The Dragon's Gambit

The Forbidden City, November 14, 1908 – Nightfall

The Forbidden City was cloaked in an oppressive silence, broken only by the faint rustle of silk robes and the flicker of lantern light against lacquered wood. The air felt heavy, suffused with the scent of incense and cold stone. The Hall of Mental Cultivation—the very heart of imperial power—lay shrouded in twilight, its corridors guarded by eunuchs with hollow eyes and trembling hands.

In his private study, Prince Chun (Zaifeng) stood before a map of the imperial palace, his gloved fingers tracing invisible lines over the inked parchment. Beside him, Li Yuan, his trusted eunuch ally, lingered like a shadow. A sealed letter lay open on the table, its contents brief but sharp as a dagger.

"The Empress Dowager intends to declare Puyi emperor at dawn. The edict is being prepared tonight."

Zaifeng's knuckles whitened against the table edge. The message confirmed what he had feared—and anticipated.

"She's moving faster than I thought," Zaifeng murmured, his voice tight. "She knows her time is short."

Li Yuan bowed deeply, his head nearly touching the floor. "Your Highness, the scribes are already preparing the edict. If it is announced at dawn, all will be lost."

Zaifeng closed his eyes briefly, his breaths slow and measured. "Then we must act before dawn."

A knock came at the door. A palace guard entered and bowed low. "Your Highness, General Yuan Shikai is waiting in the northern gardens."

Zaifeng exchanged a brief glance with Li Yuan before pulling on his fur-lined robe. "Keep the scribes under close watch. If a single edict leaves the Hall of Mental Cultivation tonight, it must come to me first."

Li Yuan bowed again. "It will be done, Your Highness."

The frost-covered leaves of the imperial gardens glittered under the pale moonlight. Yuan Shikai, clad in his military coat, stood near a stone pavilion, his breath fogging in the crisp night air. His stern face, partially illuminated by the glow of a lantern, was unreadable.

"General Yuan," Zaifeng said as he approached, his voice calm despite the storm brewing in his chest.

Yuan Shikai saluted, his sharp eyes meeting Zaifeng's. "Your Highness, the Beiyang troops are in position. Key gates are secured, and my men are ready to move on your command."

Zaifeng nodded, his shoulders taut with anticipation. "There must be no bloodshed, General. This must remain an imperial transition, not a military coup."

Yuan's mustache twitched slightly. "Your Highness, no coup ends without blood. But I understand your intent. We will act swiftly and quietly."

Zaifeng stepped closer, his voice lowering to a sharp whisper. "The scribes are preparing the edict as we speak. If they succeed, the court will rally behind a two-year-old emperor, and I will be forced into regency—a title that carries power but little control. This cannot happen."

Yuan Shikai nodded grimly. "What is your plan, Your Highness?"

Zaifeng's gaze turned cold. "I will intercept the edict myself. Your men must ensure no one leaves the palace grounds tonight. Anyone attempting to flee with a sealed document must be stopped."

"Understood." Yuan Shikai straightened, his boots clicking sharply against the frost-dusted stone as he saluted. "The Beiyang Army awaits your command, Your Highness."

As Yuan disappeared into the shadows, Zaifeng stood alone for a brief moment, his breath misting in the cold air.

"This is it. If I fail tonight, everything I've built will unravel."

The faint sound of brush against parchment echoed in the chamber where imperial scribes worked under flickering lantern light. The imperial edict—written in golden ink on silk scroll—lay partially complete on the central desk.

Outside, the grand doors creaked open, and Zaifeng stepped inside, flanked by two eunuchs. The scribes froze, their brushes halting mid-stroke.

"Your Highness!" The head scribe rose quickly, bowing deeply. "We are working under the direct orders of the Empress Dowager."

Zaifeng's voice was low, but it carried an edge sharp enough to cut glass. "Her Majesty sleeps now, does she not? Surely, no man would dare disturb her rest for something so… trivial."

The scribes exchanged nervous glances. The head scribe stammered, "Your Highness, we cannot—"

Zaifeng raised a gloved hand. "Cease your work immediately. Stand aside."

The head scribe hesitated, sweat beading on his forehead. But Zaifeng's piercing gaze left no room for defiance. Slowly, the scribes stepped back from the desk.

Zaifeng approached the scroll, his eyes scanning the elegant but damning words already etched in gold:

"It is decreed that Puyi shall ascend as Emperor of the Great Qing…"

With a slow, deliberate motion, Zaifeng picked up the parchment and held it over a lantern flame. The silk curled and blackened as the fire devoured it. The scribes gasped, but none dared move.

When the scroll was nothing but ash, Zaifeng turned back to the scribes. "Tonight, you have served the empire with silence. See that your silence continues."

The eunuchs escorted the trembling scribes from the chamber. The lantern light flickered as Zaifeng stood alone, ashes falling from his gloved fingers.

"It is done. The edict is destroyed. But this night is far from over."

The air inside Cixi's chambers was heavy with the scent of incense and medicine. The Empress Dowager lay reclined on silk cushions, her face pale and her breath shallow. Her once-piercing eyes now held the dim flicker of a dying flame.

Zaifeng entered quietly, stepping past layers of silk curtains to kneel beside her.

"You came," she rasped, her voice barely a whisper.

Zaifeng's head bowed low. "Your Majesty, the empire cannot endure another child emperor. The court will fracture, the provinces will rebel, and the dynasty will crumble."

Cixi's lips twitched faintly. "You… think yourself capable of preventing that?"

Zaifeng's voice was steady but heavy with emotion. "I do not think, Your Majesty. I know."

A weak cough wracked her frail body, but her eyes remained locked on Zaifeng's face. "Ambition is an easy fire to light, Zaifeng. But it is a fire that consumes… everything."

Zaifeng's throat tightened. "Your Majesty, I will carry this burden. I will bear its weight. But I cannot do it from the shadows."

For a long moment, Cixi said nothing. Then, with the faintest smile, she spoke:

"Do what you must… Prince Chun. But do not let it all turn to ash."

Her eyes fluttered closed, her breath growing slower.

Zaifeng knelt there in silence, his head bowed. The Empress Dowager—the last true power of the old Qing Dynasty—was fading into history.

As the first light of dawn crept over the palace rooftops, the gates of the Forbidden City remained sealed under Yuan Shikai's orders. Messengers were stopped. Officials found their paths blocked.

Zaifeng stood on a high balcony overlooking the courtyard, his robe fluttering in the icy wind.

"The throne is within reach, but one misstep will send me plummeting into the abyss."

Below, Yuan Shikai's soldiers stood at attention, their polished boots glinting in the pale light.

The day had begun, but the fate of the Great Qing hung precariously in the balance.

Zaifeng turns away from the balcony, his face set in stone, his voice a whisper as he clenches the imperial seal in his hand:

"Now begins the final act."