never honed your speaking manner in one way or the other, you are caught tongue-tied in the sudden development, unable to respond 
     in a way that suitably alleviates Long Qing's suspicions in time. 

     Eventually, Long Qing nods once, savage and self-deprecating. "I see that you have been poisoned by the very same things you claim to 
     see here, whether you truly know it or not... Have it your way. I'll see you on the other side..." And on that ominous note, the Crown 
     Prince walks off alone in the direction of the horse carriages waiting at the palace gates. You know better than to try to follow.
     *set Long_Qing %-20
     *page_break
     *goto choosecompanion
  #All of those things will be mine. Of course, you have to lie about that.
    *if (Cautious>Trusting)
     "This place... Well, for better or for worse, it's the power centre of the realm, isn't it? And it's where we've grown up... You may 
     have a second home in the army, but this is the only place where I belong, [i]huangxiong[/i]." You say, using your language's word
     for a royal elder brother. [i]Because I'm going to become the master of it all.[/i] 

     Outwardly, you maintain a humble, nostalgic expression on your face, as if your feelings for the palace are uncolored by ambition. 

     Long Qing stares at you hard, as if trying to gauge your truthfulness of your words. 

     Then the darkness in his eyes slowly dissipates. In its place a light of empathy surfaces. "I believe you, ${brother}. And here you 
     shall stay, if that is what you wish. The realm will have need for an Elder ${Prince}..." He trails off, eyes unfocused as they think
     on the future. 

     [i]Confident of inheriting the throne, isn't he?[/i] You scoff silently. 

     Long Qing's words may sound like a benevolent grant, but you don't deceive yourself that your brother truly wants another royal
     sibling around in court when he ascends the throne. He would allow you to stay - if only to prevent you from becoming the headfigure
     of a court insurgency orchestrated by the Empress faction - and might even generously award you your share of birthright privileges 
     without making life difficult if you remain the obedient, humble sibling you are claiming to be.

     Not that you'll give him a chance to dictate his mercy to you. If anything, you will be the one sitting high and untouchable above on
     the dragon throne, while your elder brother waits on your benevolence. 

     But for now you make yourself respond gratefully. "Thank you, [i]huangxiong[/i]." [i]Yes, thank you for being so gullible - it'll 
     save me some plotting.[/i] 

     All the rest of the way to the horse carriages waiting near the palace gates you nod and smile, every inch the pliable sycophant, and
     expertly conceal the genuine amusement building within you whenever your brother looks at you with a mixture of trust and relief.
     *set Ambitious %+10
     *set Cautious %+10
     *page_break
     *goto choosecompanion
    *if (Trusting>Cautious)
     "This place... Well, for better or for worse, it's the power centre of the realm, isn't it? And it's where we've grown up... You may
     have a second home in the army, but this is the only place where I belong, [i]huangxiong[/i]." You say, using your language's word 
     for a royal elder brother. [i]Because I'm going to become the master of it all.[/i] 

     Outwardly, you attempt to maintain a humble, nostalgic expression on your face, as if your feelings for the palace are uncolored by 
     ambition. 

     Long Qing stares at you hard, as if trying to gauge your truthfulness of your words. 

     Then the darkness in his eyes gradually grows. "Is that really what you think, ${brother}?" Because you are usually trusting and 
     plainspoken, your cautious language only sparks your brother's suspicion. 

     Under his heavy, dangerous gaze, your composure crumples. "Uh, you're mistaken, I'm really telling the truth -!" You try desperately 
     to explain, but from the darkening expression on your brother's face, your ineptitude in speaking bluntly is only revealing itself ever 
     more. Worse, he evidently reads your uncharacteristic stammering as a clear tell of your lying guilt. 

     Gods damn it, now you've dug yourself into a hole. What can you do now? Your already flimsy attempts at darting around the truth are now 
     utterly destroyed by Long Qing's piercing eyes.

     An odd expression - right smack halfway across the scale from sadness to anger - flashes over your brother's face. Like a revelation you
     knew was a long time coming, but the suddenness of which still catches you unprepared as a crashing tide. 

     Eventually, Long Qing nods once, savage and self-deprecating. "I see that you'd rather lie right to my face than refuse to tell me the 
     truth. Have it your way. I'll see you on the other side..." And on that ominous note, the Crown Prince walks off alone in the direction 
     of the horse carriages waiting at the palace gates. You know better than to try to follow. 
     *set Long_Qing %-10
     *set Cautious %+10
     *page_break
     *goto choosecompanion
    *if (Cautious=Trusting)
     "This place... Well, for better or for worse, it's the power centre of the realm, isn't it? And it's where we've grown up... You may 
     have a second home in the army, but this is the only place where I belong, [i]huangxiong[/i]." You say, using your language's word for a royal 
     elder brother. [i]Because I'm going to become the master of it all.[/i] 

     Outwardly, you attempt to maintain a humble, nostalgic expression on your face, as if your feelings for the palace are uncolored by ambition. 

     Long Qing stares at you hard, as if trying to gauge your truthfulness of your words. 

     Then the darkness in his eyes gradually grows. "Is that [i]really[/i] what you think, ${brother}?" Because you are usually sensible in your 
     trusts and suspicions, your guarded reply this time spikes Long Qing's skepticism.

     Unused to projecting a particularly trusting or cautious image, you stutter under your brother's heavy stare. You have the sinking feeling 
     that you are only deepening Long Qing's suspicion of you with every flustered word. 

     An odd expression - right smack halfway across the scale from sadness to anger - flashes over your brother's face. Like a revelation you knew 
     was a long time coming, but the suddenness of which still catches you unprepared as a crashing tide. 

     Eventually, Long Qing nods once, savage and self-deprecating. "I see that you'd rather lie right to my face than tell me the truth. 
     Have it your way. I'll see you on the other side..." And on that ominous note, the Crown Prince walks off alone in the direction of the horse
     carriages waiting at the palace gates. You know better than to try to follow.
     *set Long_Qing %-10
     *set Cautious %+10
     *page_break
     *goto choosecompanion
  #You give an answer vague enough to mask your intentions but subtle enough to avoid outright hostility.
    *if (Subtle>Direct)
     "Whatever happens, this palace will always stand. It'll be one ruler or another, one concubine or another..." As you speak the words in
     a measured light tone, the images flash by in your mind. 

     A series of Emperors and Empresses and their harems passing on one after the other, their faces a blur but their garments the same gold 
     and red, opulent and magnificent. In twenty years - no, maybe even that is generous - or ten, the royal sitting the throne will wear 
     the same bejeweled headpiece and hold court over courtiers of the same family names... 

     "When you look at it like that, none of this seems to matter, [i]huangxiong[/i]." You say, using your language's word for a royal elder
     brother. [i]Like clouds flowing across the sky,[/i] that is how the saying goes; even the most important current affairs of the state must
     seem insignificant as sand in a desert when viewed in the long frame of history.

     "And yet there are those who have - and would - risk their very lives to become the next master of the realm." Long Qing stares at you hard, 
     as if trying to gauge your truthfulness of your words. "I would not have you be one of them, ${brother}." He presses. 

     You let yourself exhale a long, laughing breath. "Who can know what the future holds? If it is a promise you want, [i]huangxiong[/i], you must
     know as well as I that my word is not my own to give." You hold Long Qing's gaze, keeping your eyes open and honest.

     Your brother is the first to look away. The darkness in his eyes slowly dissipates. In its place a light of empathy surfaces. "I understand.
     I don't like it, but I do." An uncharacteristically lonely expression crosses his face. "Well, let's hope that our paths never lead to us 
     crossing swords - for both our sorry sakes."

     And what else can you say to that? You both know that your actions and choices are never really your own - you can promise and you can hope,
     but in the end it's going to be others' manipulations that direct your fate if you stay in the palace.

     The rest of your walk to the horse carriages waiting at the palace gates is silent.
     *set Subtle %+10
     *set Empathic %-10
     *page_break
     *goto choosecompanion
    *if (Direct>Subtle)
     "Whatever happens, this palace will always stand. It'll be one ruler or another, one concubine or another..." As you speak the words in a 
     measured light tone, the images flash by in your mind. 

     A series of Emperors and Empresses and their harems passing on one after the other, their faces a blur but their garments the same gold and
     red, opulent and magnificent. In twenty years - no, maybe even that is generous - or ten, the royal sitting the throne will wear the same 
     bejeweled headpiece and hold court over courtiers of the same family names... 

     "When you look at it like that, none of this seems to matter, [i]huangxiong.[/i]" You say, using your language's word for a royal elder 
     brother. [i]Like clouds flowing across the sky,[/i] that is how the saying goes; even the most important current affairs of the state must 
     seem insignificant as dirt in a desert when viewed in the long frame of history.

     "And yet there are those who have - and would - risk their very lives to become the next master of the realm." Long Qing stares at you hard,
     as if trying to gauge your truthfulness of your words. "I would not have you be one of them, ${brother}." He presses. 

     You try to continue the conversation in a vague vein, but because of your usual directness in speech, you swiftly falter under Long Qing's 
     probing. 

     At length your plain thoughts blurt out of your mouth. "I can't promise you anything. You must know that!" Your eyes heat with frustration 
     and honesty. But immediately you can tell that Long Qing misunderstands the truthful statement for a misplaced threat. 

     The darkness in the Crown Prince's eyes gradually grows as they narrow. "Is that really what you think, ${brother}?"

     "It's only the truth," you plead, but Long Qing only nods once, savage and self-deprecating. 

     "I see that you have made your stance clear. See you on the other side, then..." And on that ominous note, the Crown Prince walks off alone
     in the direction of the horse carriages waiting at the palace gates.
     *set Long_Qing %-10
     *set Subtle %+10
     *page_break
     *goto choosecompanion
    *if (Subtle=Direct)
     "Whatever happens, this palace will always stand. It'll be one ruler or another, one concubine or another..." As you speak the words in a 
     measured light tone, the images flash by in your mind. 

     A series of Emperors and Empresses and their harems passing on one after the other, their faces a blur but their garments the same gold and red, 
     opulent and magnificent. In twenty years - no, maybe even that is generous - or ten, the royal sitting the throne will wear the same bejeweled
     headpiece and hold court over courtiers of the same family names... 

     "When you look at it like that, none of this seems to matter, [i]huangxiong[/i]." You say, using your language's word for a royal elder brother.
     [i]Like clouds flowing across the sky,[/i] that is how the saying goes; even the most important current affairs of the state must seem 
     insignificant as dirt in a desert when viewed in the long frame of history.

     "And yet there are those who have - and would - risk their very lives to become the next master of the realm." Long Qing stares at you hard,
     as if trying to gauge your truthfulness of your words. "I would not have you be one of them, ${brother}." He presses. 

     You try to continue the conversation in a vague vein, but because of your usual ambivalence between subtle and direct manners of speech, you 
     slip into a more direct approach almost immediately. 

     The darkness in the Crown Prince's eyes gradually grows as they narrow. "Is that really what you think, ${brother}?"

     "It's only the truth," you plead, but Long Qing only nods once, savage and self-deprecating. 

     "I see that you have made your stance clear. See you on the other side, then..." And on that ominous note, the Crown Prince walks off alone 
     in the direction of the horse carriages waiting at the palace gates.
     *set Long_Qing %-10
     *set Subtle %+10
     *page_break
     *goto choosecompanion
  #You will do what Long Qing asks of you, out of love and loyalty. You say as much. 
    *if (Trusting>Cautious)
     "I know only the next rightful master of it all, [i]huangxiong[/i]. By piety and love I am bound to serve him with loyalty - and what more then 
     for me, who indeed bear both towards you? Say only the word, and it shall be done." You say, using your language's word for a royal elder
     brother. It is as blatant a declaration of allegiance as you know to deliver before an actual coronation.

     Long Qing stares at you hard, as if trying to gauge your truthfulness of your words. "And if I stray from the righteous path of the master of 
     the realm? Will you then be honor-bound by your loyalty to your land to deliver justice against me?"

     "Does a priest not cut off all other ties when he devotes himself to the worship of the gods? If you will accept by advice, no army could move 
     me to their cause, if it be against you." 

     That is laying it on a bit thick - but your brother seems placated by the words. Perhaps he's accustomed to such impassioned vows of unyielding 
     loyalty from the strictly regimented royal army? 

     At any rate, the darkness in his eyes slowly dissipates. In its place a light of reassurance surfaces. "I believe you. And -" at this a wave of 
     relief sprinkled with a return of his characteristic pride washes over his face, "- thank you, ${brother}. Know that your loyalty will not go
     unacknowledged as long as I have the means to reward you."

     He does not promise you any position, you note wryly. No [i]you will be second to no one else in the Land,[/i] or [i]you will be master of the richest
     province to govern and exploit.[/i] 

     But if your eagerness to pledge loyalty led to his lack of promises, it is a small price to pay for the confidence your brother evidently has 
     in you now.

     Long Qing stares off into the distance with his usual smirking smile, already deep in thought for future plans that will now include you among
     them. You wonder what role he has privately assigned to you in the grand scheme of his game plan for the Emperor's seat.

     The rest of your walk to the horse carriages waiting at the palace gates is silent.
     *set Trusting %+10
     *set Ambitious %-10
     *page_break
     *goto choosecompanion
    *if (Trusting<Cautious)
     "I know only the next rightful master of it all, [i]huangxiong[/i]. By piety and love I am bound to serve him with loyalty - and what more then 
     for me, who indeed bear both towards you? Say only the word, and it shall be done." You say, using your language's word for a royal elder brother.
    
     It is as blatant a declaration of allegiance as you know to deliver before an actual coronation.

     Long Qing stares at you hard, as if trying to gauge your truthfulness of your words. "And if I stray from the righteous path of the master of the 
     realm? Will you then be honor-bound by your loyalty to your land to deliver justice against me?"

     "Does a priest not cut off all other ties when he devotes himself to the worship of the gods? If you will accept by advice, no army could move me
     to their cause, if it be against you." 

     That is laying it on a bit thick - and you immediately regret it when Long Qing's eyes narrow. Because you are usually cautious with your words, 
     your outright, almost reckless vow raises suspicion. This is the royal palace, after all - the ears of the court are everywhere. 

     The swift loss of your composure under your brother's stormy gaze does not help your credibility. No doubt Long Qing now thinks that your exaggerated
     pledge of loyalty was designed to start rumors of the Crown Prince's public courting of support, or serve some other sinister plot by the Empress
     faction. There have been instances of Crown heirs being discredited and even disinherited just by the wrong words falling into the wrong ears, after all. 

     Eventually, Long Qing nods once, savage and self-deprecating. "Believe it or not, ${brother}, my words were genuine. Have it your way. But I hope you 
     know what you're doing..." 

     It is a threat if you've ever heard one. Evidently, your brother is more angered by what he perceives to be a bare-faced lie than he might have been
     by pretty blarney.

     The rest of your walk to the horse carriages waiting at the palace gates is ominously silent.
     *set Long_Qing %-10
     *set Trusting %+10
     *page_break
     *goto choosecompanion
    *if (Cautious=Trusting)
     "I know only the next rightful master of it all, [i]huangxiong[/i]. By piety and love I am bound to serve him with loyalty - and what more then for me, 
     who indeed bear both towards you? Say only the word, and it shall be done." You say, using your language's word for a royal elder brother. It is as 
     blatant a declaration of allegiance as you know to deliver before an actual coronation.

     Long Qing stares at you hard, as if trying to gauge your truthfulness of your words. "And if I stray from the righteous path of the master of the realm?
     Will you then be honor-bound by your loyalty to your land to deliver justice against me?"

     "Does a priest not cut off all other ties when he devotes himself to the worship of the gods? If you will accept by advice, no army could move me to their 
     cause, if it be against you." 

     That is laying it on a bit thick - and you immediately regret it when Long Qing's eyes narrow. Because you are typically sensible in your trusts and 
     suspicions, your heartfelt outpouring now only invites skepticism instead of gratitude.

     This is the royal palace, after all - the ears of the court are everywhere. 

     The swift loss of your composure under your brother's stormy gaze does not help your credibility. No doubt Long Qing now thinks that your exaggerated
     pledge of loyalty was designed to start rumors of the Crown Prince's public courting of support, or serve some other sinister plot by the Empress faction. 
     There have been instances of Crown heirs being discredited and even disinherited just by the wrong words falling into the wrong ears, after all. 

     Eventually, Long Qing nods once, savage and self-deprecating. "Believe it or not, ${brother}, my words were genuine. Have it your way. But I hope you know
     what you're doing..." 

     It is a threat if you've ever heard one. Evidently, your brother is more angered by what he perceives to be a bare-faced lie than he might have been by
     pretty blarney.

     The rest of your walk to the horse carriages waiting at the palace gates is ominously silent.
     *set Long_Qing %-10
     *set Trusting %+10
     *page_break
     *goto choosecompanion
     
*disable_reuse     
*label choosecompanion

The palace gates are bustling with noise and activity. 

As the main character of the day your carriage is leaving earlier than the rest, but a 
number of high-ranking courtiers whom entered the palace in the morning for the daily 
court meeting have also begun preparing for the journey to Duolin Temple. 

The heat of the near-afternoon summer day beats against the air in intangible, inevitable 
waves. The laboring grunts of servants mix with the raised voices of impatient court 
officials, rising to form a general din. 

As your own entourage makes final checks on the bridles of horses and other logistical 
matters required in a large-scale journey from the palace, you eye the other courtiers 
in the courtyard. 

True, your procession - and in particular your carriage of course - will be watched and 
followed by numerous eyes, but the heavy curtains on both sides of the body provide 
privacy enough. If you wish to share your carriage with more than your personal guard now 
would be the time to send a discreet invitation. 

*choice
  #Send a trusted retainer to Crown Prince Long Qing. 
   *if (Long_Qing>35)
    To request for the company of your elder brother will require a formal and dedicated suit by palace etiquette. 
    You send Eunuch Mingzi himself with a personal message to find Long Qing. 

    There are namely three reasons for this choice of personage. One, a younger and more nimble retainer might
    deliver the invitation with swifter speed, but as your trusted caretaker Mingzi is a symbol of your sincerity. 
    Besides, his infamously unbribable nature will dispel any suspicions of a plot. Lastly, the Crown Prince will 
    have to devise a complex excuse to turn down your widely-recognized retainer publicly without feeding the rumor 
    mill of the court. 

    You smile to yourself as you wait by the carriage for your reply, thinking on your last conversation with your 
    brother. He wouldn't reject your humble invitation to rebuild your childhood kinship, would he?
 
    It's a quarter of an hour before Mingzi returns, but you spot the hooded figure following him right away. 
    Hidden under a weathered cloak he blends in with your retainers to the public eye. Yet there is an aura in his 
    prideful stance that reveals his true identity to the honed eye. 

    You incline your head at Chen Kun, who nods back. He will ride beside you on horseback. 

    To preserve the cover you wait until you are both seated within your carriage before you acknowledge him.
    *page_break
    From the front of the carriage, the neighing of the horses strapped to it signals the start of your journey. 

    "Jia!" You hear the coachman yell - and then the wheels of your carriage and the hooves of the laboring horses
    are clodding across the yard floor. 

    Amidst the din of the huge red double doors that comprise the palace gates being pulled open by Imperial 
    Guards, a herald announces with a shout, "The Second ${Prince} is on their way!" 

    The rougher texture of the public streets, when you reach them, jerk the carriage's motion into an uneven gait. 
    The noises of capitol life seep through the walls of your carriage as you travel down Chang An Jie, the 
    famous street whose name means long-lasting peace - you hear the excited voices of silver-tongued peddlers 
    crying their wares as you pass near a row of street stalls, the clinging and clanging of cutlery in the hands 
    of rowdy lunch crowds feasting high above in the multi-storeyed restaurants ringing through the air, a distant
    but strangely amplified shout of: "${Prince} ${Surname}!" -

    [i]Wait, what?[/i] Are you hallucinating, or did you just hear someone call out at you through the fog of noise?

    The carriage continues to gallop down the road at a speedy pace. You rush to lift the curtain by your side, 
    wanting to identify the source of the call before they vanish out of sight. 

    The second you raise the curtain, the outside world assail your senses. First are the noises overwhelming you 
    from all sides; then the line of excitable pedestrians pointing and exclaiming at the sight of your face. The 
    chill wind formed by your carriage's swift movement whips across your face. 

    Your eyes rapidly scan the lines of people, but to no avail; you are moving much too fast and there are simply 
    too many bystanders come to watch their Dragon ${Prince} first public appearance. 

    Then you hear it again: "${Prince} ${Surname}, beware the false dragon! The Uprising sends its regards!" 

    This time you sense that the message is being projected by a sound spell directed solely on you. The level of 
    magery required to cast such a specific spell is substantial, although someone with Chen Kun's skill could do 
    it at the snap of a finger. Still, there is enough magical residue for you to trace the spell back to its 
    caster with concentration. 

    At least, that is your optimistic guess - but then the trail abruptly fizzles out, as if someone cast an erasure
    spell. Disappointed, you are about to turn away when you sense something. 

    [i]There![/i] A shock of blond hair as pale as the mage's skin, far in front of you. From this far away you 
    cannot identify much about them, except for their androgynous appearance and seemingly foreign complexion. 
    Once you spot the figure you feel the same magical signature bound to them like a chain. This has to be your 
    mysterious messenger.  

    The Imperial Guards flanking your carriage on either side as bodyguards make it difficult to maintain an 
    undisrupted line of sight, but somehow your eyes manage to meet across the moving landscape for one timeless, 
    suspended second. 

    Their eyes are a pale blue, both as intense and peaceful as the immeasurable, unlimited sea. A paradox. 

    Then the mysterious mage with magnetic eyes slips out of view. You rest your back against the cushions once 
    again, happy to let the curtain block out all the sounds that have returned to being indecipherable white noise. 
    Thoughts of the ominous message cycle through your mind. 

    "Well, somebody's popular. Should I be prepared to defend my little ${brother}'s virtue?" 

    Your brother snarks from where he is sprawled across the cushions. His lips are shaped in a smile, but his 
    eyes are narrowed at you, mischievously suspicious - or perhaps feeling one but feigning the other. 

    "It's nothing, [i]huangxiong[/i]." Your thoughts remain centered on the blond stranger, but the watchful gaze 
    you turn on your brother is sharp. But no, he doesn't seem to have heard the message - only guessed at the
    cause of your distraction.  
    *set crlq true
    *set Long_Qing %+10
    *goto lqcr
   *if (Long_Qing<35)
    To request for the company of your elder brother will require a formal and dedicated suit by palace etiquette. You send 
    Eunuch Mingzi himself with a personal message to find Long Qing. 

    There are namely three reasons for this choice of personage. One, a younger and more nimble retainer might deliver the 
    invitation with swifter speed, but as your trusted caretaker Mingzi is a symbol of your sincerity. Besides, his infamously 
    unbribable nature will dispel any suspicions of a plot. Lastly, the Crown Prince will have to devise a complex excuse to 
    turn down your widely-recognized retainer publicly without feeding the rumor mill of the court. 

    You smile to yourself as you wait by the carriage for your reply. It will be interesting either way; to hear Long Qing's
    excuse to escape your invitation, or for him to turn up reluctantly, considering how your last conversation went.

    It's a quarter of an hour before Mingzi returns. You peer after him, but see no sign of any figure that remotely fits your
    brother's stature. 

    You look to your trusted retainer expectantly. Mingzi sighs in disapproval, then reports in a monotonic voice. "The Crown 
    Prince said, and I quote: Tell your master that the Sun does not share the sky with the Moon." 
 
    Well, that is surprisingly diplomatic, coming from your prideful brother. You wonder if Mingzi actually adapted his exact words
    into more... metaphorical terms. 

    No matter; you get the message loud and clear. Your brother will not suffer himself to share an enclosed space with you on a 
    journey as equals. "Thanks as always, Mingzi."

    Now that that's failed, you might want to find another carriage partner.
    *page_break
    *goto choosecompanion
  #Dispatch a servant to Imperial Administrator Fang Yun.
   *if (Fang_Yun>40)
    You have technically only met the Imperial Administrator publicly once, no matter how you remember her in your mind. As such
    you are firmly in the realm of political acquaintances.

    According to palace etiquette this means that a formal invitation should require at least a hand-written note. And from what
    you have seen of Fang Yun, you highly doubt she would be predisposed to waive formalities for anyone's sake. 
 
    Normally, that would be a piece of cake - But now you're out before the palace gates with no ink or paper in sight.

    "Uh..." Rummaging through the folds of your garments yields little results - chiefly because the formal garments lack the specially 
    designed pockets of your usual attire - and only draws a disapproving hum from Eunuch Mingzi. 

    Then you remember your jade charm. 

    With your name engraved on it and it being always on your person, it would certainly serve as a suitable substitute for a note.
 
    As you hesitantly turn the piece of jade over to Mingzi, you catch him casting you a scandalized look before nevertheless setting off 
    with it. 
 
    [i]Oh, right.[/i] As the realization washes over you your cheeks heat with color. Jade is definitely a common device for messengers 
    - for communication between intimates, that is. Uncountable cases of court scandals have been ignited by the discovery of personal 
    effects mislaid in the hands of the wrong master's servant or, even worse, in the chambers of an unlikely character.

    The words to call Mingzi back almost escape your throat - but your trusty caretaker, ever the efficient servant, has already disappeared 
    from the yard. 

    It is an anxious ten minutes, as you turn over the various potential scenarios in your mind, before Mingzi finally returns. A few paces
    behind him - as court etiquette dictates - walks a lady dressed in a simple nude gown.
  
    At first you blink in confusion; but a closer look confirms that it is indeed Fang Yun herself. With a perfunctory nod acknowledging
    your presence she raises herself into the carriage with an arm from Mingzi, as confidently as if she were the master, not you. 

    You incline your head at Chen Kun, who nods back. He will ride beside you on horseback.

    Then you head into the carriage yourself, bemused.
    *page_break
    From the front of the carriage, the neighing of the horses strapped to it signals the start of your journey. 

    "Jia!" You hear the coachman yell - and then the wheels of your carriage and the hooves of the laboring horses
    are clodding across the yard floor. 

    Amidst the din of the huge red double doors that comprise the palace gates being pulled open by Imperial 
    Guards, a herald announces with a shout, "The Second ${Prince} is on their way!" 

    The rougher texture of the public streets, when you reach them, jerk the carriage's motion into an uneven gait. 
    The noises of capitol life seep through the walls of your carriage as you travel down Chang An Jie, the 
    famous street whose name means long-lasting peace - you hear the excited voices of silver-tongued peddlers 
    crying their wares as you pass near a row of street stalls, the clinging and clanging of cutlery in the hands 
    of rowdy lunch crowds feasting high above in the multi-storeyed restaurants ringing through the air, a distant
    but strangely amplified shout of: "${Prince} ${Surname}!" -

    [i]Wait, what?[/i] Are you hallucinating, or did you just hear someone call out at you through the fog of noise?

    The carriage continues to gallop down the road at a speedy pace. You rush to lift the curtain by your side, 
    wanting to identify the source of the call before they vanish out of sight. 

    The second you raise the curtain, the outside world assail your senses. First are the noises overwhelming you 
    from all sides; then the line of excitable pedestrians pointing and exclaiming at the sight of your face. The 
    chill wind formed by your carriage's swift movement whips across your face. 

    Your eyes rapidly scan the lines of people, but to no avail; you are moving much too fast and there are simply 
    too many bystanders come to watch their Dragon ${Prince} first public appearance. 

    Then you hear it again: "${Prince} ${Surname}, beware the false dragon! The Uprising sends its regards!" 

    This time you sense that the message is being projected by a sound spell directed solely on you. The level of 
    magery required to cast such a specific spell is substantial, although someone with Chen Kun's skill could do 
    it at the snap of a finger. Still, there is enough magical residue for you to trace the spell back to its 
    caster with concentration. 

    At least, that is your optimistic guess - but then the trail abruptly fizzles out, as if someone cast an erasure
    spell. Disappointed, you are about to turn away when you sense something. 

    [i]There![/i] A shock of blond hair as pale as the mage's skin, far in front of you. From this far away you 
    cannot identify much about them, except for their androgynous appearance and seemingly foreign complexion. 
    Once you spot the figure you feel the same magical signature bound to them like a chain. This has to be your 
    mysterious messenger.  

    The Imperial Guards flanking your carriage on either side as bodyguards make it difficult to maintain an 
    undisrupted line of sight, but somehow your eyes manage to meet across the moving landscape for one timeless, 
    suspended second. 

    Their eyes are a pale blue, both as intense and peaceful as the immeasurable, unlimited sea. A paradox. 

    Then the mysterious mage with magnetic eyes slips out of view. You rest your back against the cushions once 
    again, happy to let the curtain block out all the sounds that have returned to being indecipherable white noise. 
    Thoughts of the ominous message cycle through your mind. 

    "Is something the matter? You appear to be... distracted." 

    The Imperial Administrator's tone is cool as always, but edged with a hint of displeasure at what you can only 
    assume was viewed as a breach in polite manners. A carefully careless smile is poised on her lips. You vaguely
    wonder if the mask will shatter like glass if you speak the right words. 

    "No, nothing. I apologize for my lapse in upholding etiquette." Your thoughts remain centered on the blond 
    stranger, but you subtly observe Fang Yun in your peripheral vision. But she shows no sign of having heard the
    message, although she has perhaps drawn her own conclusions.  
    *set crfy true
    *set Fang_Yun %+10
    *goto fycr
   *if (Fang_Yun<40)
    You have technically only met the Imperial Administrator publicly once, no matter how you remember her in your mind. As such you are 
    firmly in the realm of political acquaintances.

    According to palace etiquette this means that a formal invitation should require at least a hand-written note. And from what you have 
    seen of Fang Yun, you highly doubt she would be predisposed to waive formalities for anyone's sake. 

    Normally, that would be a piece of cake - But now you're out before the palace gates with no ink or paper in sight.

    "Uh..." Rummaging through the folds of your garments yields little results - chiefly because the formal garments lack the specially 
    designed pockets of your usual attire - and only draws a disapproving hum from Eunuch Mingzi. 

    Then you remember your jade charm. 

    With your name engraved on it and it being always on your person, it would certainly serve as a suitable substitute for a note. As
    you hesitantly turn the piece of jade over to Mingzi, you catch him casting you a scandalized look before nevertheless setting off 
    with it. 
 
    [i]Oh, right.[/i] As the realization washes over you your cheeks heat with color. Jade is definitely a common device for messengers
    - for communication between intimates, that is. Uncountable cases of court scandals have been ignited by the discovery of personal
    effects mislaid in the hands of the wrong master's servant or, even worse, in the chambers of an unlikely character.

    The words to call Mingzi back almost escape your throat - but your trusty caretaker, ever the efficient servant, has already disappeared 
    from the yard.

    It is an anxious ten minutes, as you turn over the various potential scenarios in your mind, before Mingzi finally returns. You raise
    your worrying head in expectation, but he is alone.

    The eunuch holds out your jade, reporting quietly, "Imperial Administrator Fang relays her apologies, but she is unable to join you
    on this journey. She further suggests you refrain from such... inappropriate methods of invitation." Mingzi finishes with a look that  
    clearly signifies that he agrees wholeheartedly with her advice.

    You sigh in disappointment. Maybe you were too reckless... You should've guessed that a court official as influential and professional 
    as the Imperial Administrator would be offended by the misguiding jade charm invitation. "Thanks, Mingzi..."
 
    Now that that's failed, you might want to find another carriage partner.
    *page_break
    *goto choosecompanion
  #Personal Guard Chen Kun is enough company for you.
   *if (Chen_Kun>35)
    Among the busy retainers occupied by their respective tasks in preparing their masters' carriages are the personal guards of important 
    courtiers, easily identified by their never-removed gauntlets. It makes for difficult spying, but then the job of a personal guard is 
    to stick close to their sworn master and only ever leave on missions in the most desperate of circumstances. 

    You absently watch the bustling crowd for a moment more before turning to your own. Long years spent in each others' company enable you
    to spy from his expression that he would not be disagreeable to being cooped up in the carriage with you for the journey. 

    "Come on, Chen Kun. Let's get in."

    Unlike with any other prospective companion, you don't need to be discreet about inviting him into your carriage. Most people important
    enough to have a personal guard sworn to them for life keep their sworn swords close to them to maximize protection. 

    "Yes, Master." Chen Kun replies readily. He offers you his arm as a step-up which you accept for appearance's sake, before leaping into
    the carriage himself.

    Through the window, you nod at Mingzi, who understands through the secret code that is unfailingly established between masters and servants
    of long service that he is being dismissed of messengering duties. 

    You let the curtain fall, its heavy fabric plunging the interior of the carriage into a sudden darkness with a thud. 

    And with that, precious privacy. 
    *page_break
    From the front of the carriage, the neighing of the horses strapped to it signals the start of your journey. 

    "Jia!" You hear the coachman yell - and then the wheels of your carriage and the hooves of the laboring horses
    are clodding across the yard floor. 

    Amidst the din of the huge red double doors that comprise the palace gates being pulled open by Imperial 
    Guards, a herald announces with a shout, "The Second ${Prince} is on their way!" 

    The rougher texture of the public streets, when you reach them, jerk the carriage's motion into an uneven gait. 
    The noises of capitol life seep through the walls of your carriage as you travel down Chang An Jie, the 
    famous street whose name means long-lasting peace - you hear the excited voices of silver-tongued peddlers 
    crying their wares as you pass near a row of street stalls, the clinging and clanging of cutlery in the hands 
    of rowdy lunch crowds feasting high above in the multi-storeyed restaurants ringing through the air, a distant
    but strangely amplified shout of: "${Prince} ${Surname}!" -

    [i]Wait, what?[/i] Are you hallucinating, or did you just hear someone call out at you through the fog of noise?

    The carriage continues to gallop down the road at a speedy pace. You rush to lift the curtain by your side, 
    wanting to identify the source of the call before they vanish out of sight. 

    The second you raise the curtain, the outside world assail your senses. First are the noises overwhelming you 
    from all sides; then the line of excitable pedestrians pointing and exclaiming at the sight of your face. The 
    chill wind formed by your carriage's swift movement whips across your face. 

    Your eyes rapidly scan the lines of people, but to no avail; you are moving much too fast and there are simply 
    too many bystanders come to watch their Dragon ${Prince} first public appearance. 

    Then you hear it again: "${Prince} ${Surname}, beware the false dragon! The Uprising sends its regards!" 

    This time you sense that the message is being projected by a sound spell directed solely on you. The level of 
    magery required to cast such a specific spell is substantial, although someone with Chen Kun's skill could do 
    it at the snap of a finger. Still, there is enough magical residue for you to trace the spell back to its 
    caster with concentration. 

    At least, that is your optimistic guess - but then the trail abruptly fizzles out, as if someone cast an erasure
    spell. Disappointed, you are about to turn away when you sense something. 

    [i]There![/i] A shock of blond hair as pale as the mage's skin, far in front of you. From this far away you 
    cannot identify much about them, except for their androgynous appearance and seemingly foreign complexion. 
    Once you spot the figure you feel the same magical signature bound to them like a chain. This has to be your 
    mysterious messenger.  

    The Imperial Guards flanking your carriage on either side as bodyguards make it difficult to maintain an 
    undisrupted line of sight, but somehow your eyes manage to meet across the moving landscape for one timeless, 
    suspended second. 

    Their eyes are a pale blue, both as intense and peaceful as the immeasurable, unlimited sea. A paradox. 

    Then the mysterious mage with magnetic eyes slips out of view. You rest your back against the cushions once 
    again, happy to let the curtain block out all the sounds that have returned to being indecipherable white noise. 
    Thoughts of the ominous message cycle through your mind. 

    "Master? Is all well?" 

    Your concerned personal guard leans towards you as he raises the question. His thick brows are narrowed in a frown,
    but his hazel eyes' warmth betray his genuine worry. 

    "I'm fine." Your thoughts remain centered on the blond stranger. Chen Kun may have proven himself to be resourceful 
    even in the most unlikely of situations, but even he cannot possibly figure this sudden message out without any other
    information. No, you will keep this from him for now, while you think on it further by yourself. 
    *set crck true
    *set Chen_Kun %+10
    *goto ckcr
   *if (Chen_Kun<35)
    Among the busy retainers occupied by their respective tasks in preparing their masters' carriages are the personal guards of important courtiers,
    easily identified by their never-removed gauntlets. It makes for difficult spying, but then the job of a personal guard is to stick close to
    their sworn master and only ever leave on missions in the most desperate of circumstances. 

    You absently watch the bustling crowd for a moment more before turning to your own. Surely Chen Kun would not be adverse to sharing your 
    carriage for the journey. 

    [i]He would not refuse a direct order from you without good reason,[/i] a traitorous voice insinuates in your mind. If duty to his Master calls,
    he will answer. But in his heart he may well wish to ride freely away from you... 

    Shaking your head, you call out, "Chen Kun? Shall we ride together in the carriage?"

    But your personal guard hesitates, his gaze darting to survey the surroundings before looking you square in the eyes. "With all due respect,
    Master, I am afraid I must decline. Your safety would be better secured with me riding out in the open." His expression is as stoic as ever 
    - and yet you get the distinct impression that he is declining out of more parts inclination to avoid you than security reasons.

    And that's just ridiculous. You and him are bound by the sacred vows of the master-guard arrangement unto one of your deaths. Chen Kun has never 
    shown any signs of shirking his duties of protecting you, so at least you don't have to worry about insubordination - or worse, incapabilities. 

    Still, the idea of a dangerous divide between you and your personal guard rankles at you, even as you think on other options for companionship 
    on your journey. 
    *page_break
    *goto choosecompanion
  #You don't wish to pass the journey with anyone else.
    You stare for a moment more at the bustling yard; servants busying themselves with preparing their masters for their journey and masters giving 
    orders from their idle positions. Life is as a play, and play as life. As you watch on the idiom comes to mind. In every day of palace life, servants
    hide their discontentments and private thoughts as they labor for their masters with mindful mindlessness, while masters pretend they are better
    and happier than their servants as they plot and mask their true feelings. 

    "${Prince}?" Mingzi reminds softly. You come out of your thoughtful reverie and turn away from the scenes playing out before you. 

    "I don't require your services now. I will travel alone; tell Chen Kun to ride there by horse." At your clear dismissal, Mingzi bows stiffly 
    and moves off towards your personal guard. You know that as one of your oldest retainers the eunuch has long since developed something of a complex
    regarding his relationship with you as compared to the rest of your entourage. More than as a charge - he loves you as if you were his child, although
    with your growing years the line between care and condescension has often been crossed.

    But you are beginning to find that the social classes which separate you draw an insurmountable barrier between you that even love cannot easily 
    overcome - and nothing has illustrated this better than the Emperor's coldness towards you. 

    Perhaps, then, it is a greater mercy for you to cut cleaner lines in your relationships with everyone else - because in the end, no one is truly 
    your equal. 

    You turn the thought over in your mind as you climb onto your carriage, alone. 
    *set cral true
    *goto carriagealone

*label lqcr

*if carriagecount=0
 "You're here. You know for a moment back there I did doubt if you would come, brother." You jest, testing the waters 
 between you.

 But when Long Qing replies it is with his usual irreverential smirk. "Normally it'd be a great indignity for me to be 
 found squeezing in carriage with anyone else. But since today is your Coronation Ceremony, I've made an exception for you."

 He stretches out on the cushions, as lean and flexible as a cat. Then, more seriously, he continues, "So? Why have you
 called me here, ${brother}?"
 
*if carriagecount=10
 Long Qing sprawls across the cushions, eyeing you with a cryptic expression only emphasized by his ambiguous smile.

 "Well, ${brother}? What else do you have to ask?"

*if carriagecount=20
 *goto curtainsup

*disable_reuse  
*choice
  #"You sure know how to make a ${Prince} feel special, huh?"
    At the joke, a tension visibly bleeds out of Long Qing. You share a mutual laugh that lightens the atmosphere within the carriage. "Well, 
    you'll find a line of other someones who disagree with you there, ${Fullname}." 
 
    Blocked by the curtains, the dim lighting within casts a blindfold of shadow across your brother's face. The curve of his mouth is pulled
    up to the side, as if in jest; but you cannot tell if it is with you or at your expense. 
  
    "That's... Not a thing to say to your blood ${brother}," you reply, aware of a premonitory shiver slithering down your spine. This conversation
    has taken a sudden turn into uncomfortable territory. Blame it on the enclosed space within the carriage, or the strange way you can feel Long
    Qing's eyes on you; but you suddenly feel trapped, as if by an unstoppable, oncoming, revelation. 

    The Crown Prince sits up abruptly, forcefully; before slowing to a stop with his forehead mere inches apart from you. His eyes gleam with a 
    terrible light that sends thrills through you. "But are you [i]really[/i] my ${brother}? ${Surname}?" 

    Your heart thuds in your chest painfully. A simple explanation to all this would be that your brother is digging out the old baggage of your
    different mothers - but you would be lying to yourself to say you believe that. 

    Long Qing may be... volatile at times, but he has never been petty. That as much you don't think has changed. 

    You feel your throat close up at the implications.

    Long Qing is still looking closely at you, his nearness a breath-quickening thing. "We may have the same mouth, if you want to make it a 
    stretch... But that alone is meager proof of lineage, no?" The last sentence is exhaled softly against your cheek. You inhale the earthy scent
    of marjoram.

    Stricken, you pull away. 

    Immediately, as if the demon possessing him to act inappropriately thus abruptly withdrew its hold, Long Qing falls back onto the cushions. 
    He runs a hand across his face, down to his trembling bottom lip, looking to all the world as if he were the one whom just had a terrible secret 
    broken to him. If not for the sounds of the carriage clattering along the capitol's cobble road, you think he might jump out altogether.  

    [i]He regrets it,[/i] you realize. But Long Qing does not apologize. [i]After all, the Crown Prince never does,[/i] you think savagely, as a 
    small part of you takes vicious pleasure in his evident torment.

    As your journey continues, you sit back in the silence and let the seed of curiosity sprout in your thoughtful mind.
    *set Long_Qing_RO %+20
    *set carriagecount +10
    *page_break
    *goto lqcr
  #"I want to speak with you about your plans... for the future." 
    Long Qing adjusts in his seat at that. You see the subtle yet visible shift from careless, prideful royal to responsible, confident commander
    in his face and posture. 

    Good. You're not going to waste your rare moment of privacy on meaningless meandering talk like the one you had in the afternoon. Now is the
    time to clear the air, establish binding ties...

    "You want to be the next Emperor. I would help you sit the throne. But first I think we need to cover all the bases. Tell me then, [i]huangxiong,[/i] 
    were the borderlands really as peaceful as your official reports to court claimed them to be when you left?"
 
    Even in the dim light of the curtain-enclosed carriage, the hesitation that snakes across your brother's face is visible. You guess that the 
    circumstances of your births and the overarching rivalry between your mothers really has drawn an insurmountable barrier between you. 
 
    [i]And yet he came to you,[/i] a voice in your head insists. [i]That has to count for some trust, and affection besides.[/i] 

    You wait in patience until the signs of your brother's internal struggling playing across his face fade away. Finally, Long Qing leans towards 
    you.

    "If you wish to know the exact circumstances of the border fiefs without consulting the reports, you only need to ask, ${brother}. Just as I
    would expect you to answer any questions about the court I have missed in my absence."
 
    So an exchange of information it is to be. Well, you can work with that.

    "Of course, [i]huangxiong.[/i]" You reply, with a reassuring smile. "And I happen to have a piece of news that may interest you. Did you know 
    that the Elder Prince has returned to the capitol in advance for today's Coronation? He's been staying in a chamber near the harem for a month now.
    Even though my own elder brother only arrived a day before..."

    You phrase the information in a teasing tone, and watch Long Qing's expression closely. No sign of surprise so much as twitches his face. 
    [i]As expected, he already knew,[/i] you confirm to yourself. Sometimes giving information can be as illuminating as receiving it.

    Well, the Elder Prince's close ties with Imperial Consort Nefertari have continued since their first meeting as Imperial messenger and political pawn 
    all those years ago, although their statuses are now drastically changed. In an inheritance conflict, you have no doubts about the side he will 
    be on - and the extended stay in capitol definitely facilitated plotting. 

    "The borderlands are much the same as ever; they aren't peacefully subservient by any means, but they won't be demanding any more ${Prince} marriages
    anytime soon - my concerns would not lie there. On the other hand, alliances with..."
 
    As your journey continues, you immerse yourselves into an informative and useful conversation regarding realm politics.
    *set Ambitious %+10
    *set carriagecount +10
    *page_break
    *goto lqcr
  #"I'm curious about your life in the army, huangxiong." 
    Long Qing smiles, as if reminiscing on his life in the army. "It is a hard place, but a worthy cause for one to devote themselves entirely to.
    Out at the borderlands where I was stationed the rules and ranks of the court didn't matter. Of course I had my royal guards with me, but out 
    there respect has to be earned by a man alone."

    He straightens in his seat, seemingly genuinely interested in the conversation now. "Why, ${brother} - are you thinking of pursuing a military 
    career?" He nods to himself seriously. "It might do you good. Too much of palace life - It would be well to expand your worldview there."

    That's... Not exactly what you were expecting. But if it gets you insider information about the dynamics of the royal army you're not going to
    complain. You nod encouragingly.

    Appeased by your interest, Long Qing continues. Gone is the prideful, smirking Crown Prince; in its place is a big-brotherly assertiveness on
    your behalf. "I can put in a good word for you in regiment under Captain Gao... You're too old to start training as I did with the other recruits, 
    but the troops under General Wei stationed in the nearest province - he would accept a noble-in-training if I wrote him a referential letter..."

    For a while more your brother rambles on, clearly in his element as an instructing commander. You let him, complying with agreeing hums and nods 
    at suitable junctures, all the while keeping an ear out for useful information regarding the royal army. 

    In the dim curtained-enclosed interior of the carriage, the Long Qing's eyes glow with an animated light you have never seen on him before. This
    is apparently a topic he could talk tirelessly for hours on. 
 
    When you deem that you have obtained enough knowledge about the military and the depth of the Crown Prince's connections to it, you gently correct 
    your brother's assumptions. 

    "Hey, [i]huangxiong...[/i] I don't really plan on joining the royal army right now. But thanks for the offer. I really appreciate it." You
    interrupt, trying your best to project an image of a supportive younger ${brother} who is only now letting Long Qing down gently because he seemed 
    so enthusiastic about the idea. 

    Your brother frowns, evidently displeased by both your sudden interruption and the suspicion that you have been milking him for information. 

    It takes a few more words of reassurance before the suspicion leaves his face, but he remains resolutely silent for the rest of the journey before
    the carriage wheels kick off.
    *set Combat %+10
    *set Long_Qing %-5
    *set carriagecount +10
    *page_break
    *goto lqcr
  #"I want to know if I have my friend back." 
    "When you left for the royal army, I didn't just lose a brother. I lost a friend too."

    The line Long Qing shoots at you sounds suspiciously rehearsed. "I'm here now, aren't I?" His careless smirk stays firmly in place.
 
    But you aren't going to let this go so easily.  You continue quietly, "I know that the Crown Prince of the Land of the Dragon is here with me. 
    But is my friend?"

    A pause falls over the interior of the carriage like a heavy veil. You watch as your companion looks down, his auburn hair darkened to a blood-like 
    crimson in the dimness of your enclosed space. His eyes are turned towards the window when he replies, "I'll always be your brother." There is an
    accent on the last word that you do not fully understand.

    Silence reigns once again in the enclosed space between you. 

    You stare at the man before you: your childhood friend, your blood brother, your supposed rival; and wonder if the distance between you has ever
    been so aptly displayed as by the scene in the carriage now. Whether a thousand miles away at the borderlands as in the army or right before your
    eyes as now, you can no longer reach him.

    You should just give up now. Long Qing's curt answer and his continued silence is a clear signal of his desire to keep his distance. But if that's
    what he really wants, why did he come here in the first place on your request? 

    "Is that all we're to be now? Distant siblings, greeting each other politely only before the Emperor?" You ask bitterly. When he doesn't respond 
    - doesn't even move except for what must be the force of the jerking of the carriage along the cobbled roads - you finally reach out to him.

    The minute your finger touches the hood of his cloak, Long Qing's hand shoots out from beneath it and seizes your wrist. Strong, lean fingers 
    squeeze like a vice around you, hard enough to break bone.

    All of this happens in a split seconds. You are so shocked that you barely register the pain before Long Qing says, lowly, "Stay - away. From me 
    before one of us hurts the other." And then he pries his fingers away from your wrist in a lingering motion that is in stark contrast to his swift
    and violent movements from just a moment ago.

    You bite down on your bottom lip to prevent the throbbing pain from rippling across your face. [i]And yet the only one hurting the other I see is you.[/i]
    But you bite that down too. You don't want an argument to break out between in this small enclosed space, with nowhere for the tension between you 
    to go except up against each other.

    "Understood," you reply softly, sadly. 

    The carriage rolls on. Long Qing doesn't look at you, so you stare down at your hurt wrist. [i]It's going to bruise for sure,[/i] you think, and laugh 
    silently. 

    There's no way the physical pain could rival your bruised heart.
    *set Long_Qing %+10
    *set carriagecount +10
    *page_break
    *goto lqcr

*label fycr

*if carriagecount=0
 Within the carriage, Fang Yun levels you with an expectant glance after you exchange the necessary formal greetings. 
 
*if carriagecount=10
 The Imperial Administrator sits with her spine straight across you, violet eyes intent upon you.

 She seems to be patiently waiting for another question.

*if carriagecount=20
 *goto curtainsup

*disable_reuse  
*choice
  *selectable_if (Fang_Yun_RO>0) #"That is an unusual choice of garments, Administrator..."
    "... I almost didn't recognize you." You finish.

    Officials are expected to don their official robes - red for the higher five ranks, green for the lower five levels 
    - to all courtly events. While your coronation ceremony leaves some leeway for informality, you would not have put
    money down on the Imperial Administrator choosing to forego her robes.

    "Although I must say even this simple gown flatters you," you add with a sly smile. 

    Fang Yun raises an imperious eyebrow, but otherwise does not seem offended. "You are surprised by the appearance
    I chose to present?"

    When you do not deny it, she replies, "Important as court-appropriate dress and conduct is, I find uses too for 
    disguise and subterfuge. I am sure you understand that as well." Her eyes lock with yours in a glance filled with
    meaning.

    You understand that she is referring to the use of your personal jade as your authentication for communication 
    between you. Evidently, she is now testing if your decision harbored a deeper meaning beyond last-minute convenience.

    "Ah, that - I'm sorry for any inconveniences caused, but I don't see a reason to divulge details of my intimate life
    to you - that is, unless you're personally interested?" You retort, watching the conflicting emotions of annoyance and 
    amusement flicker across Fang Yun's face before her usual composed indifference returns. 

    Huh. So it wasn't just your intuition; perhaps the cool and formal Administrator really does find enjoyment in crossing
    swords - or in this case, minds - with a purposefully blunt and obnoxious royal brat like you. 

    Your amusement must have been painted all across your face, because the Administrator replies in a voice as chill as 
    the Land in winter, "Charming as you no doubt imagine yourself to be, I find it within the realm of duty to enlighten
    you that others do not necessarily share your view."

    More seriously, she continues, "I will not allow any... unprofessional feelings to cloud my relationships in court. 
    You must understand and respect that." 

    In the curtain-enclosed dimness of the carriage's interior, Fang Yun's purple eyes are darkened into a deep violet; as 
    calm and depthless as the sea.

    "I understand. Don't think I'll tone down on the euphemisms, though - that's just part and parcel of my charming personality."
    You well know the pains she took to avoid being tied down by a marriage bond, and how that has translated into her career of 
    extreme professionalism. 

    Still, you can't resist the repartee, and Fang Yun rewards you by leaning closer towards you. You catch a whiff of her lavender
    perfume. "I do not doubt that you will."

    Then she settles back against the cushions, spine straight and posture regal. As the carriage kicks off you sink into a comfortable 
    silence as you ponder the Administrator's mixed signals. Evidently she welcomes your advances, but is resolutely against unprofessional
    commitments. Well, you're in for a long game, then...
    *set Fang_Yun_RO %+10
    *set carriagecount +10
    *page_break
    *goto fycr
  #"I wish to discuss a... mutually beneficial alliance with you."
    "Our acquaintance may be brief, but I believe we both see potential in a mutually-beneficial partnership."

    "And I recall that your behavior at our last meeting fully illustrated the differences in our methods." Another elegantly raised 
    eyebrow marks the sentence, but the Imperial Administrator's face is at least open, if not encouraging. 

    "And they remain divergent. But I'd argue that a profitable alliance need not always stem from common methods - only a united 
    interest. " You reply. "Administrator, your own choice of attire today agrees with my intentions."

    You gesture at the simple nude gown Fang Yun is wearing, understated enough for her to pass off as a palace maid. But in close
    range as you are now it would be impossible to mistake her for any other than the influential Imperial Administrator. 

    Your companion looks appraisingly at you through cool purple eyes. "Are you suggesting a hidden alliance?" She does not say
    any more; perhaps waiting to evaluate your pitch without risking you bouncing off on her input. 

    Fortunately you are well prepared with your proposition. "Whatever starting position the Emperor assigns me, I will be a new,
    inexperienced official in court. You needn't take me under your wing; but with our lack of previous ties and vastly differing
    attitudes towards politicking, I daresay few would suspect an alliance if we give them no cause to do so."

    "You must know that to preserve such a partnership as secret, discretion will dictate our actions in court be noticeably 
    separate. Substantial aid, political or otherwise, will not come from my faction." Fang Yun interjects, politely but confidently.
    "I must then ask you - what do you seek out of this arrangement?" 

    In answer you lean back onto the carriage cushions leisurely. "A safeguard for me -" or a pawn to betray, you think privately, 
    "- and an investment for you, Administrator. At the moment I freely admit that I am virtually without any real political power of
    my own. But in a year, five - even you must see that the only trueborn royal can go far in court. Then, if circumstances allow,
    we may continue our partnership in greater transparency." 

    Unlikely, you both know. As the saying goes, Fortune's wheel is ever-turning. If - [i]when[/i] - the day comes that you have the means
    to negotiate with Fang Yun as equals, you would more likely be rivals than allies. But some things are best left unsaid; for who 
    can indeed tell these things for sure? 

    As the journey continues, you and Fang Yun continue going over the terms and conditions of your prospective alliance with positive 
    progress.
    *set Ambitious %+10
    *set carriagecount +10
    *page_break
    *goto fycr
  #"Would you do me the favor of teaching me the ways of the court?"
    "I know you have greater responsibilities than to mentor a political greenhorn. But I won't be a completely useless student. 
    Even if the Emperor remains completely removed from my career, the Empress' faction will lend me some power. So it'll be a -"

    "A mutually beneficial mentor-student relationship?" Fang Yun intercedes, politely but confidently. "My apologies, but it
    will not be so to me. If you observe the current situation of court politics you would know that the faction whose leadership 
    has fallen into my hands has always remained neutral throughout the generations."

    "In our time the two other greatest blocs are led by the Chen and Qin clans respectively. Or rather, as you may know them - the 
    factions to which the Empress and Imperial Consort Nefertari owe their loyalties by their own families' marriages. Thus the court is
    divided and balanced by our three main forces."

    "Though of course other power figures remain. The Dowager, being your grandmother, is a Qin and was once a key player in the field. 
    But she has long withdrawn from the world of politics and now dedicates herself to the gods. And then there is the Elder Prince,
    your uncle, whom sources indicate frequently engages the Qin family himself...."

    Within the curtain-enclosed interiors of the carriage, Fang Yun's violet eyes gleam with vivid light as she outlines the structures
    of the court. You smile; and not even entirely because your plan has worked. 

    "See, you've already taken up the role!" You laugh, then quickly add when the Administrator's speech breaks off with a surprised 
    frown, "I mean, your explanations are illuminating without parallel. And I must confess I never heard the rumor of the Elder 
    Prince's association with the Qins... Although I suppose that makes sense with his doting on the Crown Prince."

    In the span of the seconds of your speech, Fang Yun has regained her famed composure. It is with utmost calm that she counters,
    "I do not, as any other rational being, put much credibility on mere rumors. My information originates from cultivated sources." 
    Even so there is a hint of approval in her expression which is at least an improvement from her usual polite indifference, perhaps
    at the confirmation that you are not as completely clueless as she feared.

    "Very well. I will impart to you the basics of today's court. But you will procure no other promises from me with your current 
    offer." Fang Yun eventually agrees, waving aside your victorious grin. "First rule: never make a pact with anyone that you cannot 
    offer sensible terms to..."

    You spend the next few minutes of the journey understanding the mechanics of the court; despite her warning of a "basic" introduction
    you find her cool analysis penetrative and informative beyond mere facts.
    *set Intelligence %+10
    *set epqknowledge true
    *set Fang_Yun %+5
    *set carriagecount +10
    *page_break
    *goto fycr
  *selectable_if (Fang_Yun_RO=0) #"I - uh, I wanted to cultivate your a-acquaintance?"  
    You stumble through the sentence artlessly. If you were hoping to impress the Imperial Administrator after your first meeting, it
    is clearly not working. "That is, I...! Please believe my that my intentions are pure-hearted! The truth is that I wish to be your 
    - friend. Will you allow me the pleasure of your continued company?" 

    In the curtain-dimmed darkness of the carriage, you watch as Fang Yun observes you. Her expression is as impassive as ever, but a 
    glimmer of amusement darts around in her violet eyes. Indifferent she seemed a statue of a regality, but smiling she is a veritable 
    [i]goddess.[/i] 

    Aware of your adoring gaze she looks up once and allows your eyes to meet.

    A heat rises to flush your cheeks. You hurriedly glance away, murmuring, "Forgive me, my Lady. It is just that - to be smiled upon 
    by a goddess is said to bring luck."

    "And am I to be your charm?" The question is uttered rather acerbically, but when you anxiously raise your head you see only a composed 
    Fang Yun. "That title of greeting greatly... Irks me from others, but you seem to be becoming an exception, dragon-peony. As for my 
    company, am I not obliging you just now?"

    "Y-yes!" [i]Does that mean I really am special to her?[/i] You think with delight, although of course you do not ask her that directly. 

    Then Fang Yun's eyes turn serious once more, and you unconsciously straighten to attention. "But I must warn you; I do not enter into... 
    non-professional relationships. Not now - and perhaps not ever. You may wish to consider that before you -" 

    "I - I completely understand, my Lady!" You interject passionately. "I know that with my current position - as yet unofficiated, without 
    any real achievements to call my own... But I will become a useful person for you!"

    A momentary ripple of shock disturbs the perfect mask of indifference on the Administrator's face, only to reveal a surprisingly flattering 
    blush. [i]Indeed, a goddess...[/i] You reaffirm dreamily to yourself.

    "A-all the same. Don't get your hopes up." Now Fang Yun is definitely flustered; this is the first time you've ever heard the eloquent and 
    formal Administrator both stutter and speak informally at once.

    The interior of the carriage falls into a not uncomfortable silence. Silently you stare at Fang Yun until her walls fall back into place 
    and her face returns to its stoic self. But you think you spy a warmth in her eyes that was not there before. 

    Sighing to yourself, you settle down on the cushions. Well, if it's patience she wishes to test, you can wait as long as she needs...
    *set Fang_Yun %+10
    *set carriagecount +10
    *page_break
    *goto fycr

*label ckcr

*if carriagecount=0
 Finally. With your personal guard, who is by your side day and night, there is really no mask of propriety you are obliged to uphold. He 
 has already seen you in a hundred compromising situations, with no foreseeable end to the list. 
  
 Letting out a long sigh you relax against the cushions. 

 From across you, Chen Kun stares stoically in the direction of the curtain-masked window, as if listening  for anything out of the ordinary. 

 But when your gaze turns towards him, his eyes find yours immediately. This is how he always is; so vigilant that you've caught him missing 
 meals to investigate the slightest disturbance, but somehow ever present whenever you call for his aid. 

 "Do you require anything, Master?" Your loyal guard asks now, his face as serious as ever.
 
*if carriagecount=10
 Chen Kun stares seriously across the carriage at you, hazel eyes glowing in the dim darkness.
 
 "Do you require anything else, Master?"

*if carriagecount=20
 *goto curtainsup

*disable_reuse  
*choice
  #"No, nothing! Let's just... chat informally."
    You reply, a little awkwardly. Time and again, the new formalities and customs your new relationship as master and personal guard dictate
    have driven a wedge into your old dynamic. 

    True - even back in your childhood days together before he left Chen Kun was adamant in greeting you as ${Prince} and maintaining a reverential, 
    if stoic, air before you. But now that you have been officially bound by the sacred vows of the master-guard arrangement unto one of your deaths, 
    there is an even lesser chance of you successfully persuading him to forego formalities.

    It's not that you don't understand the necessity of putting up appearances before the numerous ravenous eyes of the court, where a single slip 
    of word could become a dangerous handle in the wrong ears. 

    But behind closed doors, in the depths of your palace chambers, at the utmost level of privacy you have ever known... Surely there is no need 
    for the distancing formalities Chen Kun insists on following?

    Again you see the resolute set of Chen Kun's face, his lips parted - no doubt seconds away from another serious, well-meaning lecture about 
    the importance of following court manners. Hastily, you pre-empt, "Ah, I mean - The wheels are gonna block all the other sounds out, anyways 
    - And it's not like we're doing anything strange -?" 

    [i]"No!" [/i]The denial that your companion launches interrupts your speech by sheer overwhelming volume. If not for the aforementioned clodding of  
    the wheels and hooves against the road, you are sure someone would have checked in on you. 

    You falter instantly. Your personal guard almost never raises his voice - and then, only for you and not against. Is he so repulsed by the
    idea of dropping formalities...?

    "No," Chen Kun repeats again, this time at a normal volume in his vibrating baritone. "I meant to say - That is - If it's just this once..."

    Stuttering uncharacteristically, a becoming blush dusting his cheeks, he murmurs, "...${Prince} ${Surname}."

    "...Ah..." Oh gods, no. You feel an answering heat rush up to your cheeks in your embarrassment. 

    A beat passes in silence. Even in the curtain-enclosed darkness of the carriage you can tell that you are both still blushing, though perhaps 
    for different reasons. 

    [i]Well, at least that's a step up from Master,[/i] you think to yourself distractedly. [i]We'll get to a first-name basis one day.[/i] 
    
    The next minutes pass in a not uncomfortable silence. Although you didn't get to carry out a casual conversation after all, you have the
    feeling that the awkward distance left by your new bond has been shortened.
    *set Chen_Kun %+10
    *set carriagecount +10
    *page_break
    *goto ckcr
  #"Actually, I need you to do something for me..." 
    "The Crown Prince is back at court. I want you to monitor him once we're back at the palace and find out how long he's actually staying." 

    At Chen Kun's immediate objection - displayed all over his face even before he opened his mouth - you raise a calming hand. "I don't trust 
    anyone else for this, Chen Kun. I know Long Qing's been getting lots of practice in the army, but don't tell me you think you're not up 
    for sneaking around him? It'll be just like the old days before you both left - hide and seek. Except this time he won't know he's playing."
    You grin, sharp and cutting.

    Your personal guard frowns disapprovingly, the closest he ever gets to directly rejecting a serious order. "It's not that." He replies stoically, 
    something unreadable glinting in his hazel eyes.

    "What is it, then?" You ask, leaning forwards with your clasped hands on your knees. A sneak move to serve an equally sneaky purpose: Chen Kun 
    has never lied well to you - or anyone else really, as far as you have seen, which is a lot considering the amount of time you spend together 
    - and not at all under close scrutiny, where his tells show all too well. They say that eyes are the windows to the soul, after all - and Chen 
    Kun's are the most honest you've ever seen.

    "I'm your personal guard now - I'm supposed to be by your side." You follow his expressive eyes down to his gauntlet, the physical proof of your 
    master-guard bond. "I can't do that if I'm going to follow Qing- the Crown Prince around all day." 

    There is a stubborn set to his face, but from this close you perceive the committed glow in his eyes. Any harsh commands you might have issued
    die on your tongue. Misguided or not, Chen Kun only has your best interests at heart. 

    Smoothening your tone into one of patience, you relent. "Okay, I won't send you. But I still need someone to watch him." You pause for a 
    moment, trying to think of other options. Have you been too reliant on your personal guard after all - that you should come up blank the 
    first time you need someone other than him for an important task?  "What about -" 

    "I can make a quick trip to the Imperial Guard once you're back at the palace, Master. There're a few reliable guards there that would do  
    a discreet, thorough job of it for m - you, Master. And," he continues grimly, his face serious, "should they fail, they would leave no 
    trail of involvement."

    You nod slowly, knowing the implications of that ominous last sentence, and accepting the burden of that knowledge quietly. "Thank you, Chen 
    Kun."

    Your companion gives a swift nod in reply. "I'm always at your service, Master."
    *set carriagecount +10
    *set Ambitious %+10
    *gosub_scene subroutines increaseAmbitious
    *page_break
    *goto ckcr
  #"Can you teach me some magic?" 
    "I know you trained under the Empress. And you passed her test, so there must be something I can learn from you." 

    Neither your mother nor your personal guard have ever elaborated on the specifics of the mysterious test that sent him away from your side 
    for all these years, but you guess that it included a magical component. These days the magical energy you sense bottled up in Chen Kun is 
    as depthless and immeasurable as the sea.

    Since your Trial thoughts of improving your various skills have been building in your mind. From your official coronation on out, the world 
    is sure to continue throwing challenges your way. You never want to be stuck in a situation where the limitations of your skills threaten your 
    survival ever again. 

    Chen Kun visibly hesitates, although his hazel eyes brim with honesty as he replies, "What do you wish to learn, Master?"

    Not for the first time you wonder what other Masters your personal guard has had. In particular you have heard tales of secretive cults in 
    the magical community whom protect their spells on pain of death. Perhaps even the commitments to your sacred master-guard bond must come  
    second to cult allegiance.

    "It doesn't have to be any secret technique. Actually, if you prefer - could you tell me more about the magical community in the realm? 
    You know the royal tutor never cared much for mage studies..." You hedge. 

    A look of relief enters Chen Kun's expressive eyes. "Of course, Master. In the Land, the Ming Cult stands as the first and foremost magical
    cult. I have been fortunate enough to observe their power with my own eyes, and they are deserving of their position as the current Leader of   
    the realm's magical community. Their style of magery is mysterious - I have heard some call it unorthodox. But it works."

    Your personal guard continues on into a long introduction of the various important cults and individuals that comprise the Land's magical 
    community. You begin to notice that while he awards an equal balance of credit and critiques for each topic, the level of detail with which 
    he described the Ming Cult was unparalleled.

    Is it just because it's the most prominent organization? Or does he really have personal ties to it? You ponder silently. 

    In the curtain-enclosed dimness of the carriage, Chen Kun's hazel eyes glow with a rare enthusiasm as he relates to you the histories and 
    current affairs of the magical community. Although he is usually a man of few words, you find that you barely have to nod and comment 
    accordingly to encourage him to continue his speech this time. 

    [i]He really is passionate about magic...[/i]

    The next minutes of the journey speed by as you listen and learn more than you thought possible from your personal guard.
    *set Magic %+10
    *set Chen_Kun %+5
    *set carriagecount +10
    *page_break
    *goto ckcr
  #"Chen Kun... I've been meaning to tell you something..." 
    "Uh... That is, I've noticed..." You trip over the words awkwardly. 

    [i]Come on, brain, [/i]you think desperately to yourself. This is a rare chance where the two of you are not only alone but also trapped 
    by your surroundings, unable to escape the conversation you are determined you carry out once and for all. You are not going to let it go 
    to waste, even if you are embarrassed and frankly terrified of destroying your relationship with one wrong word. 

    From across you, Chen Kun is staring unreservedly in his characteristically stoic manner. There is nothing judgmental, much less cruel
    in his gaze; if anything, your childhood friend's eyes glow like warm honey in the dim lighting of the curtain-enclosed carriage. 

    Your heart skips a beat as your gazes inadvertently meet.

    Everything you are struggling to articulate now was inspired by the look in his eyes even now. His expressive hazel eyes, pools of 
    truth even when the occasional white lie spills out of his mouth. The way their stony resolution softens into a sentimental warmth
    when they look at you, especially when he thinks you aren't watching him.

    And that isn't even all of it. There is also the shivering, burning sensation that runs through your fingers and up your arm when your 
    touch.

    Like you are now. You look down in bewilderment at your faint point of contact; his long, large fingers, curled upwards, gracing your 
    own downward-pointing fingertips. Chen Kun never is the one to take initiative between the two of you; even before his return and the 
    sealing of your master-guard bond made it insubordination, you were always the first to engage him. 

    The precious warmth conducted by your companion spreads throughout your body. And suddenly, you're not afraid anymore. Words curl on 
    the tip of your tongue and you know instinctively that they are the right ones - because they come from your heart, and not from your mind.

    "Chen Kun, I've seen the way you look at me. And I want it too - for this thing between us to come into fruition. But I need you to tell
    me that I'm haven't just been dreaming, because this is all I've ever wanted for us." You whisper, quietly, seriously. Chen Kun watches
    you with the tentative expression of a man on the brink of being granted a great wish, but who cannot yet believe that it is about to be
    fulfilled. 

    And in this one moment, both your worlds seem narrowed down to this one center: your connected fingers. How strange, how profound is the
    mysterious power of love! For in this moment you have no doubt that that is what you feel for each other.

    As you look into Chen Kun's eyes, you watch as his hazel orbs once again melt into the color of warm honey. His lips part, and you
    unconsciously lean in in anticipation. 

    Then, abruptly, the carriage skids over a rough stretch of road. The movement jerks your fingers away from Chen Kun's - and just like that,
    the perfect connection you attained is broken. 

    A complicated expression - an odd mixture of longing and despair - washes across your personal guard's face before his usual stoicalness  
    returns. Without asking you know that he has closed himself off from the topic. 

    The next minutes of your shared journey passes in troubled silence. 
    *set Chen_Kun_RO %+10
    *set carriagecount +10
    *page_break
    *goto ckcr

*label carriagealone

*if carriagecount=0
 Now you finally have some private time to review your own thoughts. What is the topic that comes to mind?

*if carriagecount=10
 According to estimation, you still have some time in the carriage. Your thoughts redirect to...

*if carriagecount=20
 *goto curtainsup

*disable_reuse
*choice
  #You remember the enchanted box from your Trials. A silver tongue is an invaluable asset indeed...
    Your royal tutor may have valued knowledge above all else, but you are slowly learning that persuasion too can be a skill. 
    This incident has only thrown the idea to the forefront of your mind. 

    A silver tongue may be a pacifist's weapon in the sense that it cannot wreck physical destruction as a fist or a magical 
    blast can, but it can twist minds and turn even the best of brothers against each other in a way no brute force can. Or, 
    you muse, alternatively, it can unite the people in solidarity and resolve the worst of quarrels between rivals. 

    In all things there are two sides to the same coin. Peasant, serf. Royal, tyrant. Uprising, revolution...? 

    Now that's a thought.

    In the curtain-enclosed interior of the carriage, you deepen your thoughts in the silence broken only by the steadying 
    sounds of horse hooves and carriage wheels beating against the ground. 

    [i]Persuasion... The art of manipulating others to your will through words alone...[/i] It certainly sounds like a skill 
    of the Empress'. Although between your mother and Imperial Consort Nefertari, it may be more a question of arm-twisting behind 
    perfect smiles these days. 

    Who else around you might hone your silver tongue? You mentally run through the list of your associates. There is Mingzi, 
    your most trusted retainer - but if he becomes any more blunt in his speech, he tongue might actually fall off. Chen Kun... 
    Is by character a stoic, although he is surprisingly prone to sudden dramatic declarations that are nevertheless touching. 
    The Emperor of course would never stoop to teach you such an unorthodox skill himself, or even outrightly condone it. As 
    for your brother, Long Qing preferred victory by the overwhelming, incontestable force of his fists - although what he 
    prefers now is anyone's guess. And what about your new acquaintance and potential future ally, Fang Yun? She certainly 
    seems to excel at the Empress' style of hiding daggers behind polite smiles, but you suspect that she values winning people 
    over with unchallenged wit rather than charming persuasion.

    Finding yourself swiftly at the end of your list, you blink. Living the life of a cloistered royal has certainly limited
    your number of meaningful relationships to a bare minimum. 

    But after today, you will be free to roam beyond the restrictions of the palace walls. Who knows what interesting characters
    you will meet then? Surely a shining pillar of persuasiveness might be among them, and then you will get the chance to convince
    them to impart they skills. So you think as your carriage rumbles on on your journey. 
    *set Persuasion %+10
    *set carriagecount +10
    *page_break
    *goto carriagealone
  #The muyu from the Trials appears in your mind's eye. The power of religion should never be underestimated...
    Religion is a key tenant of society in the Land of the Dragon. From the Heaven's Son to the simplest peasant, all in the land
    believe and worship the gods for matters which range from a farmer's wish for steady rain as irrigation for crops to the royal 
    family's annual praying ceremony for peace and prosperity in the realm - although in recent years you have heard of radicals
    calling themselves atheists disavowing the gods. 

    The point is, with its widespread influence but understated power, religion is a useful tool to garner political support. There
    is a reason why most generations of the royal family, with the Emperor at the head, have expressly allied themselves with the 
    Temples. 

    That your coronation ceremony will be held at Duolin Temple is one such display of the importance of religion in the land. 

    And your Trials have only pushed this to the forefront of your mind. Remembering the muyu, your thoughts turn to how you yourself
    may harness this power. Of course, the art of worship can only be truly perfected with a genuine commitment to the gods from the 
    heart - but maintaining a knowledgeable front regarding the various rituals and sutras of worship can't hurt in promoting a positive
    public image either.

    Religion... Certainly, the Empress has presented a devout image since her marriage to the Emperor, but you doubt her commitment to 
    the gods goes much deeper than that. The things she has done in the name of power definitely go against the religious teachings of 
    your religion.

    Who else around you might hone your religious knowledge? You mentally run through the list of your associates. There is Mingzi, your 
    most trusted retainer - but the only time he raises the gods' names is to blame them for creating a charge as disobedient as you under
    his responsibility. Chen Kun... Is by nature or nurture a stoic who places greater trust in his own actions than in the unseen gods. 
    The Emperor of course would never stoop to teach you anything himself, or outrightly condone using religion as a political weapon.
    The Dowager certainly devotes herself to the gods nowadays - but your relationship is not what is was. As for your brother, Long 
    Qing preferred victory by the overwhelming, incontestable force of his fists - although what he prefers now is anyone's guess. And 
    what about your new acquaintance and potential future ally, Fang Yun? You highly doubt that with her pursuit of intelligence above 
    all else she devotes many thoughts to religion. 

    Finding yourself swiftly at the end of your list, you blink. Living the life of a cloistered royal has certainly limited your number 
    of meaningful relationships to a bare minimum. 

    But after today, you will be free to roam beyond the restrictions of the palace walls. Who knows what interesting characters you will
    meet then? Perhaps one of them will teach you more about religion. You close your eyes and recite a quick prayer as your carriage rolls 
    on.
    *set Religion %+10
    *set carriagecount +10
    *page_break
    *goto carriagealone
  #Your thoughts turn to the coronation ceremony awaiting you. This is your chance to show your worth. 
    The crowds you saw, gathered to watch your carriage pass through the capitol streets, will only be increased multifold at the actual 
    venue of Duolin Temple. Whether incentivized by the free food service within the temple walls or drawn by the chance to witness the 
    Second ${Prince}'s once in a lifetime coronation party, hundreds of thousands will flock over and lie in wait miles around the Temple. 

    Of course, only the lucky few out of the number would actually be able to see you with their own eyes - but word at such events travels
    fast, second only to rumor. Anything you do, from the moment you step onto the ceremonial stage, will be repeated in the streets of the 
    capitol and beyond within hours from the coronation. 

    And the effects of this ripple will extend far beyond the borders of the realm. With the rapid development of magical application in
    recent generations, the relations between the various lands have become ever closer and essential for the survival and prosperity of all. 

    The Land of the Dragon is now no longer the sole power in the known world - and although usage of magical portals is not yet prevalent 
    enough, especially on a large scale, to make physical invasion a legitimate threat, demand for officials skilled in foreign policy are at
    an all time high. 

    Today the world will be watching, their unseen but near omnipotent eyes and ears lying in wait for the first impression of the Land of 
    the Dragon's second heir.

    This will be your chance to show the world what you are capable of. 

    And you are determined to take it. You will put on such a show that the Emperor will have no choice but to grant you a high starting
    position in court, and then... You will finally begin your climb up the political ladder.

    Even if an alliance with Imperial Administrator Fang Yun doesn't work out, there are always other officials worthy for you to join hands
    with. You may not have chosen to enlist the help of Chen Kun at this point either, but there will be opportunities in the future for more
    detailed missions. As for your brother Long Qing... You are hesitant about whether the risks and benefits of allying under him - for that
    is surely what he expects - will tilt in your favor, especially if the Emperor's throne comes into the equation. 

    No, for now you are your own ally. But after today, you will be free to roam beyond the restrictions of the palace walls. Who knows what
    interesting characters you will meet then? Perhaps you will soon find a more worthy ally. Visualizing your grand plans in court in your 
    mind, you smile as the carriage brings you ever closer to the journey.
    *set Ambitious %+10
    *gosub_scene subroutines increaseAmbitious
    *set carriagecount +10
    *page_break
    *goto carriagealone
  #It's time for some... alone time. 
    ... If you know what I mean. No, not that kind - what are you thinking? Honestly, you don't understand why these strange thoughts pop 
    into your mind sometimes. Letting out an exhaling sigh, you melt against the soft cushions. 

    You've been so tired these past days, worrying and preparing for your coronation ceremony - and all these without knowledge of the Hall 
    of Trials. 

    Just learning and then rehearsing the rituals and manners you are expected to undergo and uphold during the ceremony took countless 
    agonizing afternoons. 

    An image of the strict perfectionist of a palace maid assigned to teach you resurfaces in your mind, and you groan in a horror no less
    reduced by retrospection. To make matters worse, your royal tutor joined in, lamenting about how this was the last official lesson he
    could teach you, never mind that he didn't actually know the details of the ceremonial rituals. 

    With a stern matron you cannot disobey - she was once the harem's [i]shang gong,[/i] or chamberlain, and a steadfast ally to the Empress - on
    one side and your berating, tearful tutor - [i]oh ${Prince} ${Surname}, you must listen to her as you once did to me![/i] - on the other, 
    you were positively overwhelmed. 

    Just thinking on it makes your head hurt. 

    Maybe it's time to take a rest. You let your eyes slip shut...

    ... And the next thing you know, you are staring straight into the golden eyes of a familiar dragon.

    Your breath halts in the back of your throat. The dragon is so close that a scarce a centimeter separates you - and yet somehow both its 
    eyes hold your attention without you going crosseyed. 

    [i]This is a dream. All of this can only be the product of my imagination.[/i] 

    The thought cycles through your mind, even as you stare in fascination at the golden fire burning in the depths of its eyes.

    Held transfixed by some quality of wonder in those huge eyes that you feel reflected within yourself, you gaze roams across the individual
    pieces of shining scales that constitute the dragon's skin. Each golden piece is the size of your palm. 

    The dragon's gaze shifts along in tandem with yours. You recall the way your hand unconsciously mirrored its paw in your dream last night.

    [i]No, wait.[/i] If this is a dream - and that was a dream - then there's no point thinking on this because of course you aren't in control 
    of yourself! 

    And yet curiosity pricks at you like a needle. Slowly, purposefully, you blink once. 

    With bated breath you watch as its eyelids, faintly scaled where a human's would be veiny, roll down over its golden pupils like curtains
    with the delayed speed of a building collapsing after a sudden earthquake. You feel a whip of wind send the tops of your styled hair into 
    a flurry when the dragon's eyes finally fall completely shut - and then your vision blacks out.

    Jerking awake in your seat, you find your chest convulsed with heaving breaths. Immediately, you raise a hesitant hand to your hair. The 
    hand comes away wet with sweat, but your hair seems to be no more out of place than before. You take another deep breath and exhale, trying
    to regain your composure, and mostly succeeding.

    [i]Just a dream. But what did it mean?[/i] The question rings in your head as your carriage thunders on on your journey.
    *set dragondream true
    *set carriagecount +10
    *page_break
    *goto carriagealone

*label curtainsup
    
A sudden rush of cool air snaps you to attention. The curtain at your side has been lifted
about halfway up by a military-grade crimson glove. "My liege, we are approaching the 
Temple!" The voice of an Imperial Guard riding as part of your entourage travels into 
your ears, clipped by the swooshing wind and the beating of the wheels and hooves against
the ground. 

You straighten up in your seat. "Understood. Lead on, soldier." Close to the venue of 
your coronation now, you feel an obligation towards formality come over you. It is as 
if you can already feel the thousands of strangers' eyes on you. 

His message delivered, the Imperial Guard returns to his post in the formation around 
your carriage. The curtain flap falls back shut, about to plunge the carriage interior 
into darkness once more -

*if crlq=true
 -but then Long Qing catches it and rolls it up, this time all the way. 

 He leans back to shield himself from view, meanwhile fully exposing you to the public 
 eye. At your shocked exclamation, your brother merely laughs as if [i]you[/i] are the one 
 preposterously overreacting. 

 "Liven up a little, ${brother}. Take advantage of the attention - I know I did. Bask 
 in it, shout abuse at them, laugh at it all; take your pick. I don't care." A strange
 look of scorn enters his eyes. You wonder if he is recalling his own coronation ceremony
 six years ago. 

 "Whatever you choose, I know you'll make it interesting." 

 As he utters those words, his smiling emerald eyes seem to stare into your very soul. 
 *goto crac
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                *if crfy=true
 -and so it does. 

 For a moment, you and Fang Yun stare silently at each other in the darkness. Then the 
 Imperial Administrator remarks, calmly but confidently, "You should consider using this
 opportunity to make an impression on the general populace. On the actual coronation, it
 will be the words of the court that matter - but now you have the chance to make a 
 direct impact." 

 So speaking, she holds your gaze as she slowly but steadily lifts the curtain once again.
 You do not stop her. 

 As you become suddenly exposed to the public eye, Fang Yun continues from her position 
 in the darkness, "I know you will not disappoint me. Go on and choose. I'll be waiting."

 As she utters those words, her cool violet eyes seem to stare into your very mind. 
 *goto crac

*if crck=true
 -and so it does. 

 A beat passes as silence falls over the interior of the carriage once more. 

 Then Chen Kun exclaims, loudly, empathically, "Master!" 

 Jolted out of your thoughts, you jump in your seat with an unbecoming yelp. "Y-yes, 
 Chen Kun!?" [i]Anyone seeing us now would definitely mistake Guard for Master...[/i] 

 "I think that you should say something to the people right now! You must let them know
 what a wonderful - that is, thoughtful - outstanding - person - ${Prince} you are!" 
 Your personal guard continues, stumbling awkwardly over the words. In the darkness it 
 is hard to tell, but you think he may be blushing again. 

 "All right," you reply bewilderedly, under your companion's passionate encouragement.

 Chen Kun lifts the curtain, hazel eyes staring earnestly into your very own. "Don't 
 worry, Master. Whatever you choose, they're going to love you." 
 *goto crac
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 *if cral=true
 -but then, as if possessed by a sudden, irrational impulse, your hand shoots out to 
 catch the bottom of the curtain. 

 You start, but by then it is too late. In the split second that you raised the curtain,
 the public eye has spotted you in its sights. 

 Now, you have to make a choice; whether to respond to your audience in a favorable or 
 derogatory way - or to ignore them altogether. 

 Good luck with your choices. The Land of the Dragon won't be ready for you.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      *goto crac

*label crac

*choice
  #Be the good sport the people want.
    As you near your destination, the formation of the entourage escorting you has thinned at the
    sides, with the rest of the Imperial Guards falling back to form the rear, in order to fit 
    into the narrower street leading to Duolin Temple. 

    Therefore when the curtain lifts, the view the gathered pedestrians now have of you is much 
    clearer than ever. A general cheer goes up from the assembly when you put your head to the 
    window. 

    "It's the Second ${Prince}! ${He}'s here!"... "Wow, as expected, the royal family's good genes
    run in ${him} too!!"... "... What are you saying, how can you see ${him} clearly from this 
    distance...?"

    You let yourself smile at these scattered comments, drawn randomly from the crowd with a simple 
    spell. 

    By now you are a mere few hundred meters away from the grand arch of the Temple entrance. If
    you wish to do anything, now is your final chance. 

    Cupping a hand to your mouth, you shout out at the last of the crowd, waving with your hand: 
    "Good people of the Land! I see and hear you! I, Second ${Prince} ${Surname}, thank each and every
    one of you for coming out here to see me today! Don't forget to support me later during the ceremony,
    too!" Drawing from your well of magical energy, you cast a quick amplifying spell that directs your
    proclamation at your audience.

    Their response does not disappoint you. Cheers and roars of approval in all ranges of pitch and 
    volume ring out in the air in a thunderous cacophony. People from all walks of life pump their 
    raised fists in the air and stamp their feet. You even spot groups of supporters in bold, eye-catching
    garments waving flags bearing your name and lines of romantic poetry doing a strange kind of dance. 
    Well, you suppose all kinds of publicity are good publicity...?

    As the sounds of cheering and clamoring recede into the background you turn to glance up at the 
    Temple entrance looming over you. A sudden revelation ripples through the space in your mind: 
    Once you pass through that arch your life will never be the same. 

    And with it a wave of adrenaline washes over you, pumping through your very blood. Today you will
    cross the threshold from cloistered royal child to adult ${Prince} of the Land. 

    And beyond? The Land of the Dragon awaits. 
    *set Empathic %+10
    *gosub_scene subroutines increaseEmpathic
    *page_break
    *finish
  #The situation has sparked your contrary nature.
    As you near your destination, the formation of the entourage escorting you has thinned at sides, 
    with the rest of the Imperial Guards falling back to form the rear, in order to fit into the
    narrower street leading to Duolin Temple. 

    Therefore when the curtain lifts, the view the gathered pedestrians now have of you is much clearer 
    than ever. A general cheer goes up from the assembly when you put your head to the window. 

    "It's the Second ${Prince}! ${He}'s here!"... "Wow, as expected, the royal family's good genes run 
    in ${him} too!!"... "... What are you saying, how can you see ${him} clearly from this distance...?"

    You listen to these scattered comments, drawn randomly from the crowd by a simple spell.

    And suddenly, the thought of the look that would appear on their faces if you insulted them right 
    here and now, instead of acting like the prim and proper royal they expect, pops into your mind. 
    And there the idea takes root. 

    By now you are a mere few hundred meters away from the grand arch of the Temple entrance. If you 
    wish to do anything, now is your final chance.

    And oh, you shall. You will give them a show that they will never forget. 

    Cupping your hand to your mouth, you shout out at the last of the crowd: "What do you think you're 
    looking at? And don't think I can't hear your thoughtless words. Is this how you show respect to your 
    ${Prince}? Even to one another you should exercise some basic politeness!" 

    Drawing from your well of magical energy, you cast a quick amplifying spell that directs your proclamation 
    at your audience.

    Their response does not disappoint you. A satisfying ripple of utter shock passes through the assembly 
    - and then the bubbling sensationalization overflows into an outpouring of resentment. Shouts and booing 
    ring out in the air all down the line as the word spreads. You vaguely wonder if as many people as are hurling 
    abuse at you now would be cheering if you'd chosen to say something more positive instead - bad news always 
    does travel much faster than the good. 

    People from all walks of life pump their raised fists in the air and stamp their feet, railing against you in 
    self-righteous rage. A few are even reaching into their robes, perhaps for something to throw at you. 

    How transient and easily manipulated people are! You laugh bitterly to yourself as the sounds of clamoring 
    recede into the background. You turn to glance up at the Temple entrance looming over you. A sudden revelation
    ripples through the space in your mind: Once you pass through that arch your life will never be the same. 

    And with it a wave of adrenaline washes over you, pumping through your very blood. Today you will cross the 
    threshold from cloistered royal child to adult ${Prince} of the Land. 

    And beyond? The Land of the Dragon awaits. 
    *set Empathic %-10
    *gosub_scene subroutines decreaseEmpathic
    *page_break
    *finish
  #Ha. This is all such a joke. 
    As you near your destination, the formation of the entourage escorting you has thinned at sides, with the
    rest of the Imperial Guards falling back to form the rear, in order to fit into the narrower street leading
    to Duolin Temple. 

    Therefore when the curtain lifts, the view the gathered pedestrians now have of you is much clearer than 
    ever. A general cheer goes up from the assembly when you put your head to the window. 

    "It's the Second ${Prince}! ${He}'s here!"... "Wow, as expected, the royal family's good genes run in
    ${him} too!!"... "... What are you saying, how can you see ${him} clearly from this distance...?"

    You listen in silence to the random remarks drawn from the gathered crowd with a simple spell, and feel
    a sudden revulsion well up in your stomach. 

    [i]What is this...[/i] It's almost as if you've unknowingly become the star attraction of a road circus show. 

    By now you are a mere few hundred meters away from the grand arch of the Temple entrance. If you wish to do
    anything, now is your final chance.

    And you will. If you're going to be gawked and pointed at anyways you may as well give your audience a piece
    of your own mind. Blunt, unfiltered words are ready on the tip of your tongue - and you let them fly loose. 

    Cupping your hand to your mouth, you shout at the last of the crowd: "Come look your fill! Isn't this what
    all of you came here for? For a glimpse of your Second ${Prince}? Well, keep your eyes and ears wide open - 
    because this is the only chance you're going to get for free, and you can't afford me!" 

    Drawing from your well of magical energy, you cast a quick amplifying spell that directs your proclamation
    at your audience.

    Their response does not disappoint you. A scandalized ripple at your outrageously blunt statement spreads 
    through the assembly. Whispers, emboldened by others' agreeing replies, spike in volume until a cacophony 
    of theorizing ring throughout the air. People cast suspicious, furtive glances at you, as one does upon
    hearing a particularly exaggerated tall tale about someone that even they do not think is true, but cannot
    resist supposing it to be while looking for some evidence of its reality in the accused' face. 

    It's as if I'm watching the rumor mill spin in the real time, you think tiredly to yourself as the sounds 
    of fervent gossiping recede into the background. You turn to glance up at the Temple entrance looming over 
    you. A sudden revelation ripples through the space in your mind: Once you pass through that arch your life 
    will never be the same. 

    And with it a wave of adrenaline washes over you, pumping through your very blood. Today you will cross the
    threshold from cloistered royal child to adult ${Prince} of the Land. 

    And beyond? The Land of the Dragon awaits. 
    *set Direct %+10
    *gosub_scene subroutines decreaseSubtle
    *page_break
    *finish
  #You don't want to deal with this right now.
    As you near your destination, the formation of the entourage escorting you has thinned at sides, with the
    rest of the Imperial Guards falling back to form the rear, in order to fit into the narrower street leading
    to Duolin Temple. 

    Therefore when the curtain lifts, the view the gathered pedestrians now have of you is much clearer than ever.
    A general cheer goes up from the assembly when you put your head to the window. 

    "It's the Second ${Prince}! ${He}'s here!"... "Wow, as expected, the royal family's good genes run in ${him}
    too!!"... "... What are you saying, how can you see ${him} clearly from this distance...?"

    You listen silently to these scattered remarks, drawn randomly from the crowd with a simple spell. And as you
    continue to listen, a spark of impatience compounded by irritation ignites in your gut. 

    [i]Why should you sit here to be judged by these people who as yet know nothing about you that is not the 
    picture perfect image put forth by the court? [/i]And yet it is not in your nature, not is it your wish, to 
    antagonize the people with direct words. 

    Keeping a polite expression on your face, you give your audience a firm but casual wave, just once, before
    pulling the curtain down in a clear sign of dismissal. [i]The show's over, folks[/i].

    Before the falling curtain cuts off your view, you glimpse a few confused but pleased faces, and a few 
    disappointed ones. Enclosed in the relative privacy and silence of your carriage once more, you let out a sigh. 
    Well, at least no one is screaming abuse or throwing rotten eggs at you or your entourage - which you are going
    to count as a victory for subtlety. 

    As the buzzing hum of the crowd retreats safely into the distance, you inch the curtain open to take peek at 
    the Temple entrance looming over you. A sudden revelation ripples through the space in your mind: Once you 
    pass through that arch your life will never be the same. 

    And with it a wave of adrenaline washes over you, pumping through your very blood. Today you will cross the 
    threshold from cloistered royal child to adult ${Prince} of the Land. 

    And beyond? The Land of the Dragon awaits. 
    *set Direct %-10
    *gosub_scene subroutines increaseSubtle
    *page_break
    *finish